Chapter Text
Zoey, for once, wakes early, strangely wired. One moment she’s asleep, the next, awake. Just like that. Easy. Like it’s built-in, like her body’s operating on a simple switch. Off, now on.
She blinks up at the ceiling for a moment, feeling strangely disoriented. Something’s wrong. Did she drink last night? It’s not a headache per se, but there’s a strange pressure in her brain, and her limbs feel heavy. Maybe the pressure’s getting to her, between struggling to write Takedown in time for the Idol Awards and the Saja Boys mucking everything up with their fans…
Her alarm goes. It’s shrill and annoying and definitely not the song she’d picked and that’s not her alarm.
She looks to the side, to the source of the sound. The blaring phone isn’t hers. Neither is the nightstand. This isn’t her bed. Or her room.
It’s Rumi’s.
Huh.
She fumbles it into silence and flops back facedown with a groan, burying her nose in the pillow as she attempts to wrangle her thoughts in a row.
Did they hang out last night? Usually they do that in Zoey and Mira’s rooms, Rumi likes her privacy. They never do sleepovers with Rumi. She always leaves before they go to bed. Did Zoey sleepwalk here?
Oh boy, Rumi’s going to be pissed at her invading her space without invitation.
OR.
No, there’s no way.
Did they hook up?
If they did, Zoey’s going to freak, because she’d be devastated to remember none of it.
She turns to her other side, limbs cooperating almost like she’s underwater, but the bed is empty, and that wrong feeling is only getting more insistent as her brain is playing catch-up. And how is she lying on a sprawl of her own hair? It’s not that long.
She spots the telltale purple, and lifts the covers, half-expecting Rumi to be curled up like a cat underneath somewhere. But there’s nothing there. Just her own-
Those are not her legs.
With a squeak, she scrambles back, and the legs that aren’t hers scramble right along with her, right off the side of the bed. She barely feels the impact before she’s up on her feet, disoriented and spinning around herself to inspect her body.
Long-sleeved sleep shirt, shorts, killer muscles, a waterfall of purple hair, and definitely too much boob. Even her perspective is wrong, it’s a little too high. “What the heck.”
She jumps, looking behind her to see Rumi, but no, Zoey said that. Zoey. In Rumi’s voice.
“Correction: what the fuck?!” She clumsily runs into Rumi’s bathroom, misjudges her leg length, trips over her own feet, and nearly slams face-first into the door. Then, she underestimates the length of her arms, and her hands miss the edge of the sink, and does faceplant on the floor.
“The taller the popstar, the harder they fall…” She groans into the cold tiles, taking a moment to reorient herself. Cautiously, she climbs to her feet, rubbing her aching shoulder. Then, with a deep breath, she closes her eyes. “Okay, come on, this isn’t real.” She pats her face a few times as if to hype herself up, or perhaps to convince her face into taking the right shape. “I’m still dreaming. I’m having a mental breakdown. I’ve finally gone insane due to lack of couch time.”
Zoey looks into the mirror.
Holy forking shirtballs. That’s Rumi’s face. That’s Rumi’s face making the exact expression of shock Zoey knows should be on her own face right now. She touches her cheek, with Rumi’s hand. Experimentally, she searches her neck for a seam, she’s seen Mission Impossible, she knows how this goes.
Nothing.
This is crazy. She has to be dreaming.
She slaps herself.
At least, that’s what she wanted to do. But Rumi is bizarrely strong and Zoey hasn’t quite figured out her proportions yet so instead she ends up pretty much punching herself in the nose.
“FUCK!” She holds her nose, terrified she’s broken it, but miraculously it’s not bleeding. It hurts like a bitch though. She grimaces, probably not dreaming then.
But that means… She’s in Rumi’s body.
Rumi, who is extremely private and shy and modest. Rumi who takes any unplanned distraction from their work as a personal offense. Rumi who just pushed the release of Golden up by a week, slamming their itinerary full of public appearances. Oh boy.
“I can’t be Rumi!” She cries in dismay. Rumi is calm and collected and their leader and always so in control and Zoey cannot belt an A5 there is no way. She will faint. She might die. Everyone will hate her. Oh god she’s going to mess up all the choreography! And the interviews!
She’ll ruin Rumi’s reputation and life and Mira will be so mad and then they’ll fight and meanwhile demons will take over the world and then Celine will be disappointed and oh god she can’t handle this!
