Chapter Text
The fan signing is a blur of glitter, shrieks, and cameras — but for Mira, it’s mostly just loud.
Loud and hot and full of unwanted eyes.
She sits between two demon boys — Romance on her left, Abby on her right — and every second feels like her skin is being slowly peeled off by their attention.
Romance leans in for the fifth time in ten minutes. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice silk-slick and sour, “we keep meeting like this.”
Mira doesn’t flinch, but her hand tightens around the Sharpie she’s holding.
“If only I could smash your demon face in,” Mira hisses under her breath.
“What?”
She jerks back to the fan in front of her with a plastered on smile, voice honey-sweet. “Thanks for coming!”
She grabs his poster and signs it, her pen jamming against the glossy surface too hard. Her “M” is sloppy again. Shaky.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Just a few more minutes. Just a few more signatures.
She snaps her head up and beams at the fan in front of her. “Thanks for coming!” she says, voice honey-sweet.
The next fan in line limps forward with wide eyes and trembling hands — a teenage boy, maybe sixteen, a heavy blue cast running up his shin.
He looks like he’s about to pass out. Which would be understandable, considering three of them — Mira, Romance, and Abby — are staring him down like he’s prey.
“I call signing the cast,” Abby says, already uncapping his marker. “Dude showed up broken. That’s commitment.”
“No way,” Romance snaps, lunging across the table to grab the fan’s crutch. “He’s clearly here for me. Look at that smile. That’s a Romance smile if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Bold of you to assume everyone who looks like an idiot is yours,” Abby shoots back.
“I saw him smile at me,” Romance growls.
“He smiled at me,” Abby huffs.
“He smiled because he’s in pain!” Mira snaps, her voice too loud.
They all freeze for half a second.
Then, chaos.
Romance and Abby each lunge for the fan’s leg like it’s a football in overtime, both of them grabbing the cast and trying to drag it closer to their side of the table.
“Hey—!”
“Careful with that thing, I think I felt it crack—”
Mira sees red.
Her hand slams down on the cast, yanking it back toward her like she’s rescuing a baby bird from vultures. The fan winces audibly but doesn’t say anything, too starstruck — or too terrified — to interrupt.
“Back. Off,” Mira growls, her eyes narrowing as both boys lean in even closer.
They’re in her space. In her air. Their stupid cologne mixing with sweat and ego and god, Romance’s forehead is practically touching hers now.
She wants to bite his nose. Rip it clean off. Watch him try to flirt through a gauze wrap.
Abby’s breath brushes her ear as he leans too close from the other side. “Come on, Mira. Don’t be greedy.”
She jerks away like she’s been burned.
“You’re not just crowding me,” she spits, “you’re crowding our fans. He came here for Huntr/x, not to get fought over by two sweaty demon boys with a combined IQ of boiled seaweed.”
“Ouch,” Romance purrs, and she could scream.
Her marker presses too hard against the cast as she signs it — her “M” once again an unholy mess, jagged and slanted. The ink bleeds against the plastic surface like it’s trying to escape the moment with her.
The boy blinks up at her, wide-eyed. She forces a smile.
“Thanks for coming,” she says, barely audible over the sound of her pulse in her ears.
Mira straightens slowly, forcing herself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
She hates this.
She hates them.
Romance won’t stop looking at her like she’s a prize to be claimed. Abby keeps flexing his arms and winking at fans like they’re co-stars in some stupid rom-com. And the worst part is how good they are at it. Everyone eats it up — the flirting, the heat, the fake tension between demon boys and the human hunter girl in the middle.
But Mira doesn’t want their attention. She never has.
She glances down the table for escape — for something, someone, to ground her.
Her eyes catch on Zoey.
Of course they do.
Zoey’s leaned in close to Mystery, her hand just barely brushing his. Her face is flushed from the heat or the lights or maybe just the buzz of adrenaline, and she’s smiling in that casual, easy way that Mira always wished she could steal.
She’s beautiful like this — lit up, relaxed, confident.
And it’s all for him.
Mystery laughs at something and ducks his head, and Zoey’s hand lingers just a second too long on his sleeve.
Mira’s stomach turns.
She tells herself it’s the heat. Or the cheap perfume on Romance. Or the exhaustion. Not the way her heart thuds painfully every time Zoey smiles at someone else — especially him. Especially a demon boy with a stupid helmet-shaped head and stupid soft voice and stupid perfect swoopy hair that makes fans scream like he cured world hunger.
Why can’t Zoey look at her like that?
Why does Zoey always look right past her — like she’s just part of the table, part of the background, part of the job?
