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The first time it happens, Rumi is eleven. Celine is leading the two of them through the forest for some kind of training exercise when she asks, apropos of nothing, “Rumi, do you know what sex is?”
Rumi trips and splutters. She knows, right? Images flash through her mind of adults tangled in sheets doing…doing something. “I-uh. Celine, do we have to have this conversation?”
“We do.” Celine keeps walking, eyes straight ahead. Nothing in the books prepared her for just how awkward this conversation was going to be. “You’re growing up, Rumi. Your body’s changing.” She wishes Miyeong were here. She would know what to say, surely. Because you’re growing up is the best reasoning she can give? Really, Celine?
“Celine, I already know about puberty. Plus, you gave me that book,” whining, Rumi wraps her arms around herself. Her ears are burning up and she’s sure her face is red like a tomato.
“Well, part of puberty is your body preparing for sex.”
“Celine!” If Rumi has to hear the word “sex” come out of Celine’s mouth one more time, she will run off into the forest, demon hunting and idol career be damned. She can totally survive alone in the wilderness. She’s eleven, she’s not a baby. Celine’s been teaching her how to use weapons since she could walk.
Celine turns around, sees the look on Rumi’s face, and immediately looks ahead again, still forging ahead. “This is important Rumi. And I’d much rather you learn this from me than pornography.”
This shuts Rumi up. Good. Celine is frazzled enough as it is. She doesn’t have the brain power or the energy (quite frankly, she doesn’t think anyone does) to successfully convey this information with the appropriate authority and deal with Rumi’s adolescent angst at the same time.
“First off,” Celine’s voice cuts through the sounds of the forest, strained and incongruous with the chirping birds and wind-rustled leaves, “I know we’ve talked about it, but no one should ever touch you in a way that makes you uncomfortable, okay? You should only have sex—in the future for the record! Hopefully the far, distant future,” she mutters the last part under her breath. Clearing her throat, she continues, “only have sex with someone you trust.
“Second, sex can come in many forms, but I’m mostly going to talk about the purely reproductive angle. That sex happens when a penis goes inside a vagina.” Celine listens for the tell-tale signs that Rumi is still following her. Yes, that is why she’s stopped talking, not at all because she needs to ground herself. She definitely does not want to run so deep into the forest no one can ever find her. She is definitely handling this well. Definitely.
If only the earth could swallow Rumi whole right now. Tether her in place so she can’t keep following Celine and hearing this. People actually do that? And they like it? People put their. In other people’s. On purpose?! Why? Oh no, Celine’s talking again.
“This can lead to pregnancy if sperm that ejaculates from the penis travels up past the vagina and fertilizes an egg. The only way to avoid pregnancy with a 100% success rate is abstinence, but other methods, like condoms and birth control, work well too. If you have this type of sex, use multiple forms of protection. I am too young to raise you and another baby. There are options in the case of an unwanted pregnancy, but please try to avoid giving me more premature grey hairs.”
“That’s why ducks are like that!” Is Rumi’s knee-jerk reaction. Celine almost trips. “Male ducks have corkscrew penises, and female ducks’ vaginas curve in the opposite direction,” she says when Celine turns and looks at her, confused.
“I, yes.” Is that true? How the fuck does Rumi know that? She really needs to pay better attention to what animal documentaries that kid is watching. “That probably helps facilitate breeding.”
Breeding. Right. Rumi’s legs stop moving as her brain finally catches up to her mouth. This can lead to pregnancy if—oh. Oh no. That means Rumi parents—if she exists, then that means. That means her parents. That means. Her parents. Had sex. Her dad put his penis inside her mom. Her grandparents had sex at some point. Celine’s parents had sex at some point.
While Rumi short circuits, Celine tries her best not to have a meltdown of her own. She knows what Rumi’s silence means. Knows what it means she’s realizing about her parents. About how she came to be. She can do this. The hard part is over. The fact that she can’t turn around and look Rumi directly in the eyes is fine. She’s fine. It’s all fine.
