Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

ONE: Executive Functioning vs. Idoldom

Why do I always do this? she thought to herself, eyes red from a midnight sobbing session in the bathroom of her trainee dorm.  

When Zoey turned five, she declared to her parents she’d become a martial arts master after Disney Channel aired Wendy Wu: Homecoming Warrior. Her parents supported her in their typical affluent fashion: enrolling her in Burbank’s premier taekwondo dojang and never asking her about it again. For a month, she thrived. Between re-watches of the film, taekwondo became her life purpose. On the playground, she practiced forms. She asked her nanny to take her to the library to check out books on the subject, discovered promptly she could not yet read any of them, and used them as pretend boards she tried to split in half instead. At the dojang, her instructors praised her natural aptitude towards fighting, and she glowed beneath the warm praise. 

Then, she saw a new show: Aquamarine. Suddenly, her brain fixated on the beauty of mermaids. Taekwondo practice felt like being forced to listen to nails grating against a chalkboard. She wanted to be practicing swimming with her ankles strapped together (surely this preparation would make her eventual tweenage transformation in a few years easier, right?). She wanted to find beautiful shells on the beach. She wanted to do anything but practice forms. She began to falter as she struggled to maintain her focus during practice. Constant praise became corrections and reminders to focus. The lightness in her chest she once felt when arriving at the dojang now felt heavy. I used to be good at this. Why do I always fail in the end? 

She’d read once that the definition of insanity was doing the same things over and over again while expecting the same result. I must be the biggest psycho ever. She glared at her reflection in her phone screen, wiping at the mascara stains on her cheeks. She’d auditioned to become a K Pop trainee in yet another fixation fueled impulsive decision. Her acceptance thrilled her at first. In a whirlwind few weeks, she left her family, her country, and all sense of familiarity. This was her new start. Instead of being the weird girl in the corner scribbling down the rhymes in her head, she’d be an idol. The literal embodiment of the girl everyone wanted to be. Life couldn’t be better.

As usual, she’d thrived at first. Trainees were given clear rules, boundaries, and schedules. She couldn’t make a mess of things by not knowing what she was supposed to do. Why couldn’t her old school have made the expectations so clear? Each day had packed schedules full of excitement. Large blocks of time required her to exercise, dance, and sing. Her body hummed with pleasure. Other girls would grumble about how exhausted they felt, but she felt so energized doing this compared to forcing herself to sit at a desk for eight hours a day. She didn’t even have to make her own meals! Perfectly portioned diet meals were given to her from the cafeteria. 

Then, it began to fall apart. She gained weight. Turns out having required mealtimes built into her schedule and pre-prepped, delicious food made it much easier to stuff her face. She never imagined she’d miss her former days of constantly forgetting her body needed sustenance and living off of iced coffee or whatever she could grab fast when the hunger finally made her dizzy. She developed nightmares of numbers on the scale and reduced the food on her plate fast. Her instructors cracked down hard when her mind wandered during instruction. Her self esteem crumbled under the scrutiny. Like sharks smelling blood in the water, the other trainees pounced on the former wonder girl. They whispered about the weird American, never let her forget every cultural faux paus she committed, and complimented her lyrics in sugar sweet voices. Desperate to turn it around, she praised her teammates constantly, did them favors, and maintained her wide smile in the face of their scorn. It didn’t help. It never does. I’m the worst. 

She was sure to be cut soon. She knew it. A part of her welcomed it. Being an idol trainee was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Her days stretched into the night. The work never ended. Praise was rare and critiques were the norm. She reached for the near impossible metric of perfection in singing, dancing, writing, poise and beauty every minute of every day. And I love it. For the first time, she hadn’t grown bored as the months passed. How could she? The complexity demanded of her captured her every pore. She loved the excitement, the novelty of a goal she could never master, and the daily challenges she had to push her body and mind to master. She loved the idea of the scraps of song in her head becoming real. She wanted to inspire others through her efforts. She wanted this more than anything. 

Her brain spun and spun itself into tight knots of anxiety late into the night. The irony weighed on her. I need rest to be my best, but I’m so anxious about being my best I can’t rest. Not for the first time, she longed to spool her brains out of her ears and store them in a jar for a little while, so she could get a few hours of peace. The next day would be big. The trainees were warned a special guest would scout them during their singing lessons. The girls made up ever larger rumors about who the guest was and what rewards would be granted to the trainee who impressed them. Zoey did her best to tune out the gossip. There’s no way I’ll impress whoever it is. I just need to survive the end of the month judgement next week. I can’t get cut!

When singing practice came, she took her spot beside the other trainees. Her fingers twitched, but she kept her posture perfect. The door opened and the impossible walked in. A few girls gasped or began to whisper, but a harsh rebuke from their instructor silenced them in an instant. Celine of the infamous Sunshine Sisters walked in. Two girls who looked to be a year or two older than her followed like shadows. She recognized Rumi: her adopted daughter and a K Pop princess. She didn’t know the other girl who stared at them with narrowed eyes, brushing a strand of pink hair from her face. 

“Hello, everyone,” Celine said. She spoke with measured confidence. Zoey leaned in. Something about this woman entranced her. “My name is Celine. With me are my daughter, Rumi, and Mira. I am here today to listen to you sing. Don’t be nervous. I want to hear you at your absolute best.”

Is she forming a group? Is this an audition? But, we’re so young. We’ve barely been trainees for a year. There’s no way. I love Mira’s hair. Should I dye mine pink? 

“Zoey!” 

She jolted out of her thoughts. A few other trainees smirked at her from the line they’d formed across the room. Face flush with shame, she quickly took her place at the end of the line. Hot tears pricked at the corner of her eyes but with near painful self-restraint she forced them back. She breathed in deep, straight to her diaphragm, the way she’d been taught. While a technique for singing, she’d found it helped her calm down. 

You can do this. Be your best. Be the idol you want to be.

She’d discovered the use of mantras after some desperate google searches of questions like “how to fix a broken person” and “what to do when you hate yourself.” 

One by one, the other trainees stepped up to a small stage to sing a few lines from a song of their choice. Most chose a song from the Sunshine Sisters to try to win over the former idol. Celine’s face remained impassive. When her time came, she stumbled on the top step. She righted herself, cheeks hot. She noticed Rumi looking at her with empathy. A thread of light broke through her anxiety. So there are kind trainees out there. Good to know. Her mind must’ve been playing tricks, but she felt drawn to her and Mira. As if some invisible string connected her to them. 

She’d planned to sing the song they’d been practicing in class, but at once she made the impulsive decision to sing one of her original songs instead. There’s no way I’m going to be good enough, so I might as well take this moment to do what I love. I’m going to sing what’s in my heart. 

She opened her mouth and the words, the emotions, all the colors she held inside her head poured out. 

"I often long to wear new skin. To shed myself and remove what’s within. 

My mind’s my own prison, my thoughts are a prism, too many sides to comprehend.

There’s so much to me, maybe too much to me, but you see right through me

And love me anyway. With you, I want to stay. With you, I know I’ll be okay…"

Her voice died when waves of blue light pulsed from beneath her feet. She watched the light flow out across the room until it vanished. She looked around in shock and saw Celine, Rumi, and Mira exchange meaningful glances. To her surprise, no one else reacted. Was she going crazy? Did that really just happen?

