Work Text:
It was six weeks after sealing the honmoon, and the final battle with Gwi-ma, before Rumi even thought about summoning her sword. She had not looked upon its blade since the night they had returned home from the battle. She’d sat alone on the couch while Zoey and Mira hurried to clean up and change, the sword upon her lap. In the dim light of the penhouse with the city lights casting a soft glow through the large windows, the sword had pulsed with a soft, weak blue light.
For just a moment, the blade had felt warm beneath her hands, but it did not last. Tears threatened to gather in her eyes once more.
‘Jinu,’ she whispered. She did not fight the single tear that slipped free to roll down her cheek and drop onto the flat of the blade. Perhaps it was just a reflection of the city lights, but the drop seemed to shimmer before being absorbed into the blade.
And then Mira and Zoey had come back into the room. With a last gentle caress, she’d let the blade slip back into the honmoon and had not drawn it since.
It was partly due to the quiet. It was almost eerie, really, after years of always being on alert, never sleeping deeply, fully, always one eye open, waiting for the honmoon to call out in warning.
Now, only quiet.
Rumi was grateful, really she was. The honmoon was sealed, not gold but iridescent, a multitude of colors now also reflected by her patterns. Her girls were safe, the world was safe. The honmoon shone bright and strong, unwavering, and filled with a warmth she could feel thrumming in her bones.
But the quiet left too much room in her head. Too much space for all the feelings she didn’t know what to do with, or where to put them.
Joy, relief, peace — and grief.
An odd part of her wished they weren’t on a hiatus, so she could have something to throw herself back into. Someplace to put this terrible ache sitting just behind her ribs if she sat still with herself too long.
The same ache she felt when waking from dreams full of fire and ash that choked her throat, the heat making her eyes sting, robbing her of her voice. Her tongue had felt heavy in her mouth, unable to find the words to tell Jinu everything she was feeling in that moment.
It was the calm certainty in his eyes that haunted her. After multiple lifetimes full of shame and regret, he’d finally made a choice, and his eyes never wavered, not once, until they closed for the last time.
Fuck.
She’d only known him for a few weeks, but somehow that was enough.
Enough time for her heart to learn to flutter in his presence, to look for the flecks of gold reflected in his dark brown eyes. To see the strain just below the surface, beneath the idol, beneath the demon, to the man buried beneath, titering on the edge of collapse.
For him to look at her like she hung the moon, their voices in harmony, and then to turn his back on her.
For him to then decide she was worth burning for.
Looking back on it now with clear eyes, she was sure Gwi-ma had found out about their plan. The careful, tiny thread of hope Rumi had slowly woven into Jinu’s heart had somehow been viciously and painfully ripped out by the demon king.
That night at the Idol Awards, there had been no light left in his eyes. Seeing him in so much pain that he had given up on everything had killed all the anger in her at his betrayal. It left only a deep, bone-crushing ache, a numbness that had settled around her heart when Zoey and Mira had pulled away from her, only settled deeper at witnessing his despair.
Mira and Zoey had seen her patterns and given up on their friendship. Or so she had thought at the time. Jinu’s voice had been flat and hopeless, or charged with so much emotional pain, his demon voice had made her flinch far more than his actual words.
They had meant something; she knew they did. That moment on the rooftop where they had lifted their voices together had been genuine, the honmoon had reacted to them. She knew Jinu was lying, but the damage was done, his pain too raw, the wound too old and too deep for the single flicker of hope she had given him to keep alight
Like trying to light a candle in the midst of a hurricane.
That was what had really pushed her over the edge, more than the betrayal; it was the fact she had failed him, failed to free Jinu, failed to seal the honmoon, failed Mira and Zoey, failed at everything in her life she’d ever tried to accomplish.
It had taken her kneeling beneath the sacred tree on the Hunter’s ancestral grounds with the closest person to a mother she had ever really had, telling her to lie, to hide herself away again, for it to hit her suddenly.
When it did, an eerie sort of calm washed over her; she suddenly knew exactly what she needed to do.
Honestly, she should have seen it sooner. It was right there in the Hunter’s mantra all along.
Fix the world and make it right.
Until darkness finally meets the light.
Darkness and light.
She was never meant to be so torn in two; maybe she and Jinu were always meant to meet.
For him to show her that her darkness was not all she was, or all he was.