“Why do people have sex?” Why did my parents have sex is what they both know Rumi means. Why did they do it if they knew the risk? Did they know it would lead to both of their deaths? Did they know it would lead to Rumi?
Celine spoke too soon. This part is harder. Infinitely so with her heart squeezing in her chest as if she lost Miyeong yesterday, not over a decade ago. “Sex can be,” she starts slowly, each word drawn out, “a way people show that they care about each other.” This will be what breaks her. Thinking of Miyeong and him together like this. Remembering back before—. “It can be an act of love and trust, of both physical and emotional intimacy and vulnerability. In all of its forms, sex is supposed to feel good.”
Rumi goes quiet, but in a contemplative way, not an existential crisis way. Celine can recognize the difference, can feel it. The silence settles between them as they start walking again.
“It feels good?”
“It should.”
Rumi can’t imagine that’s true. “How?” She asks incredulously.
Oh no. Okay, keep it neutral, Celine. Drudge up your limited knowledge of human physiology from the depths of your brain and don’t freak out the kid.
“Ideally, you’re stimulating nerves in a way that causes pleasurable sensations. Most people with vulvas get most sexual pleasure from their clitoris, which is most accessible via a small nub towards the top of the vulva. The penis is more sensitive at the tip, but the whole length experiences pleasure. Often this leads to an intense sensation called an orgasm. You can get the same pleasure by touching yourself.” Oh great, now she’s brought up masturbation. Way to go, Celine. This is a conversation she’s even less prepared for. Maybe she can backtrack. Pretend she didn’t say that. But Rumi’s smart: she’d just use the internet. That would probably be worse than whatever this is about to be.
It’s her own fault for bringing it up. All this media training, and for what? Rumi is about the age though, and it’s better to do this now than wait until Celine walks in on something she doesn’t want to see.
“It’s perfectly natural to touch yourself.”
”Celine!” Rumi wants to cover her ears, close her eyes, and pretend this never happened. Maybe this is all just a terrible nightmare and she’ll wake up never having had this conversation. She had a hard enough time when they discussed periods and training bras, and now Celine is forcing her to think about her body and how it feels. Sure, she’s maybe read a little bit online about why she feels like that sometimes, but she definitely does not need Celine to tell her about it. Celine is basically her eomma!
“It is natural, Rumi.” Seemingly unaware of Rumi’s distress, Celine carries on. “It’s something that should be done in private, like your bedroom or the bathroom, but there’s nothing wrong or shameful about it.”
The blood pounding in Rumi’s ears says otherwise, but Celine’s words mollify something inside her.
“Do you have any questions?” Celine’s voice comes out soft and searching, with a vulnerability Rumi rarely sees. Oh. This is affecting her too. Rumi realizes with sudden clarity that this is difficult for Celine. Is she difficult for Celine? She forces that thought down and takes a deep breath before answering.
“No.”
Celine nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer. “If you ever have any, you can always ask me, okay, Rumi-ya? I’m always here to talk if you want.”
Rumi hums in a sound of noncommittal understanding. She does not want a repeat of this conversation later.
And if she gets her way, this won’t happen ever again.
It’s even more embarrassing the second time, because now Rumi’s in her twenties, and Celine walks in on…Rumi doesn’t even want to think about what Celine walked in on.
Rumi had been sitting on the couch, Mira’s lips on hers, while Zoey nipped at her neck. Their hands had roamed all over each other, dipping under hoodies and t-shirts and grazing over sweatpants. They’d figured it was safe given that Bobby and their staff took Sundays off and Celine never came to visit without advance notice.
So Rumi was moaning, her tongue in Mira’s mouth and both hands skimming Zoey’s chest, bare under her top, when all three girls heard a crash. Instantly, they whipped around, weapons out, to find Celine standing in their foyer. Their mentor stared slack-jawed, the metal tin she’d dropped forgotten, as her eyes went back and forth between the three of them.
