Morning broke like a reluctant truth. The light filtered through sheer curtains in pale streaks, casting soft shadows across Yena's room. Her alarm hadn't gone off yet, but she was already awake with eyes open, body still, mind racing.
Last night felt like a dream, although reality had no mercy. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, her breath shallow. The events of the previous night replayed in fragments. Romance's arms around her, the quiet devastation of seeing Rumi with Jinu.
Her chest tightened. She sat up slowly, the sheets falling away from her like discarded illusions. Her hair was tousled, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Momo stirred at the foot of the bed, blinking sleepily before curling back into a ball.
Yena's thoughts spiraled. Fear. Betrayal. Doubt.
She wanted to confront Rumi, not with accusations or anger, but with a desperate need for the truth. She wanted Rumi to look her in the eye and say what she felt. To explain why she'd been meeting with Jinu in secret. On why she chose not to say anything over being honest.
Because this wasn't just about two people crushing on each other. It was far from that.
Yena knew Rumi too well. She knew her discipline. Her loyalty as a hunter and protector. If she was compromising, it wasn't for minor affection. It was for something bigger, very much tied to their mission.
Why now? Yena thought. When we were so close.
Their duty in permanently sealing the demons is nearly complete. The final phase of turning the Honmoon gold is within reach. They'd spent years of hard work, sacrifices, and overcoming obstacles that drained their bodies and spirits.
And now? Rumi was slipping.
The Idol Awards were fast approaching. The biggest stage. The final chance to turn the tide among the fans. To prove that Huntrix's purpose wasn't just for popularity and fame.
The diss track wasn't helping, and Yena couldn't resonate with it. She'd tried. She'd sung the bridge. She'd harmonized the chorus, but it still felt hollow. Detached, and if she couldn't feel it, how could the fans?
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cool floor. Her fingers curled around the edge of the mattress, grounding herself.
We're losing them. We're losing each other.
The lounge was brightly lit by the sun's rays during the day hours. Pale gold light spilled from the glass walls of the lounge, casting long shadows across the marble island and the velvet-backed chairs. A faint citrus scent lingered in the air-someone had peeled an orange earlier and left the rind on the counter. The silence was thick, broken only by the low hum of the fridge and the occasional tap of Rumi's finger against her phone.
Yena stood just at the bottom of the stairs, half-hidden by the frame of the wall divider. Her fingers gripped the edge like a lifeline, nails pressing into concrete. She had come here with a purpose, which was to confront her. But now, with Rumi in front of her, serene and unguarded, the words she'd rehearsed dissolved into static.
Her breath caught. She could already hear the follow-up questions Rumi would ask once she knew.
How did you find out?
Who told you?
Why were you out at that hour?
Yena's throat tightened.
Her mind flashed to the alley, to Romance's voice in her ear, to the way her feelings had pulsed with longing and desperation for a demon like him. If Rumi knew, if she even suspected, Yena's entire foundation would crack. Not just as a hunter but as a friend. As someone who claimed to protect the world from demons.
Her chest constricted. She tried to breathe in, but the air felt thick, like she was inhaling fog. Her vision blurred at the edges, and the room tilted slightly, as if the floor had shifted beneath her. She stumbled forward, one hand clutching her chest, the other reaching blindly for support.
Rumi looked up. Her eyes widened, phone forgotten. "Yena?"
She was across the room in seconds, her movements swift but controlled. She caught Yena just as her knees buckled, guiding her gently into one of the island chairs.
"Hey, hey, look at me. You're okay."
Yena couldn't speak. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her breath was shallow, rapid, like she was drowning in open air.
Rumi grabbed a glass from the counter, filled it with cool water, and pressed it into Yena's trembling hands.
"Just a sip. You're safe."
Yena drank, barely registering the taste. Her fingers shook around the glass, droplets slipping down her wrist.
Rumi knelt beside her, one hand on Yena's back, rubbing slow, steady circles. Her voice was low, rhythmic. "Inhale. Slowly. Now exhale. That's it. Again."
Yena followed the cadence, her breath ragged but gradually deepening. She could feel the chair beneath her now. The cool marble against her forearm. Rumi's hand, warm and grounding. Just as her breathing steadied, footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Mira and Zoey entered the lounge, their expressions shifting from sleepy to alarmed upon seeing Rumi with a slightly disoriented Yena.