“You,” Celine said. “What’s your name?”

Muscle memory took over. Her spine snapped straight before her waist bent into a deep bow. “Zoey.”

“Please come with us, Zoey.”

She stepped down from the stage, certain she was dreaming. Celine bid her instructor farewell before leading Zoey, Rumi, and Mira out of the room. She led them outside to a picnic table tucked beneath a cherry blossom tree. Zoey caught a pink petal between her fingers. 

“You’re not crazy,” Celine said. 

Zoey gaped at her. She knows how weird I am? “Those blue waves you saw were real. We saw them too.” Oh, right. That.

“Don’t be scared,” Rumi said, “Those waves are a really good thing.”

“I’m not scared,” Zoey replied. She meant it. No, she was fascinated. Questions tumbled from her mouth so fast the words blended together. “They were so beautiful! Why didn’t anyone else see them? Did my singing cause them? What are they?”

“I like her,” Mira said. 

Another thread of warm gold bloomed in Zoey’s heart. Mira and Rumi didn’t have that look on their face so many others did. That smile that didn’t feel quite right. Their kind words didn’t sound sour to her ears the way so many often did.

“I wish I could tell you now,” Celine said, “But I can only share that secret with members of my group. I am building a K Pop group. Rumi was the first member and will be the leader. Mira is also a member and will serve as our dancer. I am looking for one more member, and I’d like it to be you.”

Zoey blinked. Is this real? She’d prepared herself for several more years of brutal training before she’d ever be given the chance to be considered to be chosen for a group. This isn’t how it’s done. No one recruits trainees like this. 

“This isn’t a normal K Pop group, is it?”

“You catch on quick,” Mira said. 

“So, if I say yes, then we’ll start preparing to launch?” she asked hesitantly

Celine chuckled and shook her head no. “Not quite. You’re all talented, but you still need much more training before anything like that. Saying yes means you’ll become a trainee with me. You’ll move to my training facility and continue to grow. For the most part, your training will be the same as it is here. Though, there will be some additional instruction required.” Rumi and Mira exchanged strange, secret smiles at that. “You three will be my only students. You will live together, train together, and succeed or fail together. Once you say yes, there won’t be any going back. You will be one unit, a family, united above all. This is not a decision to be made lightly. You should take your time. Think it over.”

Zoey took a deep breath. Reflected on all she’d learned. Looked at Rumi and Mira, who gave her encouraging smiles. And did what she did best: dived straight in.

“YES!”

Years later, on the couch between her closest friends who’d long dozed off after the seven hundredth turtle video she’d shown them, Zoey felt no regret for her decision. 

Chapter Text

TWO: The Cost of Rejection

TW: Passive suicidal ideation and descriptions of RSD (rejection sensitivity dysphoria).

Zoey’s perception of herself fluctuated from liking herself to absolute self-loathing. She lived and died by others' perceptions of her. It’d been that way as long as she could remember. She worked hard to be likeable not just because she enjoyed having friends. No, she had to be likeable because if she wasn’t her mind would torture itself until she got her next dose of praise to end the torment for a brief day or so until that empty void returned. 

The launch of HUNTR/X went well at first. Their fan base grew overnight. Her rhymes became top ten hit songs. Her dream had been realized. Rumi and Mira hid their wonder at their faces donning billboards that reached the sky better than she did. More than once, she’d pressed her nose against the glass of the subway in awe at their faces racing past. 

They also restrained their social media usage. Zoey, on the other hand, obsessed over every scrap of HUNTR/X related media. Fan posts. Media coverage. Tik Toks. Each post praising her group electrified her. Her body buzzed with excitement, jostling what they’d declared to be their sacred space in the new, lavish apartment they’d moved into: the couch. 

“Zoey, I love you, but you need to chill,” Mira said, looking up at her as she hung upside down over the back cushions. 

“Sorry!” she squeaked. She tried to tame herself but couldn’t stop her toes from tapping. She grabbed a trusty notebook and began to scribble out her wild mess of thoughts and feelings. Her toes settled a bit. 

“Stop apologizing,” Rumi and Mira said in unison. 

“You owe the over-apologizing jar 10,000 won.”

Zoey groaned but nodded permission to Rumi, who snagged the money from her wallet and set it in the three quarters full jar on the coffee table. They’d started the jar system two weeks ago, and Zoey was losing a lot of money. Rumi patted her shoulder before flopping down beside her. 

“It’s good to see you off your phone,” she said. “Our fans are the best, but they’re not the only ones who’ll be talking. Lots of people love to hate or stir up drama for no reason. Celine always told me she had to tune out the chatter to keep her sanity.”

“I know, I know,” Zoey said. “But what’s there to hate? We’ve been crushing it. We haven’t made any mistakes or shown any faults and fears just like she taught us. It’s so cool that we’re doing it. We’re going to be the ones to turn the Honmoon gold. I just know it.”

“Slow down, tiger,” Mira flipped herself over the couch to sit cross legged on the floor. “There’s a lot of work to do before that happens. Speaking of, do you have any more songs for the album? Even if they’re rough, I’d like to get a head start on the choreo.” 

“I do!” Zoey flipped through her notebooks and tore out a few pages. “Check these out. What do you think?” 

Rumi and Mira looked over the lyrics. Rumi grabbed her guitar and began to experiment with melodies. Mira tapped her feet, searching for the right beat. 

“I like them. The lyrics are tight, and the bubbly vibe is fun. The rhyme scheme is a little clunky here though.”

Their relaxing evening devolved into a workshop session. None of them minded, really. They all loved what they did, and, you know, the fate of the world rested on their success as idols. No pressure. 

Their album grew from idea to reality. The way time flew when famous never ceased to amaze her. One night, they’re concept building on the couch and what seems like hours later they’re on that same couch counting down the album’s next music video drop with fans around the world. 

“FIVE!” She screamed.

“FOUR!” Mira shouted next.

“THREE!” Rumi cried.

“TWO! ONE!” They finished in unison. Their phones blared out the bright notes of the song: Bubblegum. Zoey grinned at the wash of pink backdrops flashing on the screen. The view count ticked up. Every time they refreshed, the count increased tenfold. The likes went up too. 

“Do you think all the pink washes me out? My hair blends in,” Mira grumbled. 

“No,” said Rumi, though she sounded a little unsure. “You look great.”

Zoey’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh! I hope not. I didn’t even think of that when I pitched the pink theme. Sorry!”

“Jar,” they commanded. She groaned but forked over the required won.

“In general there’s no need to apologize so much but especially this time,” Rumi reminded her. “Everything we put out there is a group effort. Like, not even just us three. Bobby and the production team are the ones that make 90% of HUNTR/X happen.”

“You’re right. Sor- I mean, I just get jumpy whenever something new goes out there, you know?”

“Nice catch. Yeah, we know. Don’t sweat it. Look, we’ve got another song to strengthen the Honmoon done, no demons in sight, and a pantry I might have stocked with extra snacks in prep for tonight. So, I say it’s time for some ultra relaxation.”

“Mira,” Zoey said solemnly. “You are awesome in ways I cannot fathom.”

