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Rumi realizes— perhaps a little too late— that this is a compromising pose she’s in.
Sitting on the edge of her bed holding her saingeom that’s pointed directly at her chest. If anyone walked in, it’d be a mess of fumbling explanations and I’m sorry, it isn’t what you think. I was just looking at it.
Which isn’t technically a lie. She was just looking at it.
Appreciating it, actually. The craftsmanship of the blade is incredible. Her old honmoon forged sword was marvelous, yes— Rumi would even say that it’s the best looking compared to her partners Gok-do and Shin-kals, but she thinks Mira and Zoey would rip her apart, respectively.
And really, she hadn’t had a chance to examine it. Not since Jinu died. She doesn’t like thinking about that. Doesn’t like thinking about how the blade was forged with Jinu’s soul. It sounds ridiculous to say aloud. Yeah, my sword is made from my dead fling whom I feel no true love for, anyways.
It’s a sharp, painful reminder of everything she’s tried to forget.
So yes, she’s just looking at it. She doesn’t mind the precarious situation she’s in. The holt is comfortable, too comfortable. It fits in her hands perfectly. It’s lightweight despite how heavy it looks. It’s fit for her. It’s perfect.
She’s just admiring it. She isn’t thinking about doing anything to herself because she wouldn’t do that, not now. She’s better. She’s improving. Rumi doesn’t think about driving it through her chest or jumping off of her balcony. Rumi doesn’t think about that because she’s gotten better.
She’s just admiring it.
That’s why it’s so disorienting, so terrifying, when a disembodied voice shouts, out of nowhere: “Woah, woah, woah, hey! Don’t do that! “Put it down! Put it down right now!”
Rumi screams. She flinches violently and her saingeom flies across the room. It lodges itself into the wall with a resounding thud. Her chest heaves. Her thoughts are moving a thousand miles per hour because she recognizes that voice and that isn’t possible. That can’t be possible. It’s impossible.
“Okay, okay, god— my head is spinning, okay,” The disembodied voice says. He retches for a moment, clears his throat. “Okay, okay. I’m good. I’m good. Jeez… If I’m gonna be stuck in here forever, I’d really rather not be flung around like a boomerang.”
Rumi thinks she’s losing her mind.
“Aren’t you supposed to be a hunter? Aren’t hunters supposed to be graceful or whatever? That wasn’t very graceful, Rumi.”
Rumi is certain her mind is lost.
“Also… the choo-choo pants? Again? We talked about this.”
Rumi has lost her mind.
It can’t be. Jinu’s dead. He was killed. Rumi saw it before her own eyes— his soul absorbed into her saingeom and manifested into a new blade. It’d be impossible for him to survive. Rumi has finally lost it. She’s insane. Crazed. Batshit; whatever you call it.
“…Jinu?” She whispers, despite it all. “Is that really you?”
“Of course it is, who else would be in your sword?”
Rumi opens her mouth to speak.
She’s interrupted by several knocks on her door. She blanches, panics, scrambles to do something, anything. Her saingeom demantifests itself, unraveling into golden threads and dissolving into the air, into the honmoon.
Rumi flounders, blinks. What? How? I didn’t even—
The door is practically kicked open. Rumi forgot she locked it. She always locks it. She doesn’t like people in her room. It’s her sanctuary, her safe-space. She doesn’t like feeling as if that’s invaded. Mira and Zoey aren’t usually allowed inside and they respect that boundary. But considering she did just scream at the top of her lungs, she isn’t too bothered that they would’ve barged in.
“Rumi!” Zoey looks breathless. She’s wearing her headset and pajamas. Mira, a bathrobe. Rumi feels bad for disturbing them. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
How does she even explain what happened? Oh yeah, Jinu’s actually alive and trapped inside my sword. Also, I found this out because I was slightly suicidal. Sorry!
The explanation doesn’t make any sense because the situation doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. It’s borderline unfathomable.
So, Rumi does what she knows best: lie. “I’m okay, I’m okay, just a little… howl, for. Pleasure.”
It isn’t a good lie. Mira squints at her. Rumi doesn’t know if it’s to analyze her or if it’s because Mira apparently forgot her glasses in her haste or both.