Zoey is a woman of many talents. Unfortunately one of said talents is spiraling, and these are ideal conditions. She’s not even making up any doomsday scenarios this time, she’s actually living one! Her anxieties are having a field day and her brain is feeling incredibly vindicated and Zoey is so miserable about it all because now she will never be reasonable ever again.
It’s unclear how much time has passed until she blinks back into reality, curled up on the bathroom floor, all she knows is her hands are cramping from constant clenching, and the chill of the tiles has seeped into her bones.
The thing that cuts through the noise is that, if this is somehow real, she is now the caretaker of Rumi’s body. Meaning she’s responsible for what happens to it, and the last thing she wants to do is hurt her friend, even indirectly. It’s like she’s borrowing a super fragile and one-of-a-kind limited edition action figure from her best friend, but a thousand, no, a billion times worse. Like this is serious. Friendship depends on it serious. Life and death serious. She can’t leave herself rotting on the bathroom floor serious. She can’t ever skip brushing her teeth now serious.
“Okay.” She tries to calm herself down, breathes deeply. “It’s fine. ‘Stop freaking out. This is a thing. That happened. And if a thing happened, it can un-happen. We just gotta figure out what the thing is that happened! I’ll just go talk to…”
Rumi.
Where is Rumi if she’s not in her body.
“Oh… oh no.” Please let her still be here and not like, kidnapped by demons, or her soul held hostage by Gwi-Ma, or worse, turned into a demon, that would be crazy! And devastating. Zoey really doesn’t want to have to kill her. Or hurt her. Or lose her.
Quickly throwing Rumi’s favorite robe on, as if it will hide what’s going on inside of her from the world, Zoey pads to Rumi’s door and puts her ear against it. Nothing. Coast is clear. Bless workaholic schedules. Carefully, she edges the door open. No-one in sight. Nice.
Deep breath. She can do this.
She sneaks her way, best she can, across the penthouse to her own door. Except she’s in the body of someone taller and broader than her, and she hits the corner of their kitchen island with her hip. It doesn’t matter how strong Rumi is, when hitting solid marble bone and muscle do not win.
“Fucking shit fuck ohmygod that hurts.” Zoey doubles over, holding her hip, breathing through the pain.
“Rumi?” Mira’s lanky frame unfolds from the couch, where she’d apparently been slouched, quietly scrolling her phone. She approaches in concern, rubbing bleary eyes, skin the kind of pale she gets with too little sleep and too much on her mind. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing, just hit my stupid broad hips against the stupid counter.” Zoey groans, then freezes. Oh god. Don’t look at her. She’ll know. Don’t talk. Don’t breathe. Just go away. Slowly. Unsuspiciously.
“Ohhhkay…” Mira sounds unconvinced. “You going for an early run? Mind if I join, I want to-”
“No!” Zoey nearly slaps herself again. “That is, I mean, no I don’t mind! But, uh, I actually wasn’t. Going for a run. Yeah I’m gonna…”
What do Rumi and Zoey ever do together? Do they ever even hang out? Do they even know each other? Zoey can’t remember right now. “...write lyrics? With Rumi? Cause she asked? Last night? Yes.”
“Uh,” Mira tilts her head, “...you’re Rumi.”
“Zoey!” She chuckles awkwardly. “I meant Zoey, cause you’re totally right, I am Rumi. Who is going to Zoey right now. Because that’s what we said last night.”
“Are you…good?” Mira’s reaching out to touch her forehead, and for some reason Zoey finds herself immediately flushing. She isn’t Zoey right now. Well, she is, but not to Mira, who’s apparently still herself. She can’t lean in, can’t cover her hand with her own. She takes a quick step back, tries not to wince at the hurt she sees on Mira’s face. It’s fine, Rumi doesn’t always welcome touch, Mira knows that, it’s just gonna be another one of those slightly disappointing moments.
“Oh, psh, no! I’m fine!” Act casual. But not too casual. Rumi’s terrible at casual. “Just a little tired. Rough night, you know.”
Apparently, today is a day where Mira chooses violence. Because instead of retreating after getting burned, like they usually do with Rumi the moment she starts to pull away, she stands her ground. More than stands it. She changes the battlefield. Mira hums, reaching out behind her to tug at a strand of purple. “Your hair is loose.” Is… is Mira leaning into her space? “It’s nice.”
Is Mira flirting right now? With Rumi? Fuck yeah! Go Mira, stepping up her game, making moves, just like they’d been planning. And she had been all worried Rumi wouldn’t be receptive because-
Wait.
No.
She’s Rumi right now! This isn't good, Zoey can't be flirted with for Rumi’s sake, that doesn't work!