For him to cradle all the broken pieces of her like they were something precious, for her to pull the fainest glimmer of light from his chest with a song that night before the Idol Awards.
She sat on the edge of her bed now, watching her patterns pulse like a gentle heartbeat. Slowly, she let her finger drift over one that wrapped around the back of her hand to her wrist; its color shifted in response to the touch.
It reminded her of when Jinu had made her patterns flare to life the first night they had met on the rooftop.
Zoey had joked she was now a walking 2000s-era mood ring. Mira had snickered in agreement. Rumi’s patterns had flashed a pale pink as she threw a pillow at the now laughing rapper. The memory brought a ghost of a smile to her lips, despite the nightmare she’d just woken up from.
They didn’t come every night, but when they did, she always woke with the taste of blood and ash in her mouth and the ghost of the demon king’s fire on her skin and Jinu’s name falling from her lips in a desperate plea.
And his voice.
Gods his voice.
It should not have been possible for someone’s voice to be that gentle while dying like that.
What was she supposed to do with this feeling? This loss, this grief she had nowhere to place, that she could only hold as gently as possible, lest the weight of it crush her to pieces.
The fleeting feeling of what might have been.
She remembered reading once that grief was love with nowhere left to go. Given how overflowing her heart felt these days, she had to agree. She hated that it took Jinu's dying for her to realize that.
If only she could fight off nightmares and cut down these overwhelming feelings with her sword. To wrench open her chest with it and try to find somewhere for all this emotion to go. She sat staring at her empty hands a moment longer before reaching down into the honmoon to draw her sword, hoping to find some comfort in its pale light and the soul that now flickered in its blade.
Before she could even take a moment to study its new shape, she heard a heavy thud followed by a low groan from the other side of her bed on the floor. With a sharp breath, she leapt to her feet, sword at the ready as she crept around to the other side of her bedroom.
To find Jinu face down on her rug, naked as the day he was born, with patterns a similar, though darker, sheen as the new honmoon. Moonlight filtered through her curtains, making him seem all the paler. His patterns flickered like a heartbeat in time with his slow breaths. In his human form, he looked more angelic than demonic.
A strangled noise tore from her throat as she dropped her sword with a resounding clang and fell to her knees beside him. She reached out, hands hovering just above him, almost afraid to touch him and find out that this was yet another dream. His face was turned towards her, cheek pressed to the soft rug, eyes closed, lips barely parted. He almost looked peaceful.
Finally, her fluttering hands made contact with his back, his skin warm beneath her hands. Relief and shock tore through her in equal measure. A choked sob broke free from her chest as she reached for a throw blanket at the end of her bed, tossing it over his prone form before gathering him up into her arms.
“Jinu?” Her voice cracked as she pushed the hair from his face. Was this even real, or some cruel trick? “Jinu?” she tried again, cradling him to her chest. His face twisted into a grimace, and one of his hands came up, claws flickering into being briefly before dissipating back into his pale human form.
He took a deep breath, chest catching, as if he were taking the first real breath he’d had in centuries, before a booming cough racked his upper body. Rumi held him tighter and brought one hand to his upper back, rubbing soothing circles into it. “Jinu, are you alright?”
In hindsight, that was a foolish question to ask. If this were really her Jinu, then he’d literally just come back from the dead. Every inch of his body and posture screamed exhaustion, with sunken cheeks and dark circles like deep bruises ringed beneath his eyes.
One eye cracked open, he groaned once more, turning to bury his face into her chest as if even the gentle light from her bedside lamp was too much. One of his hands clutched at her night shirt like it was all that was anchoring him to this world. Another deep, shuddering breath was pulled into his lungs, and his body stilled instantly. He knew her smell, knew it all the way down to his bone marrow. Both his arms came up to wrap around her middle, and he managed to pry one eye open again.
“Rumi?” he rasped, voice hoarse and smoky.
The sound of her name leaving his lips was what finally set off her tears. “Jinu–” her hand slid up to cup his face. She couldn’t seem to say anything but his name; her tears fell, dropping onto his cheek. “Jinu.” His patterns shimmered in response to the tears that landed on his skin, no longer harsh and violet but like a dark mother of pearl.
“Rumi,” he breathed, staring at her face in quiet shock, eyes roaming her every feature like he was trying to make sure she was real. “It’s so quiet,” he whispered, “I can’t hear his voice.” She watched his throat bob in a hard swallow, “I can’t hear his voice,” he repeated, voice wavering.