It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Just a few more minutes. Just a few more signatures.
Then maybe she can get away. Find Zoey. Find someone who doesn’t look at her like they’re deciding how to eat her.
But when she looks up again, Zoey’s still with Mystery.
Still laughing.
Still not looking her way.
And Mira’s chest tightens so hard it’s like something inside her is splintering.
~~~
The signing ends without ceremony.
Just the slow wind-down of screams, the shuffle of chairs, and the glitter-dust haze left behind by a hundred crying fans. The posters are curling at the edges on the table. The Sharpies are running dry. The lights overhead are still too bright.
And — thank god — the Saja Boys are gone.
They didn’t even stay the full time. Crashed the stage halfway through, soaked up the crowd’s obsession like arrogant sponges, flirted their way into every Huntr/x interaction — and then dipped.
Romance left with a wink and a half-empty water bottle. Abby flexed his abs one last time for a fan who actually squealed, then high-fived Mystery and bailed like they hadn’t just turned Mira’s entire day into a waking migraine.
Good riddance.
Mira stays seated at the long signing table, arms draped over it, forehead nearly touching the cool plastic surface. She exhales like she's just stepped out of battle. Because she has. Being sandwiched between those two was a test. Every instinct in her hunter-trained body screamed to stab something, anything. Her skin still crawls with the afterimage of Romance’s breath on her cheek.
She swears she can still smell Romance's cologne.
“Mira!”
Bobby’s voice cuts through her moment of silence. She doesn’t even look up.
She hears Zoey’s footsteps before she sees her — the soft bounce of her sneakers, the gentle weight of her presence as she walks up alongside Bobby.
Mira sits up straight.
“The internet ate that shit up,” Bobby says, practically vibrating with excitement. He’s scrolling through his phone, thumbs flying. “I’m serious, the crossover’s trending. Like, major engagement spikes. We’re talking Rumi/Jinu edits, shipping wars, and the fan cam of Romance feeding you a grape? Viral.”
Mira’s eye twitches. “He didn’t feed me. He threw it. Like a dog.”
Zoey snorts, bumping her shoulder gently as she slides into the seat beside her. “You did catch it with your mouth though. Pretty impressive.”
“Wasn’t trying to.”
“You still looked hot.”
Mira’s brain short-circuits for half a second — until she realizes Zoey’s teasing. Just playing. No weight behind it. Nothing real.
She reaches over and snatches Bobby’s phone from his hand before she can talk herself out of it.
“Lemme see,” she mutters, scrolling through the open story.
The first slide is an edit: soft lighting, rose filters, Jinu and Rumi laughing in slow-mo, forehead touches and fake captions.
The caption is followed by twenty red heart emojis.
Mira raises an eyebrow. “Well, at least someone got a romantic arc out of this disaster.”
Zoey leans in closer. “Keep going.”
The next story hits like a punch to the gut.
Zoey and Mystery. Mid-laugh, eyes locked. Someone’s dubbed over a love song, one of the sad ones with synths and a rising beat. The comments explode with “soulmates!!” and “Zoystery endgame!!”
Mira’s stomach flips. She knows it’s just fan bullshit. Just edits. But the way Zoey is leaning in, the way she’s glowing on screen — it looks real.
Too real.
She swipes again.
And there it is.
The final slide.
Mira’s breath catches in her throat.
It’s a three-way ship graphic — her, Romance, and Abby — all in matching outfits, drenched in fake sweat and surrounded by black-and-red hearts.
Another edit pops up underneath it — a fake group chat.
abby_saja: “she likes when we fight over her”
romance_real: “dibs on the first bite”
mira_huntrx: “you wish.”
Her hand starts to shake.
No, the phone starts to shake — her fingers clamped too tight around it, knuckles white.
Her whole chest feels like it’s caving in. Heat pools in her cheeks, her stomach, behind her eyes. They’re shipping her with them? Not one of them — both. Like she’s some prize in a demon-boy tug-of-war. Like her disgust doesn’t even register. Like she wasn’t ready to bite their noses off for breathing near her.
And then Zoey — still peering at the screen from her shoulder — laughs.
“Aww,” she says. “You look so cute together.”
Mira flinches.
The laugh fades from her throat. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first.
Cute together?
With them?
With those assholes?
After the hell they just dragged her through?
And after this whole time, when all she wanted was for Zoey to look at her the way she looked at him—?
A growl slips out of her before she can stop it — low and guttural, not quite human.
Zoey pauses. “Mira?”
But Mira is already setting the phone down, gently — too gently — like if she doesn’t control her hands, she might throw it across the room. Her jaw is clenched so tight her teeth ache. Her eyes sting.