“I know,” she replied. 

Snacks were grabbed, cozy PJs were donned, and the sappiest K Drama available on Netflix was put on the TV. Zoey tried to focus on the film. She really did. But her mind kept spinning. Was the pink background the wrong choice? Why didn’t I adjust the wording on the third verse? It still sounds a little clunky. Maybe this song is stupid. What if the fans hate it? What if we lose them? Then, the Honmoon won’t be strengthened and demons will suck out everyone's souls. Oh my gosh. What if it’s my fault? Do they hate the song?

“Be right back,” she said with a forced smile. 

She raced to the bathroom and yanked out her phone. She began to scroll through social media, desperate to know how the song had been received. There were plenty of posts praising the song. Videos of fans dancing along. Likes ticking up on the video feed. Zoey glossed right past all this to focus on a series of new hashtags gaining traction. #Poptheirbubble and #Bubbleheads led to threads full of people criticizing the song for an assortment of vaguely reasoned grievances Zoey struggled to understand.

The song had been inspired by youthful fun with friends. There weren’t any major feminist themes. She hadn’t intended to make any statement with this song. No, this was a fun, fluff track with a beat meant to allow Mira’s choreography to shine. Nonetheless, the song appeared to face some kind of feminist backlash from certain corners of the internet. 

Zoey’s stomach twisted. She felt sick. How could this have happened? I am a feminist. Right? HUNTR/X is supposed to empower girls. Do I have an internalized misogyny problem? Is it bleeding into my lyrics? What if this ruins HUNT/X? Mira and Rumi would never forgive me. Why am I so stupid? They hate it. They hate me. I’m the worst idol ever. I don’t deserve to be a part of this group. I shouldn’t be a demon hunter. I ruin everything I’m a part of.

A knock on the door startled her. 

“Zoey?” Rumi said from behind the door. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said in a strangled voice. “Just some of the snacks must’ve disagreed with me. I’m going to be here for awhile. Sorry!”

“Stop apologizing.” Mira’s voice joined in. “You need anything?”

“No. I’m good, really! Love you guys!”

“Love you too,” they said. Their footsteps retreated. 

Zoey exhaled in relief but then became gripped with anxiety again. Her stomach began to rumble for real. She cursed her anxious tummy. I’m such a mess.

She renewed her doom scrolling, thoughts racing. Zoey wanted to stop. She knew the scrolling only made it worse. Yet, she felt frozen. She couldn’t stop. In fact, somehow stopping hurt worse than continuing. Somehow, her own desires didn’t matter to her mind anymore. She’d become a prisoner to her brain, trapped in the bathroom making herself sick with stress.

By the time she managed to collapse into her bed, her bones felt hollow. A heavy, empty pit weighed down her chest. She let her phone flop onto the pillow. She stared at the moon’s reflection on the screen, eyes dull. Zoey knew this exhaustion. She’d felt it before when she found out the girls she’d considered friends were really just pretending to like her for laughs in middle school. She’d felt it when she got her first scathing review from an instructor when she started idol training. Now, she felt it as she perceived the world turning against her. 

In reality, most received her song well. Praise overshadowed the attempted backlash from some antis. She couldn’t see that. Reality didn’t matter anymore. The sting of rejection she experienced engulfed her. 

I wish I could sleep. I want to sleep forever. I’m too tired to deal with this. I can’t face the girls tomorrow. I can’t go to rehearsal. I can’t face the world. It’s too much. 

A lone tear fell down her face. It felt good. At least she could feel the grief of rejection instead of feeling nothing. She fell into a brief, fitful sleep before her alarm blared. 

She startled awake. Nausea seized her guts and she gagged into the trash can beside her bed. Nothing came up. 

“Dammit,” she muttered. “Come on, Zoey. You can do this. You’ve got to do this,” her voice broke. 

She began to cry. A fist in her mouth stifled her sobs. She flopped off her bed and curled up on the floor beside it, burying her head into her knees.

“Five minutes,” she muttered to herself. “You’ve got five minutes then you need to get up.”

She eyed the time on her alarm clock and cried for five minutes exactly. Then, she wiped her tears and forced herself to her feet. She mechanically went through her morning routine. 

She took a deep breath and opened her door. Rumi and Mira were concerned, of course,

“Just didn’t sleep. I’ll be alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Mira said. “I’m never buying snacks from that corner store again. They did seem a little sketch.”

A small smile came on Zoey’s face. “Apology jar,” she murmured. 

Mira snorted but put in the money. “You got me. Hey, are you sure you’re okay for rehearsal? We can reschedule.”

She shook her head. She’d already given them a garbage song. The last thing she’d do now is slack on her responsibilities. I can be good enough for them. I just need to work harder.

At first, dance practice went well. She lost herself in the familiar moves. The music washed over her like a balm to her soul. Her fears faded as she focused on the present moment. Until, Mira announced they’d be adding Bubblegum to their upcoming tour set, so they needed to practice a routine for the stage. Zoey froze.

“Wait, that song? Are…are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Rumi’s brows furrowed. “Why not? It’s fun and gives a chance to really show off our moves. We talked about how we needed to bulk up the middle of the show, remember? This song is exactly what we need.”

Zoey fidgeted. “Yeah. But maybe I could write a new song instead? I just want to make sure we include songs the fans will love, you know?”

“You’re overthinking this,” Mira said. “The song is good. We don’t have time to write anything new. Plus, the routine I’ve made is killer. We’re doing it.”

Zoey looked away, nodding in compliance. 

“This tour is going to be epic! You girls are doing great,” Bobby called from backstage. He always knew when to throw in some encouragement, bless him. 

Mira began to walk them through the routine. Zoey did her best to follow along, but her mind spiraled again. They hate this song! Why are we adding it to the tour? The fans are going to be so upset. What if it causes the Honmoon to weaken while we perform? How can we turn it gold and protect everyone if we’re performing my garbage songs? I ruined everything. 

Her chest tightened. She forced her face to remain blank. Somehow, she made her limbs move to the routine. Rumi seemed fooled, but Mira kept an eagle eye on her the whole practice. Mira’d learned her tells over years spent hanging out in the bathhouse or relaxing on the couch. Rumi’d always been more reserved. They’d learned not to take it personally. In times like this, Zoey welcomed that gap of space. Mira’s perception of her felt unnerving. 

Sure enough, she cornered her after practice. 

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, standing a bit too close. Others might have been offended by the confrontational tone, but Zoey’d learned to read her too. Mira’s level of aggression correlated to how much she cared. 

“Nothing. Just tired.”

“Bullshit,” Mira leaned in closer. “You’re not you. You’re sad. Why? Did someone upset you? Tell me who to punch.”

Tears came to her eyes in spite of the laugh that bubbled out of her chest at Mira’s sincerity. How did I get so lucky to have true friends like this? I don’t deserve it.

“I’m a bad songwriter,” she whispered, voice cracking. “They hate the song.”

Her counterpart sighed. “You were scrolling again, weren’t you?” Zoey nodded, eyes averted. “Damn. Let me see your phone.”

“Huh?”

