Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Survival.

That’s all life has been for the past six months.

Not living, not really. No dreaming of better times after such a soul wrecking accomplishment.

Not even healing.

Just… survival.

The kind that stains your strawberry glossy lips with hints of bitterness and salt from constant unbridled sweat—where you keep dancing, smiling, fighting, because stopping would mean falling apart.

Where every breath feels like it's borrowed, and every mirror lies a little more than the last.

Exhaustion isn’t just physical anymore. It lives in my bones. In the silence between heartbeats.

Pure survival, because the opposite is too painful. The memories will burn me for days… In the few stolen moments I shared for such a short time with Jinu, now I do everything to keep my mind off… just completely numbed out.

But today— Today, it’s different.

Today doesn’t taste like extreme effort or adrenaline or sticky performance makeup.

Today tastes like disbelief.

…. And mint gum…?

…

I stare at him.

Not a photo.

Not a dream.

Not a demon-crafted illusion meant to break me.

Or is it? How else can this be explained? 

I’m home alone because, luckily, Zoey and Mira both had things to take care of today—manager meetings, choreography tweaks, something with our wardrobe coordinator, who knows. I barely listened when they told me. Just nodded. Smiled enough to keep them from worrying.

They left me the space without question. A rare gift.

A break.

A breath.

We’ve been grinding non-stop since the Honmoon turned into the unexpected rainbow color. We still haven’t quite figured out what it all means, but the acceptance of my own demon side seems to have created this new version of the bridge between the two worlds. The world feels safer, more at ease, all since…

Since that night.

The first few days was numbing and incredible at the same time, the pain of hiding finally gone.  But then came the realization crashing down.

Don’t get me wrong—I’d die for those girls. Zoey’s laugh has pulled me back from more spirals than I can count. Mira’s glare can silence demons and CEOs alike. They’re my sisters. My lifeline. My reason for keeping upright most days.

But even they know... I’m not okay.

Not really.

They’ve seen me fake my way through interviews, rehearse until my legs go numb, smile at fans until my jaw aches—because that’s the job, right? Keep shining. Keep performing. Keep hunting.

But no amount of glitter or spotlights or award-staged tears can change the truth: The last time I stood on a stadium-sized stage…

I watched Jinu disappear from existence.

The first person who ever really saw me—all of me, even the demon-marked parts I spent years trying to hide—stepped into the insufferable fire meant for me. I watched him give up everything. His peace of mind, his freedom, his soul… for me. So I could finish my hunter’s goal. Save the fans, save the people.

Stop Gwi-Ma.

He gave me his soul like it was nothing. Like it was already mine.

And then he was gone.

No encore. No final bow. Just light. Pain. And silence after our song was finished, after the true power of our music and song sealed the faith of the demons.

We took a break after that. HUNTR/X dropped off the radar for a few months, which the media spun as a “creative recharge.” Behind the scenes, we were just trying to sleep without nightmares, to breathe without choking on ghost-thick air.

And now we’re back. Comeback stage in eight days. The countdown has started.

And me?

I still feel like half of me is stuck at that stage, screaming his name.

Getting back into the game is harder when the last time you performed involved the destruction of the only person who made you feel like you weren’t cursed.

So yeah.

Today’s break was welcome.

Even if it means sitting in an empty apartment, surrounded by the wreckage of half-practiced choreography that I really should get myself into...

Even if it means I have to sit with it. The silence. The memory.

Because there’s no escaping it.

But right now my feet don’t move. The song isn’t playing. My voice doesn’t make a noise.

Not anymore. Not since he appeared.

I blink once. Twice.

My hands are still trembling from training. My gear is on the floor, all scattered as I was just moving out of my own bedroom into the larger open room of the living space. The new routine requires a lot of costume change, scarves and other crappy items that won’t move with me (still fuming at Mira for all her genius ideas)… and now there’s a crack in my favorite coffee mug from when I dropped it as well, because why walk twice when I could have it all at once. But then…

Jinu is alive.

He is sitting on my couch.

In my apartment (well, our apartment, that I share it with my favorite demon hunting girls). Wearing one of my hoodies—inside out, like who does that, stupid 400-year old demons might?—and chewing gum like nothing happened.