Rumi sobbed and curled around him, hugging him tightly to her chest.
“We’re free, Jinu, we’re finally free.”
Even later, they’d never be sure exactly what had brought him forth from her sword. If the honmoon had somehow held onto a piece of him and rebuilt his body and given a place for the soul she’d been holding to return to, or if it’d simply made his form in its entirety, in the end, it didn’t matter.
Because he was back, here with her.
~
Her cries had alerted Zoey and Mira, who came barging into her room, weapons blazing, but stopped in their tracks at the sight of Rumi cradling a half-naked, nearly catatonic Jinu. His much larger frame curled into hers, breathing hard, face buried into her neck, holding onto her like she was the only real thing in the world.
“Is that Jinu?” Zoey had nearly shouted at the same time Mira had slowly lowered her blade in shock.
“Rumi, what is going on? How is he here?” Mira’s eyes narrowed at the demon currently starting to shiver against Rumi’s side, groaning, not even attempting to move away from their weapons.
Rumi dispelled her own sword, holding out a hand to try to get their attention and get ahead of the situation.
“Wait, wait, please, it’s okay. I know it’s crazy, but he’s not going to hurt anyone.” Rumi looked down and smoothed his hair back. Jinu blinked up at her, like he still wasn’t sure she was real. He seemed to take no notice of the other two hunters.
While Mira and Zoey didn't dispel their weapons, they did hold off on running Jinu through. He didn’t look very threatening in his current state.
Zoey might have been slightly distracted by the glimpse of abs she caught. Mira rolled her eyes and elbowed the younger woman in the ribs. “So what gives Rumi? Didn’t we see him die?”
Rumi looked back down at Jinu like she had to somehow prove to herself that he was actually there in her arms. His eyes were a bit more focused now, but his brows were still drawn, his frame hunched in pain. She continued to rub his back and shoulders, trying to soothe some of his discomfort as she took a deep breath.
Rumi had told Zoey and Mira about meeting Jinu, about trying to sway him into helping create the golden honmoon, but she had not told them how she felt about him. How could she? When she never even got to tell him?
She starts from the beginning, how he found her patterns in the bathhouse, the notes from the spirit tiger, the meetings on rooftops, and in parks. The auntie who gave her a bracelet, the hope she tried to offer Jinu, who tentatively began to accept it.
The song they sang to the city's night skyline, both yearning to breathe free. Zoey made an overly dramatic sigh at that, the same way she did when watching K-dramas. Mira refrained from elbowing her again but did shoot her a look and nodded at Rumi to continue.
Rumi felt Jinu curl into himself as she talked about how she suspected Gwi-ma had taken the tiny, gentle hope she’d managed to breathe to life in him and cruelly and quickly snuffed it out the night before the Idol Awards.
“And you know the rest,” she sniffed a teary sigh.
There was silence for a brief moment. Zoey bit her bottom lip, looking between her and Mira.
Mira sighed a long, drawn-out breath, pinching the bridge of her nose as she pushed her glasses up. “Rumi, I know he helped you at the very end, but I still don’t think we should trust him. He turned on you once before. What makes him trustworthy now?”
Rumi looked from Mira to Zoey. The manake had at least put her blades away. “I don’t know, Rumi, it’s just a lot to take in.”
Rumi’s hands card through the hair at the back of Jinu’s neck, “I know, it is a lot. But he– he’s important to me, and he stepped into Gwi-ma’s fire for me. I know he regrets what happened before.”
Mira was about to argue when Jinu spoke first, “They’re right, Rumi. I shouldn’t be here.”
Whatever Mira might have expected him to say, it wasn’t that; her mouth shut so fast her teeth clicked.
Rumi’s gaze shot down to his, trying to catch his eyes in the low lamp light. “Jinu, what are you saying?” Dammit, she hated how her voice cracked.
Jinu swallowed with difficulty, straining to find his voice. He looked so tired, “Dying was the only good thing I’ve ever done, and it looks like I didn’t even do that right.”
Zoey’s mouth drops into a tiny O shape. She kind of looks like she wants to cry, but doesn’t. Mira, on the other hand, looks like she feels sick. It’s one thing not to trust someone; it’s quite another to hear them say they thought being dead was all they were good for.