“Phone. Now.” Zoey hesitated before handing over her phone. Mira began to walk off but paused. She turned back and wrapped her in a bear hug. “I’ll give it back in a bit. Don’t worry, I won’t read your texts or anything.” 

Then, in true Mira fashion, she stalked off like nothing happened. Their day continued. Meetings. Studio recordings. A brief photo op. When they arrived home, Zoey went straight to her room and fell into a deep sleep, so exhausted she didn’t even remove her shoes. 

Hours later, she woke up. She blinked blearily until the muted colors of her various posters and plushies came into focus under the pale light of the moon. She noticed her shoes had been removed. She turned to see a note on her nightstand. Beneath the note was her phone.

I upgraded your phone. You’re a badass demon hunting idol, you dork. Don’t let the haters get you down.

-Mira

Zoey’s eyes watered again but she kept the tears at bay. She couldn’t find anything different about her phone. Puzzled, she fell back asleep.

Days later, she got a random calendar alert titled: Your lyrics are fire, and your nail art game is on point. She stared at it, felt a golden glow melt her heart, and had a bit more of a spring in her step for the rest of the day. The calendar alerts came at random but always made her day. She also noticed her social media accounts would now send her an alert after an hour of scrolling to help her remember to log off. 

The reminders helped. Over time, her self worth became less tied to praise or criticism. Her brain spirals after a song faced some critiques began to lessen in duration and severity. Months later, after a rough editing session with some producers, Zoey faced herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red from a few tears, but she steadied herself. It’s okay that not everyone loves my songs. Or even loves me, she thought, I love me. My friends love me. I can do this.

With that, she fixed her mascara, painted on a smile, and emerged to face the world. 

Chapter Text

THREE: The Muchness of Me

Sometimes, Zoey would forget her brokenness. At times, her life fell into a rhythm. She bounced to the beat of her routine. Vocal training. Dance practice. Studio time. Journaling. Bath house with Mira. Cooking with Rumi. Gamja hotdogs with Bobby. Signings with fans. And on and on and on. She’d soar, bubbling with energy, smile effervescent, and she’d bask in all the praise coming her way.

Then, as Icarus’s wings burned when he brushed the light of the sun, she’d too find herself plunging into the abyss. Despite her phone calendar alerts, planner, and giant weekly overview beside her bedroom door, she missed appointments. Her lyrics became unfocused. Her smile felt forced beneath the weight of a mysterious exhaustion she couldn’t shake. Criticisms would come as she faltered, and they’d chip away at the self-esteem she’d worked so hard to forge bit by bit.

The timing of this fall couldn’t be worse. They were on a World Tour. Their schedules were packed down to the minute. They all fought exhaustion as they neared their last shows. Zoey longed for the comfort of her own bedroom. The hotel sheets felt wrong. Why were they always kind of scratchy? People always seemed to need her for something. Why couldn’t she have just one hour to breathe? Mira’d noticed her fragility and did her best to make sure Zoey made it to all her obligations on time. She loved and hated it. Guilt about needing to be babied ate away at her. 

The closet had honey colored wood. She traced the lines with her manicured nail tip. A thin crack of light between the doors illuminated the enclosed space. A twenty-minute timer ticked down on her phone. 

“Twenty minutes,” she whispered to herself. 

She took several deep breaths. You can do this. Focus. You love this. You’re a great idol. Come on. Believe you’re a great idol. Rumi and Mira need you. You’ve got to do this.

Her phone buzzed. She silenced it without reading the message. 

“Come on,” she grumbled. “I’ve got twenty minutes.”  

She put her earbuds in and blasted her current favorite song. She’d obsess over a song for about two weeks, listening to it on repeat, and then drop the song until a new one captured her interest. Her current song was a soulful, aching ballad that spoke to the bone deep exhaustion she carried. Her emotions bubbled up with the bass. She bobbed her head, eyes squeezed shut. 

Don’t think. Just feel. Get it out. 

She couldn’t take it. Her emotions were too big. Is there a monster inside me? It’s like my feelings want to claw out of my skin. She grabbed her planner, which she kept strapped to her side at all times, and flipped open to this week. Her pen hovered over the full schedule. I’m on track. I’ve got fifteen more minutes. It’s fine. I’m fine. She spotted another ten minute gap and filled it in with ‘self care time.’ Then, she began to write self care ideas in the margins. Mindfulness video? Breathing. Doodling? Yoga. Gratitude list. 

Oh, right! I’m supposed to list all the things I’m grateful for. In the other margin, she began a new list. Mira. Rumi. The fans. Celine. Hamburger ramyeon…she trailed off when she noticed footsteps passing by. Did someone really use a key to get in? Top tour staff, like Bobby, had spare keys to all the rooms they could use in an emergency, but it was standard to knock first. Anger bubbled up in Zoey. What the heck? They really can’t give me twenty freaking minutes? 

She held her breath. She had ten more minutes and dang it she’d get them. She needed this. She had to perfect her schedule and practice her self care to be her best. Why didn’t anyone get that? Her comfort song thumped in her ears. She returned to tracing the wood again, looping over its swirls and patterns. The footsteps receded. 

She sighed in relief. The rest of her ten minutes passed much the same until her alarm tone blared in her ears. Tears welled up. With blurred vision, she swiped the alarm away. I’m not ready. I can’t do this. She wiped her eyes, raced to the bathroom to fix her makeup, and emerged from her hotel room anyway. She made her way to Bobby’s room where the group was scheduled to meet for a check in. Loud voices carried from behind the door. She frowned. Did something happen? She knocked twice. The door opened, and Mira began yelling.

“Zoey, what the hell?! Where have you been? You missed the photo op, and no one could find you. I’ve sent you like a hundred texts!”

Her heart stopped. She felt herself go pale. With a shaky hand, she clicked her phone screen and saw a long string of messages. Most were from Mira, but Rumi, Bobby, and Celine had sent several too. The all caps messages from her best friend stabbed into her heart. 

She ran into the room, eyes wild. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! I thought I had a twenty minute break. I swear, I didn’t know! Look,” she flipped open her planner with such force it fell from her hand. She snatched it back up and fumbled through the pages until she found the right one. “I copied the agenda exactly. We had rehearsal, then the meet and greet, and then this gap here before the check in.”

Mira pinched her nose. Rumi and Bobby exchanged a look. 

“That’s tomorrow’s schedule,” Bobby said. “You had the morning stuff right, but you mixed up the afternoon line up. It’s okay. We rescheduled the photo op for tomorrow. It made things a little bit more tight, but it’s doable. I’ll text you the updated schedule. Can I trust you to keep your phone on and check any texts immediately moving forward?” 

This was as close as Bobby got to a reprimand. Zoey found herself crying again. She wiped away the sole tear that escaped. He’s disappointed in me. He didn’t say so, but she could tell. They all are. 

“Yes. I’ll keep the ringer on, and I’ll make sure I set alarms to stay on schedule. This won’t happen again, I swear. I’m so sorry.”

Rumi stepped up and wrapped Zoey in a hug. She stiffened at first, unworthy of such empathy, but then melted into it. Rumi always hugged with her whole body, a stark difference from her typical reservedness about close contact with others. Her hugs were the best. Mira groaned then dove in, crushing them in her grip. 