She’s kinda into it though…
Mira leans even closer and she squeaks, heart fluttering, and quickly pulls her hair out of Mira’s hands. Abort. Flee. Get away. “I’m braiding it later! My… my arms were tired!”
She’s been on the receiving end of Mira’s skeptical looks plenty, but somehow they never lose their power. “Normally you’re not this… energetic when you’re tired. Did you drink one of Zoey’s energy drinks?”
“Uh, maybe?”
“Yeah, that’ll do it.” Mira snorts. “Pretty sure that’s straight poison.”
“Hey!” Rude.
At Mira’s surprise, she scrambles. “I mean: heeey! That’s probably true! Maybe I should go to the doctor later in case it’s food poisoning! Wouldn’t that be bad, with our schedule?” She laughs. It’s horribly forced. “Okay, I gotta go, don’t worry I’m actually fine though, have a goodrunbyeseeyoulater!”
She powerwalks to her door, knocks performatively,. “Oh Zoeyyyyy! Remember we talked about hanging out this morning for lyrics? I had some more ideas for Takedown!” She waits for a beat, pretends to listen for a response then nods as if she’s hearing some reply. “Yeah that’s right! Coming in now, thaaanks!”
She mouths another hurried bye to Mira, who’s still frowning at her from the kitchen, before slipping in the door. The moment it closes she drops her forehead against it and groans dramatically. “Little Zoey was wrong. I will never be an actor.”
She turns to her own room, still shrouded in early dusk. It’s just as she left it last night, a pile of laundry in one corner, bed full of plushies, stacks of open notebooks with lyrics for Takedown on her desk, the soft glow of an aquarium in the corner. And her body, rolled up into the covers like a burrito, snoring softly.
It’s real. She’s there, and she’s here.
Can the world handle two Zoeys? Can she? Hysterical laughter bubbles up and she barely manages to swallow it back down like bile.
Watching herself sleep feels so weird. A proper, literal out-of-body experience. It would be neat if it wasn’t like the end of the world. She approaches slowly, as if any sudden movement would make her body disappear. For some reason she acutely develops an irrational fear of blinking, because what if this is the last time she sees herself? What if she’s hallucinating and the next time she opens her eyes there’s nothing left? What then?
She sits down gingerly, reaches out, hesitates, then gently touches her own arm. It’s there, solid, real. Somehow that’s worse. She swallows, she could be wrong, but… “Rumi? Rumi, you have to wake up.”
Her body just mumbles something and shifts away. Okay, there is somebody home. That’s good. Probably. Maybe. Unless it’s a demon who will use it for nefarious purposes, like stealing candy from babies and stealing their souls. She really doesn’t want to see herself become a villain, even if she’d probably look hot in-
Focus, she’d never start her villain era without her girls.
“Rumi -or whoever I guess- I’m serious!” She hisses. “This is an emergency!”
“Mmmmfive more minutesss” Maybe-Rumi mumbles, which is profoundly un-Rumi-like behavior. It is, however, extremely Zoey-like. Is she, as in conscious Zoey, the clone? But they put her in the wrong body?
Wait, no, that doesn’t work.
Can souls be cloned?
Or, maybe, the bodyswap, if that is what this is, affects them physically. That would probably explain Zoey’s sudden violent craving for coffee, the dark and bitter kind that she hates.
Zoey just goes over that realization again, and then rolls her eyes at herself. Cause no, duh, absolute genius at work here. The body swap has physical effects. Incredible.
“No, you’re getting up.” Fuck subtlety. She heaves her own body off the bed. With Rumi’s body’s strength it’s surprisingly easy to lift her own weight. She decides to add that off-topic thought-spiral to the queue. “Right the fuck now.”
Maybe-hopefully-Rumi lands with a thud, and Zoey winces sympathetically. Her own butt was going to feel that later. Potentially-Rumi is up in a flash, tripping over the blankets tangled around her legs. “Wha- Who? Demons?”
“No! Not demons! Look at me! Look at yourself!” Zoey frantically gestures at her face.
Probably-Rumi just stares at her blearily for a moment, uncomprehending, before her eyes shoot wide and start darting all over Zoey, mouth falling open. She looks down at herself, struggles the blanket trap away. “W-what-?!”
That seems a reaction appropriate for Rumi, or at least someone who does not belong in her body, points in the bodyswap bracket. “So… who are you?”
