Chapter Text
Rumi's POV
The first thing Rumi noticed about award shows was that they were built to overwhelm you.
The lights were brighter than rehearsals, the hallways narrower, the air louder.
She kept her breathing even as they waited backstage, hands folded neatly in front of her, posture calm enough to be convincing. Mira stood to her left, arms crossed, leg bouncing in short, sharp movements she probably didn’t realize she was doing. Zoey hovered a little closer than usual, energy spilling out of her in restless shifts—weight from one foot to the other, fingers tapping, eyes everywhere at once, probably cataloguing exits, staff, cameras.
Rumi didn’t blame them, after all, this was their first idol award, even if it wasn’t the first time realizing how thin the line was between admiration and cruelty.
Another girl group stood a few meters away. They probably had years of experience, by the way the carried themselves; they projected confidence, even if it was a little bit too forced.
One of them laughed, and Rumi caught fragments as they passed.
Zoey stiffened immediately, Rumi stayed close to her.
She sensed the shift before she heard it—the way nearby voices thinned, sharpening. One of them laughed softly.
“…does she ever stand still?” someone said.
Rumi felt the click inside her chest.
“She looks like she’s about to explode,” another voice added. “Is she always like that?”
Zoey’s movement stopped.
Her tapping cut off mid-motion, like a wire pulled too tight. Her shoulders rose. Her breathing went shallow and uneven—quick inhales she didn’t finish.
She’d seen what happened when people tried to make Zoey “calm down” instead of letting her regulate. The way Zoey’s breath would hitch. The way sound would suddenly become unbearable. The way everything would tip too fast into tears, sharp words, or silence that felt like it hurt to hold.
Rumi didn’t look at her yet. If Zoey realized she was being watched, she’d push it down harder. If she pushed it down, it would come back louder.
Mira stiffened beside her, already bracing herself for a fight. Of course Mira heard it as well.
Rumi held Mira’s clenched fists before she could explode. That was not the moment for a heated fight, it would only make thing worse.
Rumi felt the familiar tug in her chest—the early warning sign, the quiet pressure that meant too much, too fast. She grounded herself the way she always did: feet on the floor, her hands on Mira's, breath steady. She didn’t let it take control of her.
Rumi stepped forward; she didn’t hesitate, there was no time for it. She moved into the space between the voices and her group like it was the most natural thing in the world—because it was.
“Excuse me,” Rumi said.
The girls turned, surprised.
“Yes?” one of them replied, polite but cool.
Rumi met her gaze evenly.
“I don’t know if you meant us to hear that,” Rumi said. Her tone was neutral, professional. “But we did.”
Mira’s breathing hitched behind her. Zoey went very still.
Rumi continued, voice level.
“This is our first award show. We’re nervous. That’s normal.” She paused. “What isn’t normal is being unkind about it.”
One of the girls shrugged. “We were just talking.”
“I know,” Rumi said. “So am I.” She didn’t smile. “We respect seniors in this industry, but respect goes both ways.”
One of the girls scoffed, recognizing reaching her expression. “You’re Celine’s child, aren't you?”
Rumi didn’t answer
“You should know better than this, nepo baby. Control your damn group, your maknae needs to learn how to behave.”
Rumi felt anger brush against her ribs—quick, hot—but held it. She couldn’t explode right now, for Zoey’s sake.
“I’m sorry, but who are you to determine how my group is supposed to behave?”
Zoey inhaled sharply behind her.
Rumi still didn’t turn.
“She is in control,” Rumi said firmly, “right now. Because she’s allowed to move. We’re not harming anyone.”
The girls shifted and looked away. An older girl, likely the leader of that group, ran in their direction and positioned herself between Rumi and the other group.
“I’m sorry for our behaviour… She didn’t mean anything, right, Ash?” she said in a diplomatic tone.
“Right. I didn’t mean to offend you or your group.” The one, that now Rumi knew was called Ash, was clearly saying this only to please the other girl, but it was good enough for now.
Rumi nodded once.
“Then no need to say anything mean,” she said, “it’s simple, isn’t it?”
She stepped back, and only then did she turn to Zoey.
Zoey’s eyes were glassy now, focus fractured—tracking sound, light, movement all at once. Her hands curled into the hem of her jacket, fingers twisting fabric instead of tapping.
Rumi reached out, grounding touch briefly and deliberately, pressing two fingers to Zoey’s wrist.
“Hey, breathe with me,” Rumi murmured, low enough that only Zoey could hear. “You’re okay. It stopped.”
Zoey’s eyes were bright, overstimulated, but she was holding herself together. Rumi briefly squeezed her wrist.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Rumi said quietly, “okay?”
Zoey nodded, swallowing. Not fully present yet, but listening. “Okay.”