Which is why they’re here now. Sitting on Rumi’s bed with a good half meter between them, refusing to look at each other. Celine didn’t even know she’s bi and likes girls, let alone that she’s dating two who happen to also be her bandmates and fellow hunters, until about ten minutes ago; and her first exposure to that fact was them making out. Speaking of her girlfriends, Zoey and Mira are nowhere to be seen (the traitors). Rumi is so getting them back for this later.
“So,” Celine starts, clearing her throat several times. Her hands seem to be perpetually combing through her hair as she sucks in a breath and asks, “you, Mira, and Zoey?”
Rumi nods.
“How long?”
“A couple months.”
“That’s all?”
It’s Rumi’s turn to stare. She turns her head in disbelief. “What do you mean, “that’s all,” Celine?”
“Rumi, you’ve been in love with each other since before your debut.”
“I—WHAT?? Why didn’t you say anything?” Rumi buries her face in her hands, so her next words come out muffled. “Oh my god this is it. This is how I die.”
“Rumi.”
“Sorry. Too soon. Got it.”
Gently, Celine puts a hand on Rumi’s exposed shoulder. “I thought the three of you would figure it out. Look,” she removes her hand and places it in her lap, fidgeting, “I know we talked about sex when you were younger, but that was more of a hypothetical, practical, “please don’t be a teen mom or I might die of a heart attack” conversation. You’re an adult now, and in a real relationship, so we should probably have a more serious talk.”
Rumi’s patterns flicker a deep maroon. “Eomma!” She doesn’t let that title slip out often. Celine had never wanted to replace Miyeong and she’d always made it clear that Rumi had a mom. Still, Celine’s the one that raised her, and sometimes when she’s especially flustered it just comes out of her mouth.
It simultaneously makes Celine preen and cringe with guilt. Rumi’s real eomma would know what to do. She always did. She would have figured out how to have this conversation without wanting to melt into the floor.
Celine is too emotionally constipated for this. Her thoughts are running a mile a minute because. She just witnessed the woman she raised as her daughter deep throating another woman with her tongue while groping a third woman, and Celine practically considers those two other women her daughters too. Not to mention that she runs the label they’re all signed under so she’s technically their boss. Rumi is an adult now but still! Celine could have happily gone her whole life without witnessing Rumi so much as kiss another person, let alone whatever it is she walked in on. What happened to privacy? And in the living room? Right where anyone could walk in?? So, having this conversation is the responsible thing to do, right? It’s the parent thing to do, surely, to show Rumi that she really does love and cherish all of her. She’s done this before. Once, but that’s still previous experience. She can do it again. So why are her fingers practically digging into her scalp? Get it together, Celine.
Should she acknowledge the fact that Rumi is attracted to women? That’s a minefield she’s not equipped to touch. Obviously, she’s supportive, but is it too much to outright say it? Should she just ignore it all together, or will Rumi think she wants her to hide a part of herself again? She is not cut out for this, even twenty-plus years in.
Not for the first time, Celine silently curses Miyeong for dying and leaving her alone in this. What actually leaves her mouth is, “so do Zoey and Mira treat you well? Respect your boundaries? Sexual and otherwise.”
“I, uh, yes.” Rumi turns bright pink, patterns and all, and it’s rather endearing. “Yes to all of the above.”
“Good,” desperately trying to calm her heartbeat, Celine feigns composure, “because consent isn’t just “sexy,” as the internet says, but necessary.”
Celine should not know what the internet finds sexy. Oh my god, has she seen the thirst tweets about her and the other Sunlight Sisters? What else does Celine know about the World Wide Web? If it were possible, smoke would be pouring out of Rumi’s ears. It’s not, so she settles for grabbing a pillow off her bed and hugging it to herself. It helps. Mildly.
“And women can give other women STIs, so I hope you’re all being safe. I know finger cots and dental dams aren’t popular, but if there’s even a chance that one of you isn’t clean…one, you should all get tested. And two, it’s better safe than sorry with barriers. The same goes for sex toys and condoms, by the way. What am I even saying, you should all get tested regularly anyway.” Celine is rambling now, but if she stops and thinks she might actually combust.