In a flurry of movement, hopefully-Rumi summons a weapon and attempts to leap over the bed towards Zoey with a war-cry. Only she misjudges her new body and perspective and instead misplaces her footing, tips forward, manages an awkward roll across the bed, and lands flat on her ass right in front of Zoey. In a graceless scramble she finds her feet and retrieves the weapon from where it embedded itself into one of Zoey’s stuffed animals, brandishing it at her.
“Begone, demon!” She calls, only to do a double-take, cause it’s not her saingeom she’s holding, but… a pitchfork?
“Ohmygod!” Zoey gasps, outraged, completely ignoring the pitchfork because a girl only has so much she can cope with at once, and dropping to her knees before the casualty. “Kyle! Noooo!” She picks up the skewered stuffed turtle with a pout. “Look at what you’ve done!”
“I don’t- What?” farmer-Rumi goes from confrontational to confused, then her free hand flies to her ear. “Why do I sound like Zoey?!”
“Cause you’re in my body, dumbass!” Zoey glares at her. “No weapons in the bedroom!”
Chastized, potentially-Rumi quickly unsummons her pitchfork, hands snapping stiffly to her side. “Uh, sorry.”
Zoey clutches Kyle protectively to her chest and rises back to her feet. She leans forward, chin up, and narrows her eyes, to put on her most intimidating ‘serious Rumi’ impression. “Okay, tell me something only Rumi would know!”
“Why do you look like me?” Suspicious-Rumi protests, taking a step back.
“I don’t look like you, I’m pretty sure I’m in your body, and not in the fun way!” Zoey huffs in frustration. “I know you wanna freak out and you should honestly get like five minutes to process but you could be a demon or a crazy fan with plastic surgery or an assassin in a mask or something so please answer the question.”
“Huh?” Maybe-Rumi is currently distractedly investigating her frazzled black hair. Zoey should’ve really combed it before she went to bed yesterday. “What was the question again?”
Zoey sighs in that long-suffering way Mira does. “Prove it’s you, dummy!”
In that stubborn contrarian way Rumi has, she crosses her arms and sets her jaw. “But how do I know it’s you?”
Okay, yeah, fair point, Zoey hadn’t thought of that. “I guess I do the same, tell you something only I would know?” She thinks for a moment. “Except, if you’re not you, how would you know whether I’m me?”
“I don’t think it matters at that point.” annoying-Rumi replies drily.
“Right, uh…” Both think for a moment.
Zoey grins triumphantly. “Oh! You cry whenever I show you pet rescue videos.”
Conceivably-Rumi frowns. “They’re sad, okay! They didn’t do anything wrong and they’re so confused when someone’s nice to them but they eventually learn to trust again!”
Honestly, Rumi’s a good actor, but not that good. Her reply is so authentically Rumi, she swears she even sees her eyes getting moist. Yeah. She’s convinced, she doesn’t think she needs to hear-
“You bribe Mira to let you win at Mario Kart”
“Wha-” Zoey gapes, affronted, “I resent that accusation, and how do you even know that?”
“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.” Little-shit-Rumi looks smug. Oh if only she knew what they got up to behind closed doors.
Zoey sighs wistfully. If only.
“Okay, well, I think we’ve established that we are each other.” Wait that’s not quite right. “Eh, you know what I mean.” Zoey scratches her face, at least, she tries, but ends up almost poking her eye out. “Geez this keeps happening. Your arms are freakishly long.”
“So… I’m in your body, and you’re in mine?”
“Looks like it.”
“For real?”
Zoey guides Rumi over to her vanity and switches on the lights. They both wince at the brightness, but very quickly Rumi’s distracted by her own reflection. She’s honestly doing a fantastic impression of a fish, Zoey makes a mental note to show her some videos to compare her to later and tease her about it. Except it is kinda rude she’s using Zoey’s face to do it. Trembling hands brush over Zoey’s cheeks, then pull at the skin as if to test if it’s real.
“Hey, gently! Those freckles are worth a million bucks on the internet.” Zoey teases in an awkward attempt to lighten the mood. The only things coming out of Rumi’s mouth are garbled noises of shock and horror as she sinks down into the chair, never looking away from the mirror. There’s a moment where everything is quiet, where Zoey is watching Rumi watch herself, and she gently puts Kyle down to be tended to later, but then they make eye contact, and something in Rumi just… flips.
She stands and whirls on Zoey, something feral in her eyes as she steps close. “Did… How much… How much did you see?”
Zoey recoils, nearly tripping over the pile of blankets Rumi left crumpled on the ground, heart skipping a beat at the sudden intensity. “Whoa, Rumi, can you give me some space?”