“Jinu, please don’t say that.” Rumi leans over him, trying to catch his eye; they’re brown, not demon gold. It was only after she’d lost him that she realized how far out of his way he went to never show his gold eyes around her, even when he was dying right in front of her, his gaze had been brown right to the very end.
She leaned down and brushed her forehead against his, “I forgave you the moment I stepped into that arena and started walking towards you. You carry enough Jinu, don’t carry this too. He’s gone now, don’t keep doing his work for him.”
Rumi didn’t have to say who she meant; Jinu knew she was talking about Gwi-ma. He sucked in a pained breath again, air hissing through his teeth. She would not let him torment himself on her behalf. She glanced back up at the girls, “Mira, can you lend me some clothes for him? Just for tonight? I know we have more to talk about, but it's late. We can talk about it more in the morning. I’ll keep an eye on him tonight, okay?”
She held Zoey’s gaze for a moment, then looked back to Mira.
Mira’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses as she glanced back from Rumi to Jinu again. “I don’t like it, but I will trust your judgment. He tries anything, I will slice him apart.” With that, she let her weapon disappear back into the honmoon and turned quickly, heading back down the hallway to her bedroom.
Rumi sighed deeply in relief.
Zoey glanced back to where Mira had left and then back down at Jinu, “I don’t really think he’s much of a threat, if that’s any consolation. Kind of hard to be scared of someone who looks like a kicked puppy.’
“Zoey!” Rumi admonished her.
Jinu managed to side-eye Zoey with a huff, but otherwise didn’t comment.
“What,” she shrugged, “Coming back from the dead looks exhausting. He’s not a zombie or anything, is he?”
Rumi just stared at Zoey and sighed, refusing to dignify that with an answer.
Mira reappeared carrying a pair of black-and-pink joggers and a plain white t-shirt. “This is the best I can manage right now.” She tossed them to Rumi, who managed to catch the bundle of clothes with her one free arm. “I’m going back to bed. If anything happens, you come get me.” With one final glare at Jinu, she left.
“If you need help, Rumi, let me know.” Zoey made a suggestive face and wiggled her eyebrows.
Rumi scoffed and knew precisely what Zoey was insinuating, “I’ve got it covered, thanks, Zoey.” Pink dusted her cheekbones as she dared a glance down at Jinu, whose lower half was still only covered by her throw blanket.
Zoey nodded with a grin and left, shutting Rumi’s bedroom door behind her.
They sat in silence for a moment, neither her nor Jinu knowing quite how to break it, before she finally cleared her throat. “Do you think you can manage on your own?” she asked quietly, holding the borrowed clothes out to him. He still leaned heavily into her side, but reached out and took the garments from her hand.
“I’ll manage it,” his voice was raspy and thin.
Rumi pulled away from him slowly, afraid he might topple over. Her body missed his warmth instantly, but she bit her lip and sat back on her hanches. She would typically leave the room so he could dress, but worry and fear kept her rooted in place. So instead, she turns around, facing her balcony to give him some privacy.
A few low grunts are followed by what was maybe a curse before she hears a thump. “Jinu?” Rumi asked hesitantly before risking a glance, turning around when he didn’t answer.
She finds him panting, the joggers barely on his hips. It’d be comical how short the pants were on him if not for the way he was gasping as if he’d just run a marathon. He’d tipped forward on trembling forearms like he caught himself falling forward.
Rumi’s moving before he can even begin to protest. One of her arms pulls his over her shoulder, her other arm slips around his hips, steadying him against her body. She slowly helps him to his feet and then shuffles over to let him drop down with a grunt on the edge of her bed.
Reaching over with one hand and keeping the other on his side to keep him steady, she grabbed the shirt from the floor. She studies the material before tossing it aside. It was long enough, but she could tell by just looking that it was not big enough to accommodate his broad shoulders. “We’ll get you something that fits better tomorrow.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Rumi. I’ll be gone tomorrow.” He shifted away from her slightly, eyes fixed on the floor.
“Absolutely not,” Rumi reached out and grasped his shoulders, lowering herself down to look up into his gaze. His dark brown eyes flicked to her for just a moment before looking away, and he curled in on himself slightly. “Jinu, you can barely stand. Where would you even go?”
“Anywhere where I can’t hurt you or anyone else again. I–” Jinu hesitated, “I don’t deserve to be here, Rumi. Not after what I did.”
Rumi sucked in a breath.