Like he didn’t vanish six months ago in a blaze of cursed fire right before my eyes. Like I didn’t watch him sacrificing himself into the line of deadly force from Gwi-ma, just to save me.

No! Somehow all of that seems like a different timeline as he just casually sits there.

Jinu is… alive?

I don't breathe. I can't. My chest is a mess of joy and panic and disbelief that tastes like ash and minty gum. My knees want to give out but I’m too stunned to move. How is this possible? Is it a trick? Another demon, wearing his face? My pulse spikes.

But then he grins—his grin, that overconfident one with the perfect mouth, perched little lips you just want to—and my heart just… shatters.

Its my lavender hoodie—the one from the fan-sign tour. The one I used to hide myself under whenever we wanted to get unnoticed around town. Why is he wearing my clothes? 

He’s leaning back against the couch like he owns the place. Smirking like this is just another Tuesday—with that face. That face I’ve tried to erase from my mind, that haunted my nightmares and my daydreams.

He looks gorgeous. Unfairly so.
No marks. No shadows. No trace of the demon that once hollowed him out from the inside.
Just perfectly human.

Like he never belonged to the darkness. Like he never let it use him to nearly destroy me.
And still, he’s sitting there like nothing happened. Like the world didn’t shatter around us.

It makes me sick.
Because I still can’t stop staring.

And I hate him for that. For what he did and how it made me feel. Because I don’t know what else to feel about this moment. Jinu was dead, is dead. But he just sits there.

Like he didn’t throw himself into the heart of Gwi-Ma’s deadly attack - just to... Like I didn’t feel him disappear through some unexplained bond that somehow tied our souls together as he gave his soul to me, so I could channel that into my sword.

Our souls mixed! How is it possible for him to sit there like he doesn’t have a care in the world?

“Hey,” he finally says removing the fucking gum.

Just that. One syllable. And the world tilts sideways. And I’ll have words later on the gum at the edge of the couch, but right now..

Is Jinu alive?

No. No, no, no. This isn’t happening. He died. I saw it. I felt it. That final moment as Gwi-ma was about to devour every soul, when his triumph seemed imminent—when time froze as his red beam of foul energy was going to be the end of me, when all the magic cracked and crumbled, until Jinu stepped in and apologized for everything though he didn’t have to do that as tears filled my eyes… when he smiled at me one last time before…

He saved me. He gave up everything. He gave his fucking soul! I fight the tears that lingers just behind my eyelids.

And now…

Jinu looks very much alive as he just sits there.

I can’t breathe. My chest feels full of thorns and static and a thousand unsung songs.

My demon marks—which used to be hidden beneath clothing and stage makeup, but now are full on display as the world seem to register that something has changed—sting faintly beneath my skin. Like it is responding to him. Like some weird form of recognizing him.

Or to just another brain dead demon…

He shouldn’t be here.

He can’t be.

But he is.

And maybe Jinu is alive.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, moving slowly up from the couch. “That this is a trick. That I’m just another illusion conjured to break you.”

I flinch. I haven’t summoned my blade, haven’t reached for it — yet.

But I will if that stupid fuck comes anywhere near me, at least that is the plan. My fingers tickles with the potent energy, ready by my side. Fucking demon tricks, why did it have to be so believable?

Part of me still thinks this is a dream. But my heart... my heart really wants it to be true. That confident smile. That tilt of the head like he's weighing every single part of my body as he scans my posture. At least I’m in my yoga wear this time. But those eyes…

It can’t be! It just can’t. But my confidence wavers slowly away.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “You were gone. You gave me your soul. I felt you disappear—”

“I did,” he says softly. “But something brought me back. I don’t really understand it myself, but somehow, after having been blasted into nothingness, drifting in an infinite pool of darkness and undeniably pain, somehow.. something or someone brought me back.”

I stare at him. 

This is a terrible, terrible trick. My eyes really waters now, as I struggle to hold myself standing up. 

“You gave me your soul.. so that I could…” I can’t even finish the sentences, the memory still so fresh and painful. “We stopped Gwi-ma.” I simply state. 

“Yeah, you did!” Jinu smiles like he is impressed- is he really? Could it be?

”You were amazing. All this time I couldn’t tell you how much I regretted not believing you. I didn’t deserve you, I still don’t.” The sorrow in his eyes feels real. 