"What happened?" Mira asked, rushing forward.
"Is she hurt?" Zoey added, already crouching beside Yena.
Rumi stood, her voice calm but firm. "She had a panic attack. It's passing."
Mira knelt beside Yena, her eyes scanning her face. "Do we need to send her to a hospital?"
Zoey touched Yena's wrist gently. "Yena, talk to us. Are you in pain?"
Yena shook her head slowly, her voice barely audible.
"I'm okay. It was sudden. I just... couldn't breathe."
The girls didn't look convinced.
Zoey glanced at Rumi, then back at Yena. "Did something happen?"
Yena hesitated. She could feel the truth pressing against her ribs, begging to be let out, but she couldn't. Truth was on her lips, and it was scraping the edge of her tongue. Her mind would be at ease if she had been honest; however, shame won her mindset. She was a hypocrite, and she couldn't deny that.
"I'm fine now," she said, forcing a small smile. "Really."
The lounge had emptied slowly, like breath leaving a body. Mira and Zoey had coaxed Yena back to her room with soft voices and gentle hands, their concern wrapped in practiced calm.
Rumi had stayed behind, not because anyone asked her to, but because she couldn't move. She gathered the half-drunk glass of water, the crumpled tissue, and the blanket Yena had refused. Her fingers moved automatically, but her mind was elsewhere.
The citrus scent of the diffuser lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of air freshener. Jasmine, and something powdery, nostalgic. It clung to the fabric of the couch, to Rumi's sleeves, to the silence itself.
She stood by the sink, hands braced against the counter, staring at the faucet as if it might offer clarity.
Yena's panic hadn't been just physical. Rumi had felt it the moment she touched her, how her body trembled not from exhaustion, but from something that resisted comfort. She'd seen panic attacks before. This was different. It was fear.
Rumi closed her eyes.
She replayed the moment Yena had appeared slightly by the wall divider, how her fingers had gripped the frame. How her eyes had flicked toward Rumi and then away, how her breath had faltered before she even stepped into the room.
She was going to say something, but changed her mind...
The memory pulsed like a bruise. Rumi's fingers curled against the counter, nails pressing into the cool surface.
Her mind was still replaying her last meeting with Jinu. The way he'd reached for her arm, held it just a second too long. The way she hadn't pulled away. The way she'd looked back. She hadn't dared tell anyone, and suddenly, Yena was unraveling out of the blue.
Rumi's chest tightened. Did Yena sense something off from her like Mira did?
She thought of the diss track. The way Yena had struggled to sing it, rewriting verses, hesitating during rehearsals. The way both of them have the same opinions, in the way it's delivered.
Rumi opened her eyes. The faucet gleamed under the light, untouched. She turned away, walking slowly toward the hallway, her steps soft against the tile. The penthouse felt cavernous now, every sound amplified. The hum of the fridge, the distant creak of floorboards, the whisper of her breath.
She paused outside Yena's door, but didn't knock. She just stood there to ponder having a heart-to-heart talk with her. It had been a while since they personally interacted. Yena was the person who always needed people older than her to give her attention back then. It was she and Mira who showered her with shenanigans and fun.
Now she feels like Yena mostly keeps to herself as of recent. She, too, has her suspicions, ever since Meet and Greet, Yena changed drastically, and it wasn't just her change of looks.
The silence on the other side was thick. Not peaceful, just... withheld.
"She's not just scared." She murmurs to herself, "She's hurt."
And Rumi didn't know if she could fix it. Because maybe she was the reason, or maybe not. Her immediate suspicion was... Romance. She didn't know much about the other Saja boys aside from Jinu, but she sure remembered he was the one who threw a rose at Yena's feet that day.
Then it all clicks on her, Yena's incident at Meet and Great, her hesitance on the song, and that rose... could that demon truly be targeting Yena?
She pressed her palm lightly to the door, as if that might bridge the distance. As if Yena might feel it, somehow. She was torn about what to do with so many things on her mind.
Rumi lingered for a while before fleeing back to her room, fingers grazing the hallway wall, ready to disappear into the quiet. Then she heard it. Music. Soft, melodic, drifting through the thin apartment walls like a memory she hadn't invited. It had come from Yena's room.
She paused mid-step. It wasn't the usual string or flute instrumentals that she would usually hear passing by the hall. This was different. It sounded like a love song.