“I told you I already forgave you for that.”
His hand clenched the blankets beneath him, his fingers briefly sharpening into claws, “But I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”
Rumi took a deep breath and slowly breathed out through her nose. Part of her wanted to reach out and shake him senseless; the other half wanted to kiss him breathless. Her heart was still bursting with relief that he was here with her at all.
Not wanting to overwhelm him, she managed to refrain from both.
“Well, that’s too bad, you don’t get to decide how I feel. Forgiveness isn’t something you can earn, like some kind of transaction, Jinu. It’s a choice, and I don’t want to hold onto shame and hatred anymore.”
Rumi had spent the months since the final fight against Gwi-ma reflecting long and hard on what she had come to understand, what had led her and the hunters before her to that moment. The paths they had chosen, the courage of her mother to perhaps try to walk a different path. What that type of courage truly looked like.
Hate and shame, anger, those types of things were never going to be enough to defeat the Demon King. Jinu himself had taught her that. When she had arrived at the stadium that night, she had reached out with love and forgiveness to Mira and Zoey.
With love and forgiveness to herself.
She reached out to Jinu now with that same feeling.
She gently slipped his hands into hers; her patterns flickered to life, casting ripples of color across her bedroom walls and his face. Jinu finally lifted his gaze to hers.
“But I hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“I lied to you.”
“Yes.”
“Then why don’t you hate me?” His voice was barely a whisper. He sounded so utterly lost, like harshness and anger were all he had come to expect out of his life. It tore at Rumi’s heart to hear him sound so confused by kindness.
Slowly, she withdrew her hands from his, and for a moment, his breath hitched, as if he thought she had finally come to her senses and was bracing for the anger and sharp words he expected.
He flinched for a brief second as her hands slid up to cradle his face, “Jinu, do you want me to hate you?”
She held his gaze, refusing to let his eyes drift from her own. He swallowed thickly, “No,” he admitted in a quiet rasp, like the words hurt his throat. “But I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I don’t understand why you don’t.”
Rumi grazed her thumb gently beneath the hollow of his eye, over tender flesh so dark with fatigue it looked bruised, "Because it would change nothing. Hate, shame, they do nothing but cause pain. You’ve spent four hundred years hating yourself for a terrible choice you were cornered into making. Did it change anything? Did the shame and hate do anything other than make you miserable?”
He looked at her then, really looked at her. Licking his dry lips before he spoke, “Isn’t that the point?”
“Is it? Punishment, self-hatred, isn’t really a correction, is it? No matter how much shame you felt, would it do anything, make up for the choice you made?”
Reaching up, her hands slid further up behind his neck and into his soft hair. She gently tipped his face towards hers, pressing her forehead to his. He went willingly, the softest sigh escaping him at the touch of skin upon skin. This close to him, she could smell the ghost of smoke and ash that somehow still clung to him.
“Zoey and Mira forgave me for lying to them for years. I forgave them for raising their weapons at me in fear. I forgave you for betraying me after Gwi-ma destroyed what little hope you had in any future without him.” She held his gaze, her thumbs softly tracing his jaw. “We are not our failures,” she whispered. “We are more than our mistakes.”
Jinu took a ragged breath; his eyes were glassy, but the wetness did not escape his lashes. Rumi breathed deeply and closed her eyes, letting his warm breath brush over her skin for a moment before humming softly. The gentle humming slowly turned into words.
We can’t fix it if we never face it.
Let the past be the past ‘til it’s weightless.
She sang gently, even just the few lines of their song made the honmoon flicker to life around them, her patterns glowed softly, shimmering like light refracted through glass.
“We make choices, mistakes, and we have to live with them, carry them.” She opened her eyes to look up at him once more. “No amount of shame or self-hatred will change that. It can not undo or make up for it. We can only try to be better.”
Reaching up again, she pressed her lips gently to his forehead, lingering long enough for warmth to pass between them, for them to share breath before slowly pulling back. “Your past doesn’t have to dictate your future.”
Jinu stared at her, silent for a long moment. So long she wasn’t sure if he’d answer her, before suddenly he moved. Wrapping his arms tightly around her while letting his head fall into the crook of her neck with a soft, broken sound that he stifled against her skin.
If her neck and the collar of her shirt felt wet, she said nothing as she ran her arms up and down his back in a soothing motion. She also took no notice of the dampness on her own cheeks.