And somewhere under all that anger — rage, really — something breaks.
Because it wasn’t just the ship.
It wasn’t just the boys.
It was Zoey.
Zoey, who smiled at Mystery.
Zoey, who didn’t notice her choking on discomfort all day.
Zoey, who looked at that god-awful edit and thought it was cute.
She gets to her feet before Zoey can say anything else.
“Mira, are you—?”
“I’m tired,” Mira lies, not looking back. “That’s all.”
Zoey watches Mira walk away — stiff shoulders, too-fast steps, no glance back — and instantly regrets opening her mouth.
~~~
Nice one, she thinks. “You look cute together.” Really nailed that, genius.
At first, she figured Mira was just still fuming from the fan signing. And who could blame her? Being stuck between Romance and Abby for over an hour would ruin anyone’s mood — demon boys were loud, cocky, and allergic to personal space.
But this? This felt like something else.
Something colder.
Something that made the air around Mira crackle as she left.
Zoey stares at the empty space Mira just vacated, her smile faded and shallow now. The kind she puts on for interviews, not friends.
She leans back against the edge of the table, arms folded tight over her chest, trying to replay the conversation in her head.
Mira had glared at the phone… then at the screen with the fan edit… and then—
Wait.
Was it the joke?
Was it the part where Zoey said she looked hot during the grape thing?
Or maybe the “cute together” line?
Zoey winces. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath.
She always jokes like that. That’s the bit. The flirt. The banter. The fans love it. Everyone plays along.
But… deep down, she knows she isn’t really joking. Not with Mira.
Maybe that’s why her voice always goes a little softer around her.
Why she laughs a little too hard at Mira’s eye rolls.
Why she notices when Mira’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
Zoey scrubs a hand through her hair.
Maybe Mira didn’t like it. The comment. The teasing. The whole ship thing.
And maybe… maybe she actually likes Romance and Abby?
The thought hits Zoey like a sucker punch. She tries to shake it off — of course Mira wouldn’t— I mean, she hates them— doesn’t she?
But now she’s second-guessing everything.
Maybe Mira was uncomfortable because she thought Zoey was making fun of her. Mocking her crush. Laughing at the idea that she might like the boys after all.
Zoey’s stomach turns.
“I’m such an idiot,” she says softly, mostly to herself.
She didn’t mean to make fun. She didn’t mean to hurt her.
And if Mira does like one of them… well… that’s fine, right?
Even if it makes something sharp twist behind Zoey’s ribs.
~~~
The door to the Huntr/x tower clicks shut behind her with a sound like a lock slamming.
It’s quiet inside. Still. No cameras. No screaming fans. No Romance breathing down her neck or Abby flexing like his arms are Gwi-Ma’s gift to humanity.
Just silence.
Mira doesn’t bother turning on the lights. She doesn’t need to see herself right now. She knows what she looks like — a mess in glitter-smeared eyeliner and cracked lip gloss, carrying the stink of artificial smiles and burning shame.
She walks straight to her room, kicks the door closed with her heel, and slumps down on the edge of her bed like her bones have given out.
Her fingers curl into the bedspread. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip until it hurts.
Zoey’s voice won’t leave her head.
“You look so cute together.”
The words echo, jagged and bright like broken glass in her skull.
She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to breathe.
In. Out.
In. Out.
Don’t think about her. Don’t—
But she is thinking about her.
Zoey’s laugh. The soft way her fingers brush your arm when no one’s watching.
The way she really smiles — not for cameras, not for fans, but for you when you say something stupid and she gets it anyway.
And her voice.
That voice.
Saying “hot” like it was a joke, but with eyes that lingered a little too long.
Mira buries her face in her hands and lets out a sound that’s half-growl, half-breath.
It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.
Not from Zoey. Not for her.
She’s not allowed to feel like this. Not here. Not in this group. Not in this industry.
She’s the dark one. The quiet one. The blade, not the beating heart. The fighter, not the girl who gets to ache.
And even if she could have feelings — real ones — it wouldn’t matter. Because Zoey isn’t for her.
Zoey is sunshine and warmth and flirtation and possibility.
And Mira is barbed wire. A scowl with legs. A mistake waiting to happen.
Her chest tightens. The guilt comes next, like it always does. She’s so stupid for letting herself hope. For thinking Zoey’s teasing meant anything. For thinking that maybe — even for a second — she could be seen.
That maybe Zoey looked at her the way Mira looks at her.
She pushes it all down. Deep. Where the other parts of her live — the locked box inside her chest where her past and her silence and her truth are crammed together, stitched shut with fear.