“A howl for pleasure? What does that even mean?” Mira asks, incredulous.
“I’ve been screaming a lot.” Rumi says. It isn’t a lie. She really has been screaming often, mostly into her pillow. They know this. They don’t question it. “I should’ve used a pillow. I’m really sorry for worrying you guys. I’m okay— don’t give me that look, Zoey, I’m fine. I really, really am.”
They don’t look convinced. Zoey’s eyebrows are quirked in trepidation. She’s fiddling with the cord of her headset. Mira’s expression is a little more reserved compared to Zoey’s. It’s a mere frown.
Rumi, admittedly, is leveraging their anxiety surrounding coddling her to her advantage, currently. She doesn’t want to be tiptoed around like a frightened, wounded animal. She doesn’t want her agency stripped from her. They know this. They respect this. She’s the same Rumi she’s always been.
(Even if she doesn’t feel like it.)
Her voice softens. “I’m fine, girls,” she gives them that smile that’s only reserved for them— wide and giddy, unnatural yet all-natural. “I’m okay. I promise.”
That seems to relax them, if only a little. They’re clearly not satisfied but they don’t want to poke. Mira especially huffs.
“Well… if you say so,” Zoey says, giving her a small, anxious smile. “You’d tell us if you need anything, right? Would you?”
“Of course.”
“Are you sure? You’ll, like, be okay in here when we leave?”
She gives an O-KAY sign. “One hundred percent.”
Zoey gives one back.
Mira looks between them. After prolonged silence, she returns the gesture.
“Refrain from howling with pleasure anymore tonight, thanks,” Mira says, heading out the door. “Come to bed soon. It’s too cold without you.”
Zoey follows out. Not without saying “I love you! Please get some sleep. And seriously, don’t scream like that again! Like, between the Redbulls and that, I don’t know how much more my heart can take. I’ll die. I’ll be dead. It’ll be dead Zoey in the room over.”
“That’d be really terrible, I think.”
Zoey merely huffs in amusement. She closes the door behind once.
Rumi’s smile falters and drops. She feels unstable, woobly. Her knees tremble. She sits on the edge of her bed. She rubs her face. What is happening to her? What is this? This is nonsense, complete nonsense. Should she— should she call Celine? She doesn’t know how much help she’ll be, but it’s a comforting thought.
She repeats to herself. This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.
The honmoon pulses. Between her fingers, she notices golden threads weaving itself into something. Her saingeom. Rumi didn’t summon it. It’s just appearing by itself, somehow. It glows and falls. Rumi instinctively catches it before it clatters to the ground.
In its blade, only under the right angle, does even the slightest glimpse of Jinu show. He looks human. Is he masquerading? Or did his soul being consumed by her saingeom somehow turn him human again?
Rumi doesn’t know. She doesn't know if she wants to know.
Jinu looks surprised but his expression is twinged with something. Rumi’s seen it plenty before. Disappointment. “You’re still lying to them? After everything?”
For a beat, it’s quiet.
Then, Rumi laughs in disbelief.
“No, no, no, no, no, no. You don’t get to sit here and preach to me about honesty. You’re not even real.” She says. “God, I’ve finally lost it. I’ve lost my mind. I’m crazy— I mean, I knew I wasn’t too normal but this... Is this— is this psychosis?”
“Psychosis?”
“That’s what my therapist said.” Rumi says offhandedly. “I’ve gotta call her. I’ve gotta—Wait, no, fuck, it’s 8:00, she won’t even answer—“
“Out of everything, this is too far-fetched for you?”
He’s right. She hates that he’s right.
“You shouldn’t even be here.” Rumi whispers, frustrated. “You sacrificed yourself. You are absorbed into my sword. You should be dead.”
“Exactly, I was absorbed into it.” He says. Then, he quiets down, vulnerable, “I… I thought I’d died my final death, too, but it seems as if I’m trapped in the space between worlds.”
“Worlds?”
“The honmoon and demon world.”
Rumi studies his face. Searches to see if he’s deceiving her, if he’s joking, pulling her leg. It’d be ill-timed but it’s all she can think of. There’s nothing. He’s frowning, contemplative, yet calm, content. It isn’t a joke.