“Stop apologizing. We love you, you idiot,” she said. 

Zoey gave a little laugh. “Thanks. Love you guys, too.”

The day went on then, too packed for any more reflection on her blunder. At least, it seemed too packed for the others to fixate on it. The scene she’d walked into, the shame and guilt she felt, turned over and over in the back of her mind. She masked her pain behind a smile, but she knew she was going through the motions. 

I’m such an idiot, I’m such an idiot, I’m such an idiot. Wait, you shouldn’t talk about yourself like this. Calm down. Ground yourself. Deep breaths. I’m such an idiot. I can’t do this. I’m a failure. I ruined everything. No, it’s okay. They fixed the schedule, they forgave me, and I’ll keep my phone on so it doesn’t happen again. It’s okay. Come on, Zoey.

At last, she collapsed into her hotel bed. She clutched her pillow to her chest, biting into it to muffle her sobs. All the stress, shame, and exhaustion poured out. Her mind raced, thoughts so fast she couldn’t keep up with them. She knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight. Her phone pinged. 

She sobbed louder. Please. I need a break. Please leave me alone. Yet, true to her promise to her team, she checked the message. It was from Rumi.

👑QUEEN RUMI: Hey. I hope I’m not overstepping here, but I did some googling to try to help you stay on track, and I found this. I think you should give it a read. When I read it, I really felt like you might need to see this. No matter what, we love you. Again, hope this doesn’t offend you or anything. 

The next message was a link to an article about ADHD in adults. Indignation sparked in her. Jeez. I know I messed up, but I don’t have freaking ADHD. I’m not a total spaz. Still, out of respect for her friends and due to some unidentifiable emotion she dared not acknowledge yet, she clicked on the article. The more she read, the more she leaned forward. Symptom after symptom…fit. Kind of. Am I really hyperactive? I don’t know. And I’m super organized. I have three planners! She clicked another article about ADHD in adult women. Some of the fuzziness from the previous article cleared away. This sounds like me. Oh my gosh. This is me. She clicked another article, this one a personal account from a late diagnosed woman with ADHD. 

Tears fell again, but these ones felt cathartic. This is me. This explains everything. I’m not broken. I have ADHD. Right? Yes. This is me. I’m not alone. I’m not lazy. Life really is harder for me. She opened up her messages. In her haste to reply to Rumi, she accidentally typed in the group chat between the three HUNTR/X girls.

ZOEY: Oh my gosh. THANK YOU! You’re right. I had to read this. I think I have ADHD!

🗡️#SLAY MIRA: What

ZOEY: Sorry! Didn’t mean to proud in the group chat but glad u knoo. 

ZOEY: *post *know

👑QUEEN RUMI: I’m so glad the article helped. 

🗡️#SLAY MIRA: Send 2 me.

👑QUEEN RUMI: URL attached.

🗡️#SLAY MIRA: …

🗡️#SLAY MIRA: Yeah this is totally you.

 ZOEY: U think? 

🗡️#SLAY MIRA: Yup

👑QUEEN RUMI: It explains a lot. 

👑QUEEN RUMI: Since we’re all obviously up, late night room service in my room? Menu says 24 hours.

🗡️#SLAY MIRA: Hell yeah

Zoey began to type yes but hesitated. She touched her puffy eyes. She couldn’t fake a smile. In fact, all she wanted to do was keep reading about ADHD. But, she also wanted to be with her friends. 

 ZOEY: I am kinda tired. Might not be too fyn.

ZOEY: *fun

🗡️#SLAY MIRA: Dont care. Ur good. If u want to come, come. 

👑QUEEN RUMI: No worries if you’re too tired, but we’d love to hang with you. We can just chill with a documentary? Maybe turtles?

Her heart squeezed. 

ZOEY: Omw. 

They ordered sky high ice cream sundaes. A BBC documentary about marine life played in the background. Zoey sat in the corner reading article after article about ADHD. Every now and then, Rumi and Mira would ask a question and listen as she rambled through her own new, messy self-discovery. Then, they’d talk to each other, and she could be physically with them but engrossed in her own mind without guilt. 

She clicked another article listing accommodation ideas to help adults with ADHD. Hope bloomed within her. Maybe it all didn’t have to be so hard. She decided not to pursue a diagnosis yet which meant no medication. In some ways, Korea lagged behind the states in acceptance of disability. She couldn’t risk this leaking to the public and putting her career, or the fate of the world, in jeopardy. Still, Rumi and Mira knew and accepted her. They could help her. She could better help herself. And, most of all, she could begin to shed a lifetime of shame and self blame. I’m not broken. I’m just a woman with ADHD. 

Chapter Text

FOUR: The Dichotomy of My Disability

Music thumped through her headphones. Zoey flipped the page in her latest notebook. She’d used up three fourths of its pages already. Lyrics flowed out of her, her fifth song concept in two hours, and she nodded approvingly at the chorus shaping itself into being. The flow moved through her. This space always felt magical, ethereal even. It was a realm all her own, one only she could access, and in it she felt no less magical than when she slayed demons with her song. 

She’d been able to access this state of mind more and more since putting her new accommodations in place. While she hadn’t formally requested them or identified herself as having ADHD to anyone besides Mire and Rumi, the team implemented her requests without issue thanks to the other girls’ firm support. Wherever possible, her schedule now built in a few hours of blocks of work with twenty to thirty minute breaks chunked between to allow her the time she needed to self-regulate. The costume team now took her sensory preferences into account. No more itchy costumes! Bobby sent out morning schedule reminders with color-coded items and sent additional reminder messages. 

It helped. A lot. The more she read about ADHD, the more she recognized some glimmers to it amidst all the struggle. The better she addressed the deficits, the greater the assets made themselves known. Flow states such as this were one. Her infectious joy for all number of things was another. She found herself able to cope best of anyone in the trio with their chaotic schedule at times now, brain on fire in the best way with the endless challenges from conquering both idoldom and demon hunting. 

How funny is it that I once thought my ADHD would keep from me being able to do this? Sometimes, it’s like my brain was made for this. So…why do I still feel like I need these?

Her eyes slid to the tonic flopped across her upper thigh. Her mind drifted back to the day she’d gotten them for the first time.

It’d been a rough week. Despite her newfound accommodations and confidence, she still felt crushed by the weight of the world. She’d been late to two practices that week after misplacing her notebooks, or her phone, or her planner. She’d struggled to produce any new songs. Her brain refused to write about anything besides turtles, the comfort animal her mind always returned to when stressed. No one wants to listen to an album about turtles, Zoey! Get it together. There’s got to be something else you can write about. Heartbreak? Hot boys? Sexy abs! Ugh. I just want to watch more turtle videos. 

Her brain’s ability to hyperfocus led to her dominance as a lyricist, idol, and fighter. When invested, she’d devote herself wholly to perfect a skill or master a craft in no time. Yet, her brain could also foil her attempts at greatness when it fixated on the wrong thing. Not all her interests aided her career…or any career, really. Like a stubborn mule, she couldn’t seem to get the darn pink mass of evil between her ears to cooperate. 