“You were scared, I get it.” I simply state. In the end his sacrifice was what made it possible for us to succeed. 

I mean it. But my voice shakes anyway.

Jinu doesn’t answer. Not right away. His expression flickers with something that almost looks like relief. Or shame. Maybe both. Fuck, I’m so screwed, this is hitting hard.

And maybe that’s what breaks me.

Because part of me wants to run to him. To fall into his arms and let everything crash down around us.

But the other part—the smarter part, the burned part because of his betrayal —knows better.

That part lifts its head inside me and screams.

No.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t safe. He slowly takes the first step closer to me.

“Don’t!” I say with a sharp tone, and he freezes mid-step. I feel the pressure build in my chest, and with it, a sharp hum through my body, like static crawling across my skin.

Then, like breath condensing into frost, my sword finally materializes in my hand. 

It shimmers into existence—born from my energy, from my fear and fury and the pulse of my demon-marked blood. The sword that changed since Jinu gave me his soul, so how is any of this possible?

Light flashes across the room. Gold. Cold. Bright enough to cast his face in stark relief.

Jinu doesn’t flinch.

“Okay,” he says quietly.

Slowly I hold the blade between us, pointing it toward him, though he is still a couple of steps away. My arm shakes, but I don’t lower it.

“You don’t get to come back like this, like you didn’t suffer at all.” I say, voice hoarse. “You died. You gave yourself up so we could finish the fight. You let me feel your soul inside mine, and then you were gone. I mourned you, I felt your grief. I still...”

“I know.”

“I buried you inside me. I sang with your ghost in my throat. Every step, every lyric, I was carrying you.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me what you are,” I hiss. “Right now. Before I decide you’re just another demon illusion sent to break me.”

His eyes close. A long breath. He doesn’t speak for a moment, like he’s searching for an answer that even he doesn’t trust.

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “I should be gone. When Gwi-Ma hit me, I felt myself burning—ripping apart from the inside. I thought I’d disappear completely.”

“You did,” I snap.

“I thought I did,” he corrects gently. “But something held me. Not my body. Not even my soul, I think. Just… the part of me that was still yours.” He closes his eyes as if trying to find the words.

I lower the sword a fraction, eyes wide in frustration. Why does it thrill me so much to hear his voice again? How can he say those words when we never came to an ‘us’? He was never mine, because there was no trust. My brain is fighting the internal war that wages on inside me. There never was anything more between us.

At least that’s what I heavily try to convince myself off… I try to forget the sorrow. I can’t lower my guard this easily. I can’t stand down. I just can’t. But I also can’t seem to keep the sword as straight as I want to.

Not because I trust him. But because my hand is shaking so hard I can barely hold it steady.

“My humanity was supposed to burn away,” he says, eyes opening again. “That’s what I wanted. I begged Gwi-Ma to erase everything. All the guilt. All the choices I made. I didn’t want to feel it anymore.”

He’s trembling now too.

“But you—you wouldn’t let me forget. Even when I was inside his grasp, you kept pulling me back. With your voice. Your fury. Your hope. And when I took that blast for you, something cracked.”

I say nothing. I still don’t breathe freely, every breath is staggered.

“I think… I think the new version of the Honmoon rebuilt more than the barrier,” he says. “It rebuilt the part of me that wanted to live. For something I had never wanted before, for something unselfish. For someone.”

Silence stretches so tight between us I think it might break the windows.

“Well, maybe not completely unselfish, if it’s something I want too…” there is a small smile at the curve of his lips.

I shake my head and rearrange my sword higher like it can shield me against the words I can’t believe I’m hearing.

“I need to know if you’re really him, and why you couldn’t believe me then,” I say as I breathe out with each word.

He hesitates. Not because he’s unsure. But because he knows what he’s about to say matters more than anything else.

“You were the only one that ever could shut up Gwi-ma’s voices in my head… but he immediately found out, and the punishment was so severe. He wouldn’t stop with showing the worst part of my past, of my family—their suffering…” he says the pain easily displayed on his face. “it ruined me—again. I just wanted it all to stop, to go away.”

I stare.
Is this what really happened?

His words echo through my skull like the feedback from an overworked amp. Gwi-Ma had been in his head? Twisting memories, turning his own grief into weapons?

My fingers tighten around the hilt of my sword.