Rumi straightens her posture. She takes a deep breath.
Oh my god, she thinks. Jinu’s in purgatory.
Jinu shuts it down immediately. “Don’t start panicking.” He warns. “I know what you’re thinking. This place, it’s… I don’t know what to call it. It’s peaceful, like an old therebefore. I don’t feel anything now. I don’t hear Gwi-Ma anymore.”
Rumi turns her head.
“…You don’t hear Gwi-Ma?”
A beat. “His voice was vanquished the moment I was fully absorbed into your blade.”
Then, he smiles. It’s a fond, gentle smile, one you’d bear whenever you’re recalling a distant memory. It’s tainted, however, by sorrow, and it threatens his expression.
“I haven’t felt peace in centuries. I… I don’t know how to feel, or— I should rephrase it, I don’t know what to feel. I thought I’d feel relieved when his voice disappeared, but when you’ve dealt with something for so long, even if it’s destroying you at your very core… It feels strange to be without it.”
Rumi’s face falls. “Jinu…”
“But it’s not about me,” Jinu quickly adds. “What were you doing with your sword?”
“I was just examining it.”
“For far too long.”
“I haven’t gotten the chance to appreciate your handiwork, thank you.”
“You were going to hurt yourself, weren’t you?”
Rumi is starting to get worked up. “That’s none of your business.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Yeah, like you’d care.”
“I care about you.”
Rumi thinks about Jinu’s exploitation of her insecurities and how he publicly humiliated her— how the Saja boys worked to destroy Huntrix and humanity. “Right.”
“It’s true.”
Rumi is seriously getting worked up. “Can’t you just leave me alone? You’ve already done enough, just leave me alone, for god's sake!”
Whenever Rumi daydreams, she thinks to herself, hypothetically: “If I had the chance to see Jinu again, I’d be really collected and normal about it. I wouldn’t scream or shout or anything. I would forgive him for everything because I’m bigger than him— yeah. I’m way bigger than that.”
But now, she realizes, rationality and collectiveness is out the window when you’re confronted with the real thing.
Jinu shifts his gaze downwards, turns his head slightly away. It’s a prolonged silence between them. Rumi takes a deep breath. She wants to scream. She doesn’t scream.
“I’m sorry, Rumi,” Jinu finally says, sounding defeated. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I’m sorry for using your shame against you. There isn’t an excuse for anything I’ve done— none that’d matter anyways, but, I’m… I’m sorry. There isn’t anything else I can say besides "I'm sorry.”
The furrow in Rumi’s brow softens. She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she doesn’t say anything at all and simply looks away. The sincerity in his voice surprises her. It’s the same level of sentimentality as when they shared their longing for freedom.
There’s no reason at all for Jinu to deceive her. There's no reason to lie. Not now. Not when he’s finally achieved everlasting peace.
Rumi eyes sting. Fucking Jinu, plucking at her heartstrings without having to try. A cruel dance between wanting to drive her saingeom into her chest and to hold it closely, to simulate hugging what she’s lost. She’s thought about both throughout the week. She’s unable to reconcile the absolute amalgamation of emotions she’s felt for someone she’s only known for two weeks, someone whose personality— the real one, the real Jinu— she struggles to understand.
She doesn’t know why she doesn’t just put away her saingeom. It’d be a simple solution to her heartache. But with knowledge that Jinu could simply manifest the blade through, presumably, sheer willpower, combined with the fact that’s he’s in there makes her uneasy.
“Rumi?”
“Don’t.” She warns. “Please.”
“Do you want me to go?”
She shakes her head. “It isn’t my choice, now is it?”
“If you want me to go, Rumi, I’ll go.”
The silence answers for both of them. Rumi’s skin crawls. It’s cold. The window isn’t open. The conversation feels volatile. It feels intrusive. She doesn’t like it at all. Yet, it keeps going. It’s like she has no agency. That isn’t true. She knows that isn’t true. She can do whatever she wants right now. She chooses to listen.
“Rumi, do you understand what death is?”