Which led to a late night doom googling session which led to her to stand on the curb of Earthy & Herby, a hanuiwon advertised to treat a wide array of maladies including those affecting the mind. She tugged her hate down and took a deep breath. Accommodations are great, but everyone says medication really helps. I can’t risk going to a psychiatrist, but maybe there’s some kind of herb that works the same. 

The door chimed when she opened it. 

“Just a moment,” a man called from the back. 

She took a seat, feet tapping into the linoleum floor. She looked around. Posters of the body and some art of plants decorated the walls. Her eyes bugged when she saw several photos of what must be the hanuiwon’s han-uisa with a handful of K Pop groups and baseball teams. I never heard of any of these famous people having health issues. He must be really discrete!

“Hello,” a man in a white coat came out from the back. Zoey jumped up to greet him. He returned the greeting then motioned for her to sit. “Sit, sit. My name is Healer Han. And you are…” his eyes grew large as he examined her closely. “You look familiar. You can’t be…You are! It is an honor to meet a member of HUNTR/X.”

“The honor is mine,” Zoey said. “I didn’t realize you’d helped so many other idols.”

“Other-” his eyes darted to the photo wall. “Ah, yes. Yes, of course. I am sure I can help you as well. What, uh, what seems to be the problem?”

“Well,” she picked at a nail, “I saw on your website that you don’t just help the body but also help the mind?” her voice rose at the end like it was a question. “Sometimes, it’s really hard for me to focus. Or, focus on the right things, I guess? And I forget things a lot. Like, a lot. Even when I try to set reminders. I also get really tired sometimes. So, um, do you have anything that could help something like that?”

His eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. 

“I think I have just the thing. One moment, please.”

The herbal mind booster he’d given her tasted similar to the frappuccinos she treated herself to once in a blue moon. They did make her feel a little calmer. Or maybe a little sleepy? They must be working! 

She gave a little skip, jostling the hefty box in her arms. I don’t need to risk seeing a psychiatrist and having my adhd be doubted or found out by the fans. I can just treat myself with these tonics. This is perfect.

Back in the present, she finished off the tonic with a long slurp before tossing it into the bin. It overflowed with little silver pouches. They tasted good, and they seemed to help, so why not? 

“You sure are drinking a lot of tonics, huh?” 

Zoey glanced up to see Bobby in the doorway. She scooted over to make room for him on the studio couch. 

“Hi, Bobby! I didn’t miss another appointment, did I?” She opened her phone and sagged in relief when no text alerts popped up.

“No, no. Don’t worry. I just wanted to check on you.”

She giggled nervously. “Check on me? Why? Did Mira or Rumi…?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “No, they haven’t said anything to me. Should they have?”

“NO!” She winced at her volume. “No,” she tried again, calmer. “I’m doing fine. Great! Check out these new song concepts. I’ve been on a roll since…” She balked at the clock. “Oh, wow. I missed lunch.” 

“Missed lunch? That won’t do. What kind of manager would I be if I let my girls go hungry? Join me for a gamja hot dog? I’ve been craving one from the stand around the corner all week.”

A little drool formed in the corner of her mouth. She led the way out the door. “Let’s do it.” As the elevator brought them to the ground floor, she asked, “Where’re Mira and Rumi?”

“I think they went for a run. They said something about not wanting to disturb you when you’re in the zone as they passed me in the hall.” 

“So, you disturbed me?” she teased.

He laughed. “Well, I know how focused you can get. I wanted to make sure you had something to drink and eat. Good thing I checked.”

She laughed but it felt a little forced. She hadn’t realized he’d noticed her tendency to forget to take care of herself. Bobby had, in fact, noticed this tendency in her and the other two girls, which was why he frequently brought them snacks and made sure groceries with meal kits were delivered each week.

“It’s no biggie,” she assured him.

They stepped off the elevator and walked through the lobby to the main door. Bobby pulled a baseball cap from his back pocket for Zoey. She undid her buns to accommodate it, black hair flowing over her shoulders. 

He hummed. “Do you mind if I ask what the healing tonics are for? I’ve noticed you drinking them almost constantly. This isn’t just me being a manager. I really want to make sure you’re okay.” 

Her heart pounded in her ears. A hot flush of shame burned her cheeks. Stop it. He’s being nice. I don’t need to be ashamed. I know better. So, why am I reacting like this?

“It’s nothing, really. Just, uh, a cold. It’s been stubborn. The tonics are supposed to strengthen my immune system. They must be working because I’m not coughing or anything. But, germs are everywhere, so you can’t be too careful! Best to keep drinking them. Yup.”

He nodded and let the matter drop the remainder of the walk. Zoey took a deep breath. Wow, he bought that? Okay, I’m in the clear. I’ll eat, then I’ll find some kind of thermos to keep the tonics in from now on. That way no one will know what I’m drinking. 

They ordered, and Bobby insisted on paying. A crisp new spring breeze brushed her loose hair from her face between bites. She hummed contentedly at the taste. 

“These are the best! Thanks again, Bobby!” 

“Anytime,” he said, leaning back across the picnic table they’d found in the park beside the stand. “I should be thanking you for agreeing to join me. A meal is best with good company, and I really needed to eat so I could take my medication.”

Zoey whipped her head towards him. “Your what? You-uh-huh? Are you okay?”

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. It’s for my anxiety. I take two pills a day, plus one or two extra if I need it when things get super stressful. Best to take them with food, so I can’t afford to skip a meal.”

She took this in. It’d been a long time since someone spoke openly about their mental health with her. In America, it’d been a little more common for her peers to bring up anxiety or depression but still rare due to the stigma against mental illness there. In Korea, it never seemed to come up due to the even stronger societal stigma. Even Rumi and Mira, who trusted her with deepest feelings, danced around these topics much of the time. Celine’s voice rang strong in their heads even years after they’d concluded their training: your faults and fears must never be seen. 

“You have anxiety?”

“I do,” he said. “It doesn’t affect me too much now though. When I managed my first group it affected me a lot. I wish I’d have gotten help sooner.”

“Oh,” she said. “Why didn’t you?”

He sighed and took a contemplative bite of his meal. “Well,” he said after swallowing, “I would’ve told you I was too busy to deal with it back then, and that things weren’t so bad I had to go through all the effort to make a psychiatrist appointment. But, the truth was I didn’t want to admit I needed help. I thought I had to handle it myself. Looking back, I don’t know why I was so stubborn about it. There’s no medal given out for managing mental health symptoms without medication or therapy. All you get for toughing it out is greater suffering.”

She looked down. “What if people found out and didn’t trust you to be a manager anymore?” she whispered. 

He smiled at her. “Well, I just told you. Do you not trust me to be your manager anymore?”

She gasped. “No! Of course not, Bobby. You’re the best!” 

He laughed. “I’m glad you think so. I think you and the girls are the best too. The right people will care about the right things. They won’t let any one struggle a person faces define them.”

She ate in silence, heart aching with the promise in his words. I can trust him. 

“The tonics aren’t for a cold,” she said. “And all the changes I've been asking for with my schedule and stuff aren’t for no reason either. I, um, I think I might have ADHD. And, I’ve been reading about ways to help, and the accommodations have been helping. I thought those mind boosting tonics might help too.”