“So instead of trusting me,” I whisper, “you let him win.”

Jinu flinches like I slapped him. But he doesn’t look away.

“I was already broken, Rumi,” he says with an empty sigh. “I didn’t think I could still be saved.”

He takes a step forward.

I raise the blade further.

He finally stops. His chest is only inches away from my sword.

The tip hovers not far in front of his heart. The same energy, the same pain and purpose—solidified in golden light and searing memory.
The sword he gave me when he gave himself up.

“Don’t,” I breathe, chest heaving. “Don’t come any closer.”

But he does.

One more step.

Hands raised in defeat, but his shining eyes are on me. 

Just close enough that the blade touches fabric—my lavender hoodie—and the beat of his heart pulses through the air between us.

“Rumi,” he says, voice cracking. “It’s still me.”

The sword flares more strongly. Pure light. Almost blinding. But I don’t move. Neither does he.

Too close.

It’s like the blade hums low as it catches the light—my blade, the one that transformed with the last fragments of his soul. The only part of him I had left.

My hands don't shake anymore. They're steady. Cold. Like my heart is trying to remember how to beat.

He has finally stopped, though it’s way to close.

The tip just at his chest—center mass, still right over his heart. 

“I need to know,” I whisper. “I need to know if it’s really you.”

And then— Something shifts.

The blade jerks in my hand.

Not from him—but from within.

It begins to glow.

A dull pulse at first. Then brighter. Fiercer. The golden edge begins to crackle with energy, sparks fluttering like fireflies.

“What—” I start, but the words fall away.

Light erupts from the runes etched into the blade’s surface—runes I never understood, only felt.

“Rumi—” Jinu’s voice is urgent, but calm. “It’s me.” Is there a hint of desperation? He’s just as surprised as me.

The light coils violently around the blade now, spiraling like it’s searching for something—like it’s recognizing something.

Him.

The energy surges upward toward the tip, toward where the blade touches him.

And then, with a shattering crack of heat and light…

It’s like the soul inside the sword breaks free.

A burst of fire explodes between us, sending me stumbling back. My fingers go numb. The sword clatters to the floor behind me but doesn't land hard as I watch it—it dissolves, into shimmering embers that float like ash in the air.

I gasp. I turn my eyes back on Jinu.

Something is different. His human form is not perfect anymore, the glamour is wavering. Patterns are slowly starting to become visible, a low dusty purple color decorating the visible parts of his skin. Over that flawless jawline and down his neck.

Jinu clutches at his chest, eyes wide. His body arches slightly like he’s being pulled open from the inside.

His jaw clenches hard—he’s trying to stay still, stay strong, but his eyes betray him. There’s fear there. Not the kind that screams, but the kind that knows—that accepts.

He came here knowing this might be the end of him.

And still… he came.

His knees wobble. His shoulders rise with a strangled inhale. His body arches forward, like he’s caught in a current he can’t resist—and then—

And then— The light moves.

Like a current. A storm of soundless thunder. There is a burst of heat. It wraps around him, threads of soul-magic weaving back into his body like they never left. Like they were always meant to return.

But the light doesn’t just wrap around him—it dives into him. Buries itself in his skin. It weaves into the violet marks that becomes more clear, stitching together something that was broken long ago. It moves like it remembers. Like it’s been waiting.

Jinu gasps. Sharp. A sound pulled from somewhere deep.

Then—he drops to his knees.

Hard.

His hands press flat against the floor to keep himself upright. His breath is ragged now, not just from the pain—but from something deeper as well. Like he’s been holding it all in for too long, and now that part of him is back, he doesn’t know how to carry it.

I don’t move. I can't.

He breathes. Slow. Deep. And when he lifts his face again, something is whole.

“I felt it,” he says, voice rough, awed. “I felt it come back.”

I sink to the floor without realizing it.

“That… it is you,” I whisper.

He nods. “That was the part of me I gave to you. The part that let you finish it.”
He pauses. Swallows. “Thank you… for keeping it safe.”

My throat tightens. The sword—the piece of him I carried through battle, through grief, through guilt—it was never just a weapon.

It was him.

And now he’s here. All of him.

Jinu is alive.

I press a shaking hand to my chest, where the echoes still resonate. Where his soul once sparked through mine.