Rumi only moves closer, growing more insistent, she takes Zoey’s right arm by the bicep, squeezes too hard. It would feel more threatening if she didn’t look so scared. “Did you look?”
“At what? Rumi, chill, back off.” Zoey pushes her away, it’s almost instinct to escape the grapple, but miscalculates how much strength to use and instead of creating distance, causes Rumi to stumble and fall. With a horrified gasp she immediately moves over to check on Rumi, falling to her knees beside her. “Oh shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to push that hard. Are you okay?”
The expression on Rumi’s face freezes Zoey in her tracks. Whatever is going on, it’s got Rumi absolutely terrified, worse than the episode she just went through. “Rumi? Rumi, can you hear me?”
Zoey knows what a panic attack looks like, she’s had enough of them herself to pick up on the signs, especially in her own body, and Rumi is about to be hit by a bad one. “Rumi, honey, listen to me. Breathe with me, okay? That’s all you gotta do, breathe, nothing else right now.”
Sweat is already forming on her brow, and she’s clawing at her chest, gasping. “Am I dying?”
Mira’s coached her through enough of these to know what to do. “No, Rumi, you’re having a panic attack. It’ll go away by itself, just focus on me, okay?” Zoey removes the robe she’s wearing, Rumi’s favorite, and wraps it around her shoulders, hoping it’ll provide a little comfort. Then she places Rumi’s hand on her chest and holds it there. “Follow my breaths, okay? Five counts in. Hold for five. Out for five. And again.”
Rumi does as she’s told, breaths stuttering as she tries to regain control. Her hand clutches Zoey’s shirt like a lifeline. “I’m getting dizzy.”
“That’s normal, you’ll be okay.” Zoey reassures, mind a whirl under her veneer of calm and steady. She’s seen Rumi stressed, panicked, overwhelmed, but never like this. “It helps to focus on what’s outside of your body. Like, what are you hearing right now?”
Her eyes close, her breathing still following Zoey’s. “I hear… Aquarium… Air conditioning… Wind outside.” A pause. “Ringing in my ears. Your breathing.”
She’s noticeably calming down, but Zoey keeps going, these things aren’t over . “Okay, good, now can you tell me which plushie is your favorite?” She shuffles to the side a little to give Rumi a clear view of her bed. She doesn’t even question it, just furrows her brow in concentration and starts scanning the collection like her life depends on it. It probably feels like it does.
Her hand is only trembling slightly when she points. “That one.”
“Okay, let me get her, I’ll be right back. Keep breathing for me, okay?”
“Okay.”
Zoey swiftly retrieves the stuffed bear and sinks right back down on the floor in front of Rumi. She holds it out. “This is Jungle Cog.”
Rumi lets out a surprised chuckle, and takes the bear carefully.
“I know, it’s a stupid name,” Zoey smiles. “A fan gave her to me when we debuted and he told me her name but I have no idea what language it was so I just… named it the closest thing. She’s been forced to hear all of my terrible lyrics for years.”
“They’re not terrible.” Rumi says quietly, nose pressed into the soft fur. “I like your lyrics.”
Something warm wraps around Zoey’s heart. “Awww, you’re a sweetheart. But trust me, it can get gruesome when I don’t have you two to balance me out.” She consciously leaves out that some of the lyrics she writes are definitely not her usual brand and definitely not for anyone else’s ears but her own.
When Rumi’s attention starts to drift, Zoey carefully touches her leg. She needs to keep her focus away from whatever is making her freak out, and that means keeping her rooted in the tangible. “Can you tell me things you’re noticing? Around you, I mean”
“Uh, yeah.” Rumi thinks for a while, clutching her robe tighter and bear hugged to her chest. It’s maybe a little strange for Zoey to think this, considering the circumstances, but the way she scrunches her nose and squints her eyes in concentration is adorable. “My robe is comfy. The floor is cold. The bear is soft. …You need to do laundry.”
Zoey snorts, gently nudging her knee in indignation. “Wow. Only you would find a way to shame me mid-panic attack.”
Rumi smiles weakly. “Someone has to.”
Uh, no? Zoey cannot let that stand. She’s being a great friend right now and this is the thanks she gets? “Literally no-one does! You’re just being a smartass.” She makes a mental note to do laundry so she gets that proud little smile from Rumi later. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” Rumi hugs the bear closer. “She smells like you. Jungle Cog. It’s nice.”