Bobby took this in stride. “Thank you for trusting me. If you need any more accommodations, please tell me. I’ll do everything I can to make it happen. I don’t know much about ADHD but from what I’ve heard medication like Adderall is supposed to be the treatment, right?”

She nodded. “It’s what is most recommended though I read lifestyle changes and therapy can help too. But, I’d need a diagnosis to get medication. I can’t risk my faults being seen. What if it gets leaked? I could ruin HUNTR/X.”

Bobby sighed. “You’re not wrong to worry about how something like this getting out could hurt your career. I wish the world would change faster. But there are mental health practitioners who specialize in treating the ultra-famous. Their business depends on their ability to keep quiet. All managers know them. Trust me, if you want to give medication or therapy a try, I’ll connect you with the right people to make sure no one else knows until you want to share, okay?”

The words didn’t lift the weight on her shoulders. If anything, they increased it. Why aren’t I happy? This is perfect. I can try these medications others are saying changed their lives. I could even go to therapy. I trust Bobby. No one will know. So, why am I upset? Her eyes felt hot. She put her head in her hands. 

“Zoey?” Bobby asked. A warm hand patted her shoulder. “You don’t have to if you don't want to. I didn’t mean to pressure you in any way.”

“No,” she sniffled. “No, don’t worry. You’ve been too kind. It’s just…I just…what if the psychiatrist doesn't believe me? What if I’ve got it all wrong, and I don’t have ADHD? Maybe I really am just lazy and stupid and irresponsible. What if the meds don’t work, and this is the best it’ll ever be?”

“Hey,” he said, “you’re not any of those things. We all see how hard you work and how much you care. It sounds like you’ve had to work much harder than you should’ve for a long time. Whether that’s because you have ADHD or something else, don’t you think it’d be good to see the person who is trained to help you find the answers and get the help you need?” 

She wiped at her eyes. “Y-yeah. You’re right. You really don’t think I’m lazy?”

“I know you’re not lazy. I’ll set up an appointment. Anything you need, please come to me. Okay?”

She wrapped him in a hug. He hugged her back. “Thank you, Bobby. Have I mentioned you’re the best?”

He pulled away and winked. “You know it.” Then, he pulled a small container out of his pocket. He popped a small white pill into his mouth and washed it down with his iced tea. “Come on. You’ve got some songs to finish.”

A week later, Zoey took her own pill for the first time. Her stomach bubbled with nerves. She paced around her room, waiting for…something. How will I know it worked? What if it doesn’t? Why is my heart pounding so bad? Is that the meds or my anxiety? Slowly, but surely, her mind settled. She began to mindlessly pick up the piles of clothes on her bedroom floor and place them in her hamper. Her mind quieted. 

Her eyes widened. Her mind had quieted. Instead of a song on repeat and two different tabs of thoughts running parallel, she could think one focused thought at a time. Her emotions rested within her, settled and tame. Her energy felt intentional, directed towards the tasks she needed to accomplish. She breathed in and out in awe.

“Is this…is this how it is?" she muttered aloud, "No wonder it’s been so hard.” She gazed at her reflection in her vanity mirror. “I did so much when it was so hard.” 

She’d never felt prouder of herself or more hopeful for her future. 

Chapter Text

FIVE: This is What It Sounds Like

You’re too much and not enough. You’re broken. Defective. A cosmic mistake that ought to be recalled. You think they love you? If they knew the real you, if they knew you’re defective, if they knew you have to take pills to function like a human being, they’d leave. You’re not good enough. You never were.

Zoey’s eyes snapped open. Heart pounding, she took stock of her surroundings. Turtle bedspread. Journals scattered across the floor. Custom Derpie hoodie she’d made after meeting Rumi’s adorable cat demon draped over her vanity mirror. 

Gwi-Ma’s gone. It’d been two weeks. She’d made up with her best friends, her sisters. They’d defeated the demons and built a new Honmoon. Yet, the victory didn’t feel final. Not really. More like they were healing. Healing from wounds they hadn’t even known they’d had.

Gwi-Ma was gone, but his words remained a steady buzz in her head, ruminating on repeat. She now knew what her death sounded like. It’d taken so little for her to be willing to throw herself in the fire. A few targeted words. A few betrayals of trust. That was all it took for that tsunami of emotions she’d thought she’d left in the past to consume her. To nearly abandon her sacred duty as a hunter and burn herself with the rest of the world.

She squeezed her eyes shut. It’d been acknowledged just once. A few nights after the battle, Rumi told them she’d begged Celine to kill her. No one spoke for a long moment. The weight of Rumi’s pain crushed Zoey’s chest. Why did we let her run from us? We almost lost her. Then, she met eyes with Mira, face taut with agony. They looked to their leader. Rumi’s lips wobbled with unshed tears. The trio understood at once what would’ve happened had Rumi not found the inner strength to fight in spite of losing everything. They collapsed into each other. No one spoke of it again. 

They’d survived, but the road to thriving was harder. Rumi explored her demon side. The teleporting was cool as was her new look; however, figuring out how to explain the pastel array of jagged patterns on her skin to the fans was less so. Bobby’d figure something out. He’d been stunned to learn about his girls’ double lives, but there was no help for it. Only one person could hope to salvage their career from a crisis as big as this, and it was him. Bobby, somehow, didn’t quit on the spot or faint when Rumi showed her demon form. Instead, he hyperventilated, took his pills, asked an insane amount of questions, cried with them between mouthfuls of miyeokguk, and then got to work. Needless to say, he deserved every cent of his enormous raise. 

Mira began to open up about her childhood prior to defying her family to live in the idol dorms. The more she shared, the more Zoey locked eyes with Rumi in alarm. The stories Mira shared were, to put it lightly, not okay in the slightest. Her hard exterior now made a heartbreaking degree of sense. 

Zoey comforted her friends. Listened. Validated. Hurt, quietly, and kept silent about her pain in spite of their promise to never lie to each other again. It’s not that she intended to break that promise. She just couldn’t find the words to articulate this enigmatic wound festering within. They knew her struggles already. Accepted her already. Hell, they’d figured out her neurodivergence before she did! Rumi had reasons to be broken up. She’d lost the first person who knew and accepted the whole of her, Jinu, and, at least for now, the only mother she’d ever known. Mira was, for the first time, allowing herself to feel the pain of her childhood and show vulnerability. Both of them had valid reasons to hurt, valid wounds to heal from. 

What reasons do I have? I dealt with my pain already. I’ve done the work. I already go to therapy. I know better, know myself, and accept myself. Right? I should be their rock right now. It’s my turn. So, why do I feel so broken? Why can’t I get up?

She rolled over and traced her nail over the wrinkles in the bedsheet. For once, she could see its natural pale pink color. Bobby’d given them three months off. For the first time in their career, they’d taken the break. The fans, she assumed, rioted. She couldn’t say for sure because Mira’d locked their phones in a lock box and changed the wifi password for good measure. 

She sniffled and rubbed her wet face on her turtle plush. The soft green fur grounded her. She felt her body sink farther into the mattress. Somehow, she felt heavier. An image of her as an iron statue forever laying in this room flitted across her mind. She blinked it away and fumbled for her pill case. She popped the pills into her mouth and swallowed them. She gagged a bit when they first refused to go down without water, but managed on the second try. 