And for the first time, I don’t know what to say.

But maybe I don’t need to.

Because Jinu is looking back at me as we both are down on our knees with the kind of silence that says everything.

And he’s real. With marks like mine and all, edges a bit more rough, some lose hair down his eyes.

Jinu. The real Jinu.

Back from the dead.

Or something close enough that my mind can’t tell the difference.

And if this is another lie?

Then I’ll burn the truth out of him myself.

But for now—

Jinu. Is. Alive.

Chapter Text

There’s a beat of lingering silence between us.

Heavy. Tense.

Crackling like a storm cloud bloated with lightning, holding a moment of silence before the first bolt splits the sky.

We’re still both down on our knees.

Jinu hasn’t moved. His hands hang slack at his sides, fingers slightly curled like he doesn’t know what they’re supposed to do.

His shoulders are square, but there’s tension there—like every muscle in his body is ready to either fight or break. His head is bowed ever so slightly, the hair falling into his eyes, and it’s the only thing shielding him from the rawness between us.

And me—I’m folded back on my heels, spine no longer straight, like the weight of everything is finally sinking through my bones. The heat of the floor presses through my knees, but I barely register it. My body’s too caught in the way it’s shaking, every inch of me vibrating from the inside out.

We’re breathing like we’ve just surfaced from drowning.

Lungs gasping for something real.

Hearts hammering with the force of what just happened—

the sword,

the soul,

the impossible moment that shouldn’t exist but somehow does.

We’re past the “Jinu is alive.” I somehow have reached and found peace with that conclusion.

That truth cracked the world open already.

Now I want the how. How the hell is Jinu sitting in front of me, here in the middle of our living space?

No— actually, if I’m going to be honest with myself:

I want the who,

the when,

and definitely the why as well.

Yes to all of the above, and those my frozen fatty lump of a brain can’t grasp at the moment. 

But a girl’s got to prioritize.

And right now, with him this close—still kneeling, still real—I can barely remember how to breathe, let alone demand answers. Answers to questions I don’t even know how to form. 

My mouth opens.

Then shuts.

Then opens again.

Nothing comes out. My tongue feels heavy, thick with the weight of everything I need to say.
Everything I don’t know how to ask.

I should be screaming. My head hurts and I feel like a scream is all that fits with this situation.

Yell and demand the truth. Scream and get all of these confused feelings out in the open.

But instead I just sit there, my fingers still tingling from how my sword felt as it touched Jinu.

My thoughts are crashing like waves, but my lips—They won’t move.

He’s here. He’s really here.

But my voice is somewhere lost in the aftermath.

And the questions I’ve rehearsed a hundred sleepless nights refuse to line up in order.

So instead, I stare.

Because right now, that’s all I can manage.

I look up—seeking his gaze and he’s already looking at me.

Not with his usual smirk or that distant kind of cool he wears like armor. No, this expression is stripped bare. Wide, uncertain, and impossibly open. There's something ancient in his eyes right now, like he's carrying centuries of pain in a body too young to hold it. His jaw tightens as if he’s biting back words, or maybe regret. Maybe both.

The air between us isn’t just still. It’s stiff.
Charged with the memory of death, of sacrifice, of the magnetic pull of something we never had the time to name.

I don’t say anything.

Neither does he.

But in the silence, something speaks louder than any scream.

Jinu’s patterns are still glowing faintly, traces of the light not quite gone from the curved drawings tainting over his smooth skin. He is still so beautiful I can’t help but stare.

And me… I’m shaking. Not from fear. But from something heavier. Something like… relief. Maybe.

He looks at me.

Eyes that are too soft for someone who’s been to hell. Eyes that should never have been gone in the first place. Stupid old demon that had to sacrifice himself for me— I didn’t want his soul, just him, so I could set him free. And suddenly he is here and it’s actually too much.

Those amazingly sparkling eyes…

Rumi…” he says, and there’s something so raw, so wrecked in the way he speaks my name that it nearly shatters me.

It doesn’t feel real until I’m moving—crawling toward him like every second apart has finally caught up and is breaking me open.

My hands reach out before my brain catches up, trembling with the weight of a hundred nights spent missing him. Needing him. My breath stutters in my chest.

And then—his hands find mine. He searches for my fingers in parallel with my own movements.