Rumi isn’t flirting with her. She’s just listing things she’s noticing. She’s doing what Zoey told her to. She’s definitely not intending that to be heard in any way like Zoey wants to hear it. Nope. Just an innocent compliment. No hidden meaning here! No need to blush, it’s fine, just move on.
“Thanks!” Zoey winces at the lame reply. What else could she say though? ‘You too’? Not happening. “Feeling better?”
“Not even a little bit.” Rumi sags, pooling bonelessly onto the floor, hands folded over the bear on her chest, and stares at the ceiling. Zoey joins her with a graceless flop, parallel lines, heads neighbouring, but feet pointed the other way. There are constellations on her ceiling, smatterings of small and big glow in the dark plastic stars recreating the view of the night sky from their tower. It’s accurate, it took her weeks. There’s still a faint remnant of glow to them this early in the morning, struggling against the cool blue sneaking through the edges of the curtains and the warm glow of her vanity.
“Yeah. Panic attacks are a bitch.” Zoey’s had them for years, since high school, since she started swallowing her words and repressing her enthusiasm. When her energy can’t go out, it rubber bands right back in and bounces around in her body like a pinball, making her feel like she’s vibrating out of her own skin. It’s honestly surprising to her that this is Rumi’s first one, with how controlled and uptight she can be, with how stressed she has been lately. But maybe being in Zoey’s body, one wired for overloaded nerves and second-guessing, was the catalyst she’d needed.
“I’m all tingly.” Rumi’s wiggling her fingers and toes.
“Part of the package.” Zoey wants to wrap Rumi in a blanket and feed her snacks and force her to stay in a bubble of comfort for the rest of the day. It’s a nice fantasy. “Your breathing’s better now.”
“Yeah.” Rumi takes another deep breath as if to reinforce that she’s okay, that her lungs are back in control. “Thanks for that.”
“Anytime.” She means it.
They lie in silence, breathing in tandem. For a moment it’s easy to pretend things are normal, well, as normal as they get for kpop stars who are also secretly demon hunters and absolutely drowning in deadlines. Just two women on the floor thinking deep thoughts, as they are wont to do.
Not for the first time, Zoey wonders what’s going through Rumi’s head. Well. Zoey’s head, currently hosting Rumi’s soul.
Anyway.
It’s sometimes so hard to get a read on her with how closed off she is. There are walls that Rumi has probably never lowered, for anyone, and it makes Zoey so sad because they’ve been trying so hard to make her feel safe and comfortable and loved. Sometimes she wants to take Rumi by the cheeks and kiss her silly and sandwich her between Zoey and Mira until she finally relaxes, dammit!
But, one simply can’t force these things.
Eventually Rumi turns to face Zoey, curled on her side, and Zoey watches her from the corner of her eyes. She’s being studied, Rumi’s gaze leaving a trail of warmth on her skin, but it’s not really Zoey she’s looking at. “This is so weird.”
“Tell me about it,” Zoey snorts and turns to mirror Rumi. It feels intimate, the two of them watching each other on the floor, a sort of yin and yang, mirrored in more than one way. Their breathing still matches. “I mean, I knew I looked good from every angle, but damn.”
Rumi nudges her gently with a fist against her shoulder, and rolls her eyes. “You freak.”
“Yeah, but I’m your freak.” Zoey grins at Rumi’s chuckle. The implication, naturally, goes entirely over her head.
Rumi lifts an arm, inspects the hand up close, turning it this way and that. She's inspecting the smattering of freckles Zoey knows is there, watches the play of tendons and curl of fingers. Without being directly looked at Zoey feels like a bug under a microscope, hoping to be interesting enough to warrant further study.
Zoey reaches up and tangles their hands together. Her hand swallows Rumi’s now. It makes her feel odd. “Do you… wanna talk about what just happened?”
“I…” Rumi is suddenly looking everywhere but at her. Zoey squeezes her hand in reassurance. “What did you do when you woke up today?
Zoey frowns. Okay, sure, she can go along with this, she counts with her fingers. “Woke up, realized I was in your body, freaked out in your room for a while. I uh, might have walked into the counter and hurt your hip a little cause your hips are like pfwoah” Zoey holds her hands at an exaggerated distance from each other, pulling Rumi’s hand with her. “I also sortof hit you and everything, uh,” she winces, “sorry. I swear I was making sure I wasn’t dreaming.”
Rumi watches their entwined hands uncertainly. “That’s it?”
“Well, I ran into Mira, and lived, but she definitely thinks that I- uh, you, are sick or something. I did not survive that conversation with my pride intact.”