This is pathetic. Get. Up. She didn’t move. A familiar wall came around her, a cage built in her subconscious but nonetheless impenetrable. A thought she refused to hear echoed somewhere in her bones. Maybe I can just lie here forever. Wither away. 

She couldn’t, of course. Rumi and Mira would check on her eventually. Rumi would encourage her in her gentle way. Mira would cook her favorite foods and threaten to force feed her if she didn’t eat. The vision of the two beside her, present even in her worst moments, brought sudden insight. The tangled knot her rumination had been working to undo fell open all at once. 

Rumi is going to face the world fully herself. Mira is going to let her walls come down. Yet, I’m still trying to mask my struggles all the time. Flashes of a lifetime of moments played in her head. All the times she’d smiled through overwhelm and said yes to more in spite of the crushing weight of her current load to be good enough. All the times she’d feigned illness, claimed a distant grandparent had died, or made up some other ridiculous lie to hide her inability to manage her obligations. 

All the times she’d pushed her own comfort aside to fit in. All the times she’d worked herself to the bone to keep pace only to be criticized for every crumb of weakness she showed. All the times she missed a dose of her medication and suffered for it because she couldn’t slip away to down them in secret. The time she sprained her ankle during rehearsal, and the nurse’s eyes grew cold after reading her intake form. In a tone reminiscent of a principal scolding a pupil, the nurse began to lecture her about the addictiveness of stimulants, and Zoey had been frozen. She’d bit her lip to muffle sounds of pain when the nurse roughly wrapped her ankle and retreated to her bed at four in the afternoon after faking a yawn when Rumi and Mira asked if she felt okay. Then, too, she couldn’t find the words for the strange shame the encounter left with her, the oppressive guilt despite taking her medication as prescribed for valid reasons, and the newfound anxiety bubbling in her chest at the thought of going to the doctor again.

How often did she feel dirty or damaged or other even after reading the cheery poster beside her mirror that proclaimed “Celebrate Minds of All Kinds” with an accompanying picture of a brain covered in flowers while getting ready in the morning? What good did her self-acceptance bring her when the demands of her life continued to stretch her beyond her limits? 

The new Honmoon shimmered in the corner of her vision. The ripples glinted shades of blue, pink, and purple. The words began to come. She left the bed and grabbed a journal. Her hand scrambled over the carpet to retrieve her pen. Ink bled onto the pages in a confused scrawl. Lyric after lyric, song after song, began to take shape. Some angry. Others aching. The last…healing. 

Journal clutched to her chest, she ran out of her room towards the couch, socked feet skidding to a dramatic stop in front of the TV. Rumi chopsticks clanged against her bowl of rice. Mira’s head snapped up, pink hair stuck to her forehead with sweat from her morning workout. Sussie squawked in outrage at the disturbance of his nest within the pink tangles. Mira’d really taken to the demon bird.  

“I’ve got a concept for an album,” Zoey burst out. “It’s about healing. Becoming new but, like, not new. Becoming your true self. Like you did, Rumi. And being vulnerable! Like you, Mira! And tackling stigma towards, well, everything. Neurodivergence and mental illness and the stupid, impossible beauty standards, and all the other things that make us feel ashamed.” A fierce passion came over her. “Don’t you see? That’s the real way the demons win. There’s so much shame. It’s so easy for Gwi-Ma’s voice to sneak in. So many people hate themselves so much, feel forced to hide so much, that they are this close,” she held her thumb and forefinger close together, “to being willing to throw everything away with just a few targeted words. But, we can help change things. Our songs can help change things.”

Rumi put her bowl aside and reached for the journal. Derpy padded over and began lapping up her rice, but she didn’t seem to notice. She flipped through the pages, engrossed in Zoey’s words. Mira read over her shoulder. 

“Wow,” Mira said. “Some of these are…raw. Not exactly our usual feel good sound,” she said, voice thoughtful. “I don’t hate it though,” she assured quickly when she saw Zoey’s face fall. “No. Actually, I dig it. This with some killer percussion…like a heart pounding. Move the bridge to the end and make it a big buildup…” She trailed off as the vision formed in her head. 

“I think the songs are great, too,” Rumi said. Her leg bounced anxiously. “But, this is a bold move. It’s already going to be tough salvaging our image after the fallout the fans think we had at the Idol Awards and the Saja Boys disappearing right after,” her voice faltered at the mention of the Saja Boys before recovering, “You know how it is. We’ve been lucky to avoid any major scandals. We’ve had more grace than a lot of other idols. I don’t know if Korea, or the world, is ready for this.” 

Derpy looked up from the rice and laid his head on her leg. Zoey sank onto the couch beside her. Rumi’s words dampened her frantic energy. “You’re not wrong,” she said. Part of her wanted to leave it there. Maybe compromise and soften the lyrics. Yet, something welled in her. A resolve, a flame, hot and piercing. “It’s a risk,” she said, “but it’s one we have to take. If any idol group can try, it’s us. We were number one in the world. One song where we were real with each other and the fans built this new Honmoon.” Her hand stroked the ripples around her. Mira and Rumi eyed it too. It shimmered a little brighter, as if encouraging Zoey to continue. “What could a whole album do? How could us being real about shame impact the fans?” 

She took the journal and flipped the inside of the front cover where she’d taped some pictures of their fans. Her thumb traced over a group of kids smiling wide in the front row of one of their concerts. 

“That’s manipulative,” Mira huffed, but her eyes were soft. 

“So manipulative,” Rumi echoed, a little smile blooming. 

“We’re gonna get backlash,” Mira said. “You ready for that?”

Zoey took a deep breath and nodded. “I won’t lie. It’ll be hard for me, but I’ll be okay. I’ll make a plan with my therapist to prepare.” 

“We’re not counselors or politicians or activists,” Mira continued. “It’s stupid that just acknowledging stuff like depression in a song or being open about, uh, trau- tough stuff is, like, making a statement, but that’s how it is. We’ll have to be careful not to be preachy when doing press.” 

“We’ve done tougher stuff. How many times did we explain away a demon kill on the fly?” Rumi said with a little smirk before it faded to a grimace. 

The conversion grinded to a halt as an awkward pause settled over the room. Zoey glanced at Derpy and Sussie. How they felt about demons now that they knew they were more than faceless monsters was a whole other complicated mess of emotions no one dared poke yet. 

“So, are you in?” Zoey asked. 

Rumi’s patterns shimmered. She thrust out her hand. Mira laid her hand on top. Zoey grinned at the corniness and slapped her hand atop the pile. They lifted their hands with a cheer of, “HUNTRIX!” 

There were still demons, literal and metaphorical, to fight. Conversations to be had. Tears to be shed. Wounds to be healed. Yet, the way the new Honmoon, their Honmoon, glimmered pushed Zoey’s fears away. Days bled into weeks. HUNTRIX made their comeback.

This, she thought as Rumi joked about which colors best accented her patterns. 

This, she thought as Mira snored softly on her shoulder.

This, she thought as a girl with faded scars on her arms told her how much HUNTRIX’s music meant to her.

 This is what thriving sounds like.