After a few moments, she gently eased him down to the mattress with quiet words and encouraged him to rest. She lay down beside him, studying him, her eyes tracing the shape of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired; every line of his face and body spoke to the bone-deep exhaustion he felt, but his eyes seemingly refused to close.
He kept his intense gaze focused solely on her, watching her with rapt attention, tracing her own features with equal fervor.
Rumi reached out, her hand cradling his jaw, her thumb ghosting over a pattern that cut across his face to his nose. “You should sleep.”
Jinu took a deep breath and exhaled deeply, “I don’t want to.”
Her fingers continued to trace the patterns on his face; they were slightly darker than hers, but no longer the deep, shame-filled purple of before. They reminded her of mother-of-pearl, shimmering slightly with his every movement. “Why not?”
“Because I’m still not convinced this isn’t a dream or illusion. Like if I look away for a moment, you’ll disappear, and I’ll be back with him.” With gentle fingers, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, his thumb grazing over a small curl of pattern by her temple before his hand returned to his side.
Rumi’s gaze softened, her eyes once again sweeping over him. He lay on his side facing her; there was a tension in his whole frame, like he was holding his whole body taut, even his fingers curled into her sheets. Anxiety swirled in his eyes, frown lines creasing between his brows.
‘Holding himself back,’ she thought. Still bracing for pain, expecting any comfort to be ripped away. She bit her lip, considering, before rising slowly. “I want to try something, if it’s too much, tell me, okay?”
Confusion flickered through his expression before he nodded, “Okay,” came his quiet reply.
Slowly, moving in a way that let him read her movements, she reached out and gently pushed on his shoulder until he rolled over onto his back. She shifted, her body aligning with his, and gently lowered herself down, her eyes never leaving his, carefully watching his face.
His eyes were wide as his pupils dilated; large and dark in his face. He let out a surprised sound but didn’t tell her to stop. She settled her full weight on top of him, chest to chest, legs tangled together. Locking her arms around him, she rested he cheek against his chest, his heart beating strong beneath her ear. Taking a deep breath, she let her full body weight settle, her presence now a physical anchor for him.
“Better?” she asked softly.
Jinu didn’t answer immediately, but he slowly brought his arms up and let them rest lightly over her shoulders and lower back. Gradually, she felt the tension drain from his body, slowly uncoiling as she made herself into a living weighted blanket. “Better,” he whispered, his body sinking into the mattress and settling fully.
Rumi watched as the final bit of tension slipped from his face, and with it, his fight to remain awake faded. Long dark eyelashes fluttered above his cheekbones once, twice, and then he slipped into sleep.
In the quiet of early morning, she watched him sleep. Taking in every detail, she committed it all to memory. The sound of his breath, the gentle beat of his heart, his own patterns now shimmered in the low light. She sighed quietly, her cheek pressed to his warm, bare skin. He was warmer than she expected. She wondered whether demons ran hotter than humans did? She’d always been warm-natured, one of the things that had made wearing turtle necks and sleeves in the summer so uncomfortable. She would have to ask him later.
She lay there in the darkened room, completely overwhelmed by the fact that there would now be a later.
The mere thought sparked something warm and hopeful in her chest.
Suddenly, the quiet was interrupted by a soft thrum, low and nearly subsonic. Beneath her cheek, she felt a light vibration rumble. A gentle thrum that was so low she would likely not even hear it if she wasn’t lying on top of him.
The sound made something in her settle in response, her inner demon soothed by its soft rhythm. She smiled lightly as she realised what she was feeling.
Purring.
Deep, low purring that rumbled in time with each of his breaths.
He sounded like a house cat that had smoked a pack a day for twenty years.
A grin cracked across her face, part of her storing this moment away for teasing him later, the other part deeply relieved that her presence had brought him comfort. She sighed, relaxing against him fully, letting her own eyes shut.
Tomorrow would not be easy; they still had a long road ahead. But they now had time, time to talk, time to heal. They would be able to share their worries, just as she and the girls had promised themselves the night after the final battle.
The part of her heart that had always thought she would fight her own darkness alone finally shuttered as it faded. She had her girls, and now she had Jinu too.
She knew his old hurts would not leave him quickly, but she would hold him through that darkness, show him how to let his light shine through it. Hold him until it all hurt just a little bit less, even when it was hard, when it was difficult.
Here, together, it would be just a little bit better.