Rumi allowed herself a tiny smile.
They stood there for a moment, the noise of the backstage area flowing around them like water around a stone.
Mira exhaled shakily. “Rumi, you cut that off just in time.”
Zoey let out a breath that wobbled on the way out. “Sorry guys, I was trying not to make a scene.”
“We know,” Rumi said gently, “you have nothing to apologize for. Those girls were the wrong ones in this situation, not you.”
“I didn’t want to be a burden to you…”
“You’re never a burden, Zo.” Mira said, holding Zoey’s other hand, the one that wasn’t being held by Rumi. “We love you.”
“A lot,” Rumi agreed with Mira.
Zoey’s eyes flicked up, wet but steadying.
“Love you too.” Zoey answered, voice small but strong at the same time.
They stood there together, letting the backstage’s noise flow around them. Rumi stayed close, shoulder nearly brushing Zoey’s, making herself an anchor without crowding.
When they were called to line up, Rumi spoke softly but firmly.
“Stay close,” she said. “If your chest gets tight, tell me. We step away. Together.”
Mira nodded immediately. Zoey echoed her, pressing in a little closer this time.
As they walked toward the stage lights, Rumi felt the edge of her own overwhelm brush against her—the hum of sound, the glare, the weight of being seen.
But she didn’t freeze, she accepted the pressure, and let herself be afraid and act up anyway.
She had intervened early and, watching Zoey breathe more evenly beside her, Rumi knew she’d made the right call.
And at that moment, Rumi understood something important: leadership didn’t have to be loud.
Leadership could be calm, even when firm. Cozy, even when strong. She could be her own kind of leader, as long as her group—her girls—were protected and feeling loved.
When they were called to line up, Rumi reached back without looking.
Mira’s fingers laced with hers.
Zoey pressed in at her other side.
The three of them together, like it was supposed to be.
They were back at their apartment, shoes abandoned by the door, jackets slung over the backs of chairs. The adrenaline of the night still hummed under Rumi’s skin—lights, noise, too many eyes. She was feeling good, they had been awesome tonight; but oh God, she was tired. She sat on the couch with her hands folded neatly in her lap, shoulders slightly tense, waiting for the world to feel quieter again.
Mira stopped in front of her.
“You know,” she said, her voice softer than usual, “you never get tired of surprising us, hm?”
Rumi looked up, confused. “What did I do?”
“Stepped in,” Mira said. “Protected us.”
Rumi considered it, the hallway replaying in quiet flashes. “Oh, no problem. It was nothing,” she concluded.
Zoey flopped down onto the arm of the couch beside her, energy finally spent, leaning her shoulder lightly against Rumi’s.
“You saved me,” Zoey said simply. “Backstage. I was about to lose it.”
Rumi’s shoulders drew in a fraction. Compliments still landed too loudly sometimes.
“I noticed,” she said.
“I know,” Zoey replied, gently poking Rumi’s ribs. “You always notice.”
Mira exhaled, a small smile breaking through. She stepped closer, gently cupping Rumi’s face, thumbs warm against her cheeks.
“You’re a really good leader,” Mira said, smiling softly, full of care.
Before Rumi could answer, Mira leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Rumi’s left cheek.
At the same time, Zoey leaned in from the other side, placing a quick, affectionate kiss on Rumi’s right cheek.
Perfect symmetry.
Rumi froze for half a heartbeat, then let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Her face heated instantly.
“…You’re both very biased,” she murmured, but her hands came up anyway, resting lightly on both girls’ knees, anchoring herself.
Zoey grinned. “We’re correct, though.”
“Yeah,” Mira added. “Perfect leader.”
Rumi shook her head, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she shifted, making room, instinctively adjusting until Mira was sitting impossibly close to her and Zoey was curled against her other side. The couch dipped under their combined weight, familiar and safe. Exactly what Rumi needed after a performance.
“So,” Rumi said, already feeling relaxed just by being pressed against her two favorite people in the world, “what are we going to watch tonight?”
Zoey grabbed the remote. “I vote documentary,” she declared.
“Okay, about what?” Mira asked.
Zoey scrolled once, twice. “Sea turtles!”
Rumi smiled fondly. “I had a feeling you would say this.”
Mira laughed and let herself sink back, an arm draping over the back of the couch behind Rumi. Zoey curled in closer, legs tucked up, her head resting against Rumi’s shoulder.
The documentary started with slow narration, underwater footage, soft music. Very peaceful.
Rumi adjusted just enough to be comfortable, letting Mira’s warmth at her side and Zoey’s steady presence ground her. The room was dim, the world reduced to gentle voices and drifting images of turtles gliding through blue water.
Rumi exhaled fully for the first time all night.