“Celine…”
“I don’t know what your situation with Mira and Zoey is, but please remember to use protection if there is ever a penis going anywhere near a vagina.” She holds up a hand, knowing without even looking that Rumi’s opening her mouth to speak again. Celine might have a stroke if Rumi interrupts. She can already picture the headlines: Song Celine Dies From Giving Ryu Rumi The Sex Talk. “Condoms at a minimum, Rumi—yes, I know you have an IUD, but STIs are still a thing. Also, anything that goes in an anus should not go in any other hole without thorough cleaning first. Lube is your friend, but only water or silicone-based lube should go around a vulva.” She turns and gives Rumi a stern look with that one, eyes narrowing further when she zeroes in on her neck.
For her part, Rumi can’t help but stare at Celine as she prattles on. Celine looks every bit as mortified as Rumi feels. Her normally perfect hair is unkempt from how much she’s been playing with it and her neck is an unusual shade of pink. Neither of them is built for conversations like this. Despite this, words keep spilling out of Celine’s mouth. Rumi couldn’t stop her even if she tried, and she is trying. Desperately.
“I’ll let you girls decide if you want to reveal your relationship to the public or not. But if you don’t, please remember that you’re all public figures. I know you’re on hiatus, but any of the staff could walk in and people can still notice hickeys, Rumi.”
“What?!” Eyes bugging out of her head, Rumi attempts to pull her shirt up to cover herself to no avail. Because, duh, t-shirt. No, this can’t be happening. Nope, she’s died and this is hell. Because Rumi knows it’s not just one hickey, there’s several, some days old, some less than an hour. Still, she doesn’t want Celine knowing that. No one, but especially not Celine, needs to know how much she enjoys it when her girlfriends mark her up. If she survives this conversation she is actually going to murder Zoey for making them so obvious. “That’s not, we—“
Celine levels her with a look that screams “really?” and Rumi has the decency to look chastised. “Rumi, I’m not a prude. I know what hickeys look like—your mom and I used to hide them all the time. I’m just saying, if your partners are going to leave marks, they should either be somewhere where the public can’t see, or you need to get really good with concealer.”
Your mom and I used to, no. Absolutely not. Rumi can’t even begin to unpack that statement right now. Celine and her mom? No, she’s probably just interpreting that wrong. Her mom and Celine?? There’s actually no way, her mom slept with her dad, so there’s no way, right? Because. Song Celine and Ryu Miyeong of the Sunlight Sisters??? Is that how Celine knows all this stuff about sex? Do NOT think about Celine potentially having sex with your dead mom. Great, now the thought is in her head. Of Celine and her mom nak—Don’t! Noooooo. Bad Rumi. No. Bad thought. Rumi’s head nods robotically, barely comprehending what Celine is saying.
“Any questions?”
Those words in Celine’s CEO voice finally bring Rumi out of her stupor. Her entire body is flushed and hot, and not even in a fun way. She’s still off-balance, vulnerable enough that her true, unfiltered thoughts pop out, “I’m a virgin.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” She fills the awkward silence that follows with, “I don’t want to be!”
Why, WHY, whyyyyyy would she say that? What in the media training since she could talk was that, Ryu Rumi? And to Celine of all people?? If the mortification doesn’t kill her, nothing in this mortal world will.
“That’s normal for someone your age. Not that it would be abnormal if you didn’t want to have sex ever! Do you feel…ready to have sex with them?”
“I—yes? Yes. I just…” Rumi takes a deep breath. She can’t believe she’s about to ask this. Her words fly out in a rush as she exhales, “how do I tell them I want them to be my first time?”
That snaps Celine back to reality. For the first time in this whole conversation, she turns to fully face Rumi and softens. Taking Rumi’s hands into her own, she looks into her eyes with nothing but sincerity. “Just be honest with them, Rumi-ya. I know that’s hypocritical at best, coming from me,” she chuckles self-deprecatingly. “But, I promise that Zoey and Mira won’t judge you for this. I’ve seen the way they look at you like you’re their whole world. But don’t let anyone pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. Ever. Even if you’re actively having sex. You can always change your mind. Understand?”