Rumi doesn’t even react to the possibility that Zoey made things awkward between her and Mira. Normally that would have gotten her a pinch or a despairing sigh or at least an eye-twitch. It’s like she doesn’t care, doesn’t even really register it.
“So you didn’t… you didn’t change my clothes, or, or did anything to…”
Oh.
Zoey understands now.
“No.” She tangles their fingers together. “I haven’t really looked anywhere. I know how you feel about…people seeing you. We’ll have to figure out how to handle that, later, but yeah.” In an attempt at levity, she adds, “I just made sure that this.” She squishes her own cheeks, “wasn’t a mask or something.”
This seems to be exactly what Rumi had been hoping to hear, and her shoulders slump, forehead briefly pressing into the hardwood floor as her eyes close in relief. “Thanks, I… Thanks.”
“No problem.” What’s Rumi hiding that’s so awful? There’s no way this is about modesty, right? Once again, Zoey wonders. Wonders if something happened to Rumi, wonders at Celine’s calculating, knowing looks whenever Rumi pulls away from them, wonders if her questions have answers she can handle knowing. She doesn’t ask, just smiles reassuringly. One thing at a time. “So… the floor huh? Comfier than it looks, good for the spine, a classic choice really. I give it a 5 out of 7.”
Rumi hums distractedly, eyes back to tracing constellations on the ceiling. “That’s not a real scale.”
“You’re not a real scale!” Zoey huffs, mock-offended.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” But Rumi is smiling, and that’s all Zoey wants.
Reluctantly, Zoey untangles their hands and props herself up on her elbow. She doesn’t want to break this fragile little peace they’ve found, but she’d rather have this figured out before rehearsals. “You know, I feel obliged to tell you that you haven’t experienced phase two of the freakout yet, and it’s going to be here at any moment.”
Rumi regards her blankly “Phase two?”
“Yeah.” Here goes. “We’re in each others’ bodies, right?”
“Yeah?” She’d resent Rumi’s suspicious squint if it wasn’t so warranted.
“Sooooo,” Zoey begins slowly, waiting for things to click in Rumi’s mind, “what do we do about it? Who do we-”
Rumi’s on her feet like a rocket. “Oh my god. What do we do?! Do we tell people?”
“Aaand welcome to phase two.” Zoey mumbles, watching Rumi begin to pace in a frenzy.
“Oh god we’re in the middle of promotions, we have interviews and a song to write and” Rumi realizes with a gasp, “the Idol Awards! The Honmoon! Jinu!”
“Uh, Jinu?” Zoey scoffs. “What the hell does he matter right now?!”
“Don’t worry about it, I meant the Saja Boys! In general!”
Sure yeah okay Rumi. Zoey’s got a mind to make a pointed comment about Rumi’s weird behavior regarding Jinu lately, but she’s back to pacing and freaking out and whispering about ‘the fans’ and ‘choreography’ and ‘scheduling’.
“Okay, time for the second five minute freakout. Good luck.” Zoey flops down on her bed and lays an arm across her eyes. Maybe if she manifests hard enough, the day resets and she wakes up right. Or she just surrenders to it. Maybe that’s it, just pretend it's real, or like she’s playing a roleplaying game. Roll with the punches. So if it’s not real, wow, nice, yaaaay pleasant surprise! And if it is, she won’t do anything stupid like try to peel her skin off to see if it’s a suit.
Who is she kidding, she’s going to be freaking out about this for years. Accept her fate?? No way, she’s going to do what she does best: overthink, overreact, and get overwhelmed. Probably while Rumi does her refuse, reject, retreat routine.
The freakout Rumi is experiencing involves a lot of very loud thinking, but thankfully not another panic attack, and she’d gone from pacing to absolutely zero movement, facing the wall point-blank like cats sometimes do. She swears that sometimes, when she looks at Rumi, she just barely catches her quickly turning away. As if she’d been staring at Zoey. Maybe she’s making sure Zoey hasn’t fled the room or stripped naked or become a demon or something. Or maybe she needs to make sure that, yeah, it’s real, and it’s insane. Either way, it’s giving Zoey the creeps, and the waiting is driving Zoey insane. She flops on her bed, flops over again, and again, but her limbs are restless and her brain is worse and she feels like she’s chugged a bucket of energy drink. So she starts to move around, testing her balance, inspecting her legs, moving through a bunch of their combat drills with varying success.
It’s weird, she’s used to being energetic, used to fidgeting and moving and feeling anxious and needing to get rid of energy. This is… similar, but different. It’s like there’s something restless inside of her, it feels darker, heavier, something slumbering. Ready to wake if she’s not careful. It feels less like she’s drifting up and more like being pulled down.