There’s no room for this.
There never has been.
So she bites the inside of her cheek. She blinks the sting from her eyes. And she tells herself, again and again:
You don’t get to want her.
Not like that.
Not ever.
~~~
The apartment is quiet when Zoey slips in, the kind of quiet that feels like it’s been sitting there for hours, thick and waiting.
Mira’s on the couch, legs curled under her, eyes locked on the TV like it’s doing a better job pretending than she is. The flickering light dances across her face, but she doesn’t look up. Doesn’t even move.
Zoey hesitates by the door.
She’s mad. Of course she’s mad.
She runs a hand through her hair and makes herself step forward. Each movement feels stiff, wrong, like her limbs are moving ahead of her brain.
“I just…” Zoey starts, then immediately hates her own voice. Too loud. Too hopeful. “I wanted to say sorry. For earlier.”
No response.
She inches closer, the air between them dense and awkward.
“I was just messing around with the fan edits and stuff. The grape thing. The ship graphic. It wasn’t serious, I was just being—” She swallows. “Stupid. I think I made you feel like… like you were dumb for having a crush or something. If you do. On them. Or anyone. Which is totally fine. Like, really.”
Her hands fidget at her sides. Her voice is trying for lightness, but her chest is full of lead.
God, you probably think I was mocking you. Laughing at you. And now you won’t even look at me and it’s because I made you feel stupid for having feelings. For liking them. For not liking me.
Mira doesn’t turn.
Because if she does, she’s going to snap.
Crush on them?
On them?!
That’s what she thinks? That I like Abby and Romance? That I sat through that disaster of a fan signing dying inside because I have a crush?
Her jaw tenses. She forces her hands not to clench.
God, that’s disgusting. She really thinks I want them? That I like their hands on me? That I wanted to be in the middle of their sweaty little ego match?
And then, like a knife twisting in Mira’s gut—
It’s better this way.
Because if Zoey thinks she has a stupid, embarrassing crush on one of the boys, maybe she’ll never look close enough to see the truth.
Maybe she’ll never figure out that it’s her. That it’s always been her.
Mira grits her teeth.
Better to be misunderstood than exposed.
Zoey, desperate to fill the silence, reaches for a joke, for anything to make it less weird.
“I mean,” she says, forcing a smile, “I get it. Mystery’s, like… weirdly hot in a ‘wounded poetry major who smokes clove cigarettes behind the gym’ kind of way, right?”
Even saying it makes her stomach flip.
Liar. You hate him.
But if she can relate—if she can turn this into girl talk, into something light and harmless—maybe Mira will let her back in.
Mira’s skin crawls.
Mystery?
She does want him?
She turns, just enough to look Zoey dead in the eyes. Her voice is cold. Controlled.
“Zoey. Stop.”
Zoey goes quiet. The smile fades.
For a moment, it hangs there—fragile and awful—everything unsaid pressing against the walls like a storm.
Then Mira sighs, dropping her gaze. “It’s fine,” she lies. “Let’s just… have couch time.”
Zoey nods, quickly, like she’s grabbing onto a lifeline.
“Yeah. Okay.”
She slides into her usual spot beside Mira, the cushions dipping with the familiar weight of her. Their routine. Their safe place.
And Mira leans in. Against her better judgment. Against the burning in her chest and the sick twist in her gut.
She rests her head on Zoey’s shoulder.
Don’t do this. Don’t be weak. She doesn’t see you. Not like that.
But Zoey’s warmth is right there. Her arm, tentative at first, wraps around Mira’s back.
And Mira lets herself melt. Just a little.
Zoey swallows hard. Her hand settles against Mira’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of her hoodie.
She stares straight ahead, eyes unfocused.
Just hold her. Don’t think too hard. Don’t say anything else stupid.
But she steals a glance.
At the curve of Mira’s cheek. The way her lashes rest against her skin. The soft furrow in her brow, like even now, she’s fighting something inside herself.
If I was braver…
Zoey’s thumb brushes lightly along Mira’s side.
If I was braver, I’d kiss her right now. I’d tell her it’s not the boys. It’s never been the boys.
Mira feels the touch, soft and grounding.
Don’t react. Don’t lean in more.
She leans in more.
Just a little.
Her eyes stay closed.
You’re pathetic Mira, she tells herself. But she’s warm. And this is the closest you’re allowed to be.
They stay like that—wrapped up in the illusion of comfort, skin against skin, hearts screaming beneath the silence.
Two girls pretending not to want more.
Two masks resting gently against each other, smiling without teeth.
And the quiet between them is deafening