And the second we touch—

It’s like a thousand volts of home slam through my skin.

My fingers close around his and everything else disappears—time, pain, the room around us, the fear. It disintegrates.

All that’s left is the feel of his skin against mine. A bit callous and rough, but soft enough that I’m melting to the bone by the weight of it all.

Warm. Familiar. Devastating.

It’s not just skin and bones I’m holding—it's everything I lost. Everything I though was gone forever.

My fingers ache to never let go.

Tears prick hot and fast behind my eyes, but I can’t look away from him. Can’t stop gripping onto him like he’s the last solid thing in a world that keeps trying to collapse beneath me.

“It really is you,” I whisper—barely breathing it. The words crack in my throat like lightning in a storm.

My voice folds in on itself because saying it aloud makes it real, and real is too big.
Too much.

His thumb brushes the edge of my hand like he's making sure I’m real too.

And then something deeper kicks in.

Like a magnetic force between us pulling tighter, stronger, unstoppable—souls drawn like two stars falling toward the same gravity well.

My chest twists and expands all at once—an explosion of emotion, of heat, of impossible belonging that bursts through me like fireworks under my skin. Like a silent scream I’ve been holding for six months finally finding release.

Our fingers tangle, desperate, anchoring. Like gravity just remembered who it belongs to.

And it’s so quiet, just for a second, I swear I can hear both our hearts syncing.

It feels like we’re finally safe.

Like maybe—maybe—this is the moment where we stop being haunted and start being real.

I stare with utter disbelief up into the most profound and beautiful eyes. 

His forehead leans into mine. I let my eyes fall shut. I don’t need to say anything. I don’t even need him to. This—this is enough.

But then—I feel it.

The way his hands go still.

The way his shoulders tense.

And then… the shift in his breath.

He pulls back.

Just a few inches, but it feels like a thousand miles.

I open my eyes and the warmth is already fading from his face. His gaze has gone distant—haunted. Like a memory just sliced through him.

“No—don’t,” I whisper, already knowing what’s coming. Why is nothing ever easy with Jinu?

“I can’t stay,” he says, voice tight, like it hurts to even form the words.

“You just got here,” I say, clinging tighter to his fingers. “You’re actually here.”

“Rumi, I—” he breaks off. Shakes his head. Looks down at our hands like they’re something he’s not worthy of holding. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t even know what this means, or what happened, but I can’t stay.”

“Then why did you come?”

His eyes lift to mine. They burn. With guilt. With something so sharp it could be love—if he wasn’t so determined to crush it.

“Because I’m weak,” he says. “Because I wanted to see you again before I leave. Before I go.”

“You don’t have to leave—”

“I do.”

“Why?”

And there’s the pause.

The too long pause.

He pulls his hands away like my touch burns now. Stands slowly, like it takes everything not to fall back into me. His voice is cold, but it’s shaking underneath:

“Because I’m bound to something that doesn’t include you.”

Silence. A drop in the room.

I stand too fast. “What does that mean? What are you not saying?”

His voice stay quiet though his eyes are speaking of a pain he can’t seem to share, or won’t. I don’t know which is worse.

“Jinu!” I reach for him again, but he steps out of reach, hoodie sleeves somehow starting to dangling off his arms like they don’t belong to him. I always loved having it oversized, and today it looks great on the figure in front of me, even being inside out and all —stupid, irritatingly beautiful man that can’t do a simple task of getting dressed right.

He looks so out of place from his expression, that I can’t get my anger to truly take hold. I just can’t let him go when I just got him back, and now he wants to leave again? His look is a horrible reflection of pain, to close to despair.

It’s like he doesn’t belong to this moment. This moment where we should be grateful and be celebrating his return.

He turns to the door. Breath shaking. Shoulders hunched like he’s holding back something wild inside him. So no celebration I guess.

“I’m glad I saw you,” he says with a low voice. “I’ll never stop being glad for that.”

“Then stay.” I want to yell at this confusing, stubborn 400-year-old man that can’t seem to figure out how much I have longed for him. How much I need him to stay. How much I need him.

But he’s already shaking his head. “If I do… I won’t be able to leave. And if I don’t leave… I just can’t.”

His voice is like a the dagger. Straight to my heart.

“You can’t leave me, not again.” I almost whisper.