Every time Rumi mumbles something to herself, she perks up, only to see Rumi’s eyes still glazed over in dissociation and get disappointed.
“Hey Rumi,” she tries, balancing in a tree-pose, “your feet are weirdly small for how tall you are.”
Nothing.
“Hey Rumi,” She does a shitty cartwheel, and gets tangled in an absolute deluge of purple hair, “your hair is insane how do you deal with this every day?”
Nada.
“Hey Rumi, look, you can flip your tongue sideways, you’ve just been doing it wrong this whole time!” Zoey demonstrates it proudly.
Zilch.
“Hey Rumi,” Zoey says, inspecting herself in her vanity mirror, “did you know you have fantastic boobs?”
Somebody call Kelvin she just found a new absolute zero.
Eventually she just flops down again and slowly melts off the side of the bed, head first, and inches towards Rumi’s feet, eyes on the ceiling but seeing none of it. “This sucks, what the fuck.”
A soft surprised snort, and she turns her head to see Rumi looking down at her, confused but smiling indulgently.
Zoey smiles back, stretching out her arms and making grabby hands for Rumi to help her stand. “Welcome back. Phase two complete?”
She’s pulled to her feet and dusted off, suppressing an amused giggle at Rumi’s absent-minded caretaking. “I can hear you think, you know. Got something good?”
“Okay.” Rumi takes a deep breath. “Okay, we need a plan.”
“Oh, yeah,” Zoey immediately hones in, focus time, “definitely, like, okay, what about the Idol Awards? Like, I know this body can belt an A5 but can I? You’ll have to walk me through it.” Zoey begins to pace, mind shifting into high gear. “And the choreo, maybe we can justify a ‘switch’, make it part of the show, but we’ll have to talk to Mira. And we should figure out what to tell Bobby. And the talkshows! Do we switch our answers or just do what we rehearsed? What about personal questions?”
“Uh I was hoping to fix this before the Idol Awards.” Rumi hugs herself, startles a little when she touches the sleeve of her- Zoey’s t-shirt. Which like, yeah Zoey’s arms don’t look like they can lift a car way to make her feel good about it. “Can we even turn the Honmoon gold like this?”
Zoey deflates. “Right, yeah, okay, but fix this how? What even caused this to happen? Like I’d love to but we have no idea-” Lightning strikes in her brain. “That’s it! We go to Celine! This has to be a demon or Honmoon thing. That, or” Zoey taps her chin, “I know a doctor that can fix anything, like, voices, relationships…”
“Bodyswaps?” Rumi raises a skeptical eyebrow.
Zoey shrugs helplessly. “Mm? Worth a shot?”
Rumi shakes her head, lips pursed in thought. “I don’t know, Zoey. This feels supernatural to me, I doubt some normal doctor will understand what’s going on.”
“We’re demon hunters!” Zoey throws up her hands in frustration. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m stumped.” Her stomach growls. Loudly. Right, Rumi gets insanely grumpy if she doesn’t eat breakfast, something Zoey is emphatically experiencing right now. “And hungry. Breakfast, then plan?”
“Zoey…” There’s a protest forming on Rumi’s lips, because much like Mira, leaving things unsolved for longer than they need to be is, like, unbearable to her. If it concerns work, that is, personal issues are generally conveniently ignored for as long as she can get away with.
So, Zoey puts her foot down. “No, we’re eating. Trust me, my brain is going to get really mean to you if you don’t feed it. And your stomach is so empty it’s starting to consume my soul. We can’t make good choices like this.”
Rumi reluctantly acquiesces, trudging after Zoey as she makes for the door. They only get partway before Zoey realizes- “Uh, what do we tell Mira.”
“Do we tell Mira?”
Zoey frowns. “Yeah? Why wouldn’t we? If we’re going to actually figure this out, she should be there with us, right? We need people in our corner right now. And I don’t know about you, but there’s no way I can convincingly lie to her for more than like, one minute.”
“Yeah… Yeah, you’re right.” Rumi sounds suspiciously unconvinced. Hurt bubbles up in Zoey’s chest at the implication that she doesn’t trust Mira enough to tell her without Zoey’s encouragement. But then Rumi runs a bracing hand through her hair, startling a little when she reaches the end of its length much more quickly than she’s used to, and smiles that small determined smile she always gives them before they absolutely go kill a performance. “Together?”
“Together.” Zoey grins, and takes her hand.