She tilted her head, listening. The voice was low, aching, threaded with longing, and somehow Yena was singing along.
"And I see forever in your eyes. I feel okay when I see you smile."
Rumi's brows drew together. That couldn't be right.
Yena had stopped listening to love songs after her breakup with Oliver. She'd deleted entire playlists, boxed up old CDs, and even snapped at the lobby receptionist one time for playing love songs.
Rumi stepped closer to Yena's door, her socked feet silent against the wood floor. She pressed her ear gently to the frame, careful not to make a sound. The song continued tender, vulnerable, almost pleading. Rumi felt something twist in her gut. It wasn't jealousy or concern, but a quiet sense of unease.
She knocked on Yena's door as the music paused. There was a shuffle inside before light footsteps approached the frame. The door creaks open. Yena stood there, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, hair loosely tied back, eyes wide with surprise. Her expression flickered, just for a moment, before settling into polite calm.
"Hey, Rumi," she said, voice light. "Did you need something?"
Rumi smiled, masking everything behind it. "Just wanted to check in. You've been quiet recently."
Yena blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Just... decompressing."
Rumi tilted her head. "Mind if I come in?"
Yena hesitated. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the door, and then she stepped aside, opening it wider. "Sure. Come in."
Rumi entered slowly, her gaze sweeping the room with practiced ease. The lights were dimmed, casting soft shadows across the walls. Momo lay curled on the bed, tail flicking lazily. A mug of tea sat half-finished on the desk, steam long gone cold.
The air smelled faintly of jasmine and something else... cinnamon? No, clove. Comforting, but sharp.
She glanced around, noting the subtle changes. The guzheng instrument that Yena always had was still there, propped against the wall, but untouched. A stack of lyric sheets sat beside it, neatly clipped.
Her eyes drifted back to the desk. A single sheet of paper slowly being filled with lyrics, the pen off to the side. This was not the diss track song. She knew the diss track by heart. Read it, edited it, and argued over it. Every line was calculated, biting, strategic.
This wasn't, though; these words were raw, almost... tender. She caught a line before Yena could shift the paper.
You carved your name deep in my chest. Now love feels like hunger, I'll never forget.
Rumi's breath caught. She withheld her reaction and acted like she didn't see that. Just smiled again, stepping toward the bed and sitting on the edge, making sure not to disturb Momo.
"You're writing something new?" She said, motioning towards the paper on the desk as if she had seen it now.
Yena nodded, too quickly. "Just... experimenting. I'm still finding my rhythm again for future songs."
Rumi hummed. "You sound very committed since you came back from hiatus."
Yena's eyes flicked toward Rumi, then back to her desk. "I'm just excited for the next step as Huntrix."
"Me too." Rumi leaned back slightly, letting her gaze wander. "I haven't heard you play anything like that in a while."
Yena shrugged. "Oh, the background music? It was just on shuffle. I wasn't listening."
Rumi raised a brow. "You paused it pretty fast, it was just getting to a verse."
Yena's lips parted, then closed again. She turned toward the desk, fiddling with the mug. "I didn't expect company."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude." Rumi smiled, but her eyes didn't soften
Yena shook her head. "You're not." But her voice was tight, very controlled.
Rumi leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "You know, I was thinking about that line. 'I feel okay when I see you smile.' That's... sweet."
Yena froze, then she laughed, too lightly. "It's just the vibe of the song."
Rumi nodded slowly. "I can agree with you. It sounded hopeful..."
Yena didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned toward the window, pulling the curtain slightly open. Allowing the sunlight to spill in, casting fractured gold across her face.
"More than hopeful if you ask me."
Rumi watched her carefully. There was something in Yena's posture, guarded, almost rehearsed. Like she'd been waiting for this moment, or more like dreading it.
She could tell Yena had surely moved on from Oliver. Her curiosity now focuses upon who would have snuck into Yena's fragile heart that fast and so soon.
"Too hopeful," Rumi repeated. "Like the sound of yearning..."
Yena turned back, forcing a smile. "Funny, we both have the same interpretation of the song then."
Rumi smiled too, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Of course, we're not just singers but also storytellers."
She was worried, not because Yena was writing love songs, but because she was hiding it. And she had to learn it the hard way, when Yena started hiding things, it was never just about music.
ns216.73.217.19da2
and then Add to home screen.