“I do.” With a start, Rumi realizes just how deeply Celine cares about this—about her wellbeing, sexual and otherwise. Her words have been nothing but supportive; there hasn’t been even a whisper of judgement either. A strange sense of elation bubbles in her chest. “I love you,” she blurts out.
During the sex talk is possibly the worst time anyone has ever said those words. Worse, they’ve never said it aloud to each other before. It’s been implied, through every “you did good today,” every childhood drawing still on Celine’s fridge, and every time Celine brings Rumi cut fruit or her favorite foods “just because.” But despite their vocal talents, they’ve never vocalized those three words. It’s an unspoken line they don’t cross. They almost did, the night Rumi asked Celine to end her life. But they didn’t, and they haven’t addressed the word since.
There’s silence. It stretches on for too long and fear begins to creep up the back of Rumi’s brain. What if Celine doesn’t love her back? What if all of this is some sort of obligation, what if Rumi is just an obligation to Celine? What if she lied that night?
Then she hears a shaky breath and realizes Celine is holding back tears. “I love you too,” Celine chokes, overcome with emotion. “You are the most important person in the world to me, Rumi. I love you—all of you. I would let the world burn if it kept you safe.”
In the back of her throat, Rumi’s breath hitches. That admission should probably terrify her, but it fills her with warmth instead. It’s the warmth of coming in from the snow to a crackling fire, of fresh tea and hot soup and a sunny spring day. She needed to hear those words. She needs to hear them again.
It’s as if Celine reads Rumi’s thoughts, because she whispers, “I love you, Rumi. I should have told you when you were younger. There is nothing I want more than for you to be happy and safe, and I can tell Mira and Zoey make you feel both.”
The next thing Rumi knows, she’s burrowed into Celine’s chest, head tucked under her chin. Celine returns her embrace, rubbing one hand up and down her back soothingly. Rumi flushes. She hasn’t clung to her mother-figure like this since she was a child.
“I’m sorry you had to walk in on that,” Rumi mumbles. Her ears burn at the memory of Celine’s slack-jawed expression.
Celine presses a kiss to the top of Rumi’s head. She remembers what it was like when she was Rumi’s age—the late night giggles, the heated kisses, and the fear of being caught. Sure, people are more progressive these days, but still. Idols aren’t “supposed” to date. Idols who are queer? Almost unheard of. Yet, Rumi doesn’t seem ashamed. Celine is proud of her. She always is, but she’s especially proud of her for this. Rumi was raised in the spotlight (Celine still wrestles with whether she made the right decision with that one) and buried an integral part of herself her entire life (she knows she was wrong about that one, but at the time it seemed like the only way), but she hasn’t tried to deny what Mira and Zoey are to her.
“It’s not an issue, Rumi,” Celine says. “I was just surprised—I know I usually text before I come over – and I will next time – but it slipped my mind. As much as I don’t want to see that again,” she pulls back to give Rumi a serious look, “I’m glad that you’re happy and comfortable enough with Zoey and Mira to do…things like that.”
“Thanks, Celine.” The color on Rumi’s face rivals gochujang.
“You’re welcome.” Suddenly self-conscious, Celine straightens, still keeping a hand on Rumi’s arm. She can’t handle more emotions today. “I can get you some reading materials or call your doctor if you want more information.”
Rumi shoots off the bed, and Celine swears she jumps at least a meter up. “N-no! No thank you, I’m okay.”
“I’m also here if you ever want to talk about anything else.”
“I—uh yes. Sure.”
“Good,” clapping her hands, Celine stands, “I need to get going, so you can tell Mira and Zoey it’s safe to come back now. I made kimbap for you and the girls.”
Rumi’s patterns glow a happy yellow at those words.
“And tell them we’re having dinner soon so they understand what happens if they ever hurt you.”
“Eomma!”