Rumi reels backwards. Her brows furrow. She squints at him, partly in confusion, partly in disbelief. It’s completely out of pocket, his question. It's abrupt and she wonders if he’s trying to mess with her. “What?”
“Do you understand what death is?”
“I’m not five. I know what death is.”
Jinu pauses, reframes it. “Do you understand that if you jumped off of that balcony, you’d be dead and never coming back? That whatever claims you’re making about yourself—“
“Well obviously—“
“—doesn’t matter because you’ve extinguished the possibility of your future. It wouldn’t matter because you’d be splattered across the sidewalk like an egg. Do you understand that?”
Rumi cringes at the visual. “…That’s what happens when you kill yourself, yes.”
“So you understand that when you’re dead, there’ll be nothing left of you, physically? There won’t be anything but a body in a grave— or ashes, if you’d prefer that.”
“What are you getting at?”
Jinu sighs. It’s a stressed sound. “I just don’t want you to make a mistake that can’t be undone.”
It’s quiet. There isn’t really much to say between them. Rumi doesn’t look at him. She can’t look at him. Not when he’s watching her with such intensity.
Then, she huffs in amusement. It’s barely a laugh. “It wouldn’t be a mistake.”
She says it so quietly, Jinu thinks he’s misheard. He makes a questioning sound, a cue to continue.
“You’re making it sound as if it’s impulsive.”
When he doesn’t respond, Rumi takes it upon herself to elaborate.
“I wouldn’t just up and do it. I wouldn’t do that. I have everything situated. I mean, I don’t— I hope I don’t have to use it, because I’ve been getting better, but… everything is situated. Wills and insurance policies, uh, stuff like that. It’s planned down to the cent. Some people… go and they don’t have anything figured out, so that makes me better.”
Jinu says nothing.
“That makes me better, don’t you think?”
Jinu says nothing.
It’s a long silence. Rumi forlornly sits the saingeom down beside her. Jinu watches her do so. She wrings her hands together, fiddles with her braid. Jinu watches as she pieces together everything she’s just said.
She shakes her head. “No. I didn’t mean that. I’m just tired.”
Jinu says nothing.
“I’m tired and I’m talking too much.”
Jinu says nothing.
“I’ve been getting better. I’m serious. I’m better now. It’s just a precaution. I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”
The silence is deafening.
Jinu straightens himself abruptly— which in turn, causes her saingeom to straighten itself. Rumi startles. It floats surrounded by threads and positions itself right in front of her.
“Well, I’ve gotta go,” Jinu says. “I hope you take everything I’ve said seriously. I hope you take what your girls say seriously. Thank you, Rumi. Thanks for talking to me.”
Rumi looks at him, jaw-slacked. She blinks.
“…Thanks?”
“For your honesty. I’m really happy you talked to me as honestly as you did.”
Rumi tries to work all this out. “No— why’re you talking like that? What are you saying?”
“I’m simply saying “thank you.” I’ll talk to you later, okay? Now, go snuggle up with your girlfriends or something. You shouldn’t waste your night talking to me—“
“Do you like me?”
Jinu is surprised by her question. Rumi is surprised to have asked that. It feels desperate. Rumi reads Jinu’s face. Hers fall.
“Because I like you, too. Not like that. Not anymore. But as a person— a friend— I like you, Jinu.”
A beat.
“I like you too, Rumi.” Her saingeom unravels itself into strings of light. “Goodnight!”
It vanishes into thin air.
Rumi is left alone. She holds out her hand, tries summoning her sword— nothing happens. She tries again. Nothing. The honmoon doesn’t even twitch. She concludes it’s Jinu’s doing.
The conscientiousness of it all leaves her feeling sick.
She’s still. She tries controlling her environment. Her vision blurs but she won’t let tears fall. She gets up slowly. She looks around, wobbles a little bit. She takes a deep breath. She lays down.
She will not be joining Mira and Zoey.
…
“Why didn’t you tell us we’re your beneficiaries and why did we have to learn it from Jinu of all people? Also, how is he even still alive?" Is the first thing she hears when she gets up in the morning.
All Rumi can think is— what is the most effective way to strangle a ghost?