Jinu is quiet now.

The stupid grin from earlier—lazy, crooked, infuriating—is gone. What’s left is something completely different. Something honest.

He’s turned slightly back at me, fingers curled slightly at his sides, not making eye contact. His presence still fills the room, but the air feels different. Like the music’s stopped. Like the stage lights dimmed and all that’s left is the raw space between us.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he says softly.

The words hit harder than a scream would’ve.

“You already did,” I say.

He gives a small laugh—dry, humorless. “Yeah. And I was selfish for it.”

“Selfish?” I step forward once, not enough to close the space between us, just enough to call his bluff. “After everything?”

“I wanted to see you,” he admits. His voice is too barely above a whisper. “Just once. To know that you were okay. I didn’t know what was going to happen, I just knew I needed to find you. Somehow, without being conscious about it, I woke up finding myself inside your house.”

“You gave me your soul, Jinu.” I cut through his bullshit that I’m not having. “You think that I would be fine with just seeing you once and then forget about you?”

“I don’t expect you to forget,” he says. “But I can’t pretend like I deserve a second chance. Not after what I was. What I did.”

”You saved me, you helped us.”

”Just stop— please, Rumi.” His beautiful eyes is begging me for what I can’t give him. I won’t let him go, not when I just got him back. 

I know he felt the same as me when our hands touched, I know it wasn’t just me. I don’t understand why he fights everything so hard.

I glance down at the hoodie. For someone so old it’s odd how he can just make any look make sense. It’s annoying really. The color almost makes him look too innocent. But his eyes betrays that innocence.

“You didn’t have anything else to wear?” I spit as I struggle to control the hurt rumbling just under the surface. My eyes are fighting against the tears.

He tries a careful shrug as he looks down. “Wasn’t exactly clothed when I somehow came back. Gwi-ma’s hatred usually doesn’t really do modesty.” He sighs unapologetically.

A hint of something tells me Jinu knows a lot more than he intended to show. I struggle to phantom what Gwi-ma could have done to him in the past.

“I didn’t exactly have… anything else when I appeared here,” he mutters, his voice low, like the embarrassment is finally catching up with him. “Everything I had was burned away. So I kinda… borrowed this.” He waves down at the hoodie and sweatpants that also looks like some of my older items. But my personal walk-in clothes is huge, there would have been plenty of other items to choose from. And he went with the lavender one?

I should laugh. But I don’t.

Instead I stare at him. Really stare.

And I hate how human he looks. How alive.

“You picked that one?” I ask, unable to keep the bitterness out of my tone.

He gives a faint shrug. “It smelled like you.” 

I hate him for saying that. I hate that my body reacts to it, too—an ache in my ribs like something breaking open.

“I shouldn’t have stayed after getting dressed,” he adds quickly, as if realizing he’s already said too much. “I just… I needed a moment. To see if it was real. If you were real. But I shouldn’t be here. I can’t be here.”

The words hit harder than I expect.

“You’re already here,” I say tightly. As if stating the obvious again might change his mind this time.

“Yeah. And I can’t stay,” he breathes, more to himself than to me. “You don’t understand what it’s like. What I had to do to... The bond we forged—” he pauses, jaw tense. He knows he said too much.

My arms cross before I can think better of it. “We? Who else is part of this ‘we’?”

Jinu shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

“Bullshit,” I snap. “If it’s enough to make you run from me, it’s important.”

He takes a single step back toward the door, like he’s bracing to leave.

“You wouldn’t understand.”

”Make me understand!” I almost scream after him.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” he says again. “I wasn’t meant to stay. This—” he gestures between us “—wasn’t supposed to happen. It was never part of the original plan.”

“What plan?”

He looks away. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“I just wanted to see you one last time before I disappear again,” he says, quieter now, as if he thinks that’ll hurt less if he says it gently.

My throat burns. “And then what? You vanish into smoke again? Just like that?”

“I don’t belong here anymore, Rumi,” he says. And it’s the softest I’ve ever heard him sound. “Not with you. Not in this world. I came back with… pieces missing. Or maybe… maybe with pieces I shouldn’t still have.”

My demon marks ache under my skin.

And still, I don’t step closer.

Because part of me agrees with him.

But another part… the louder one, the stubborn one, the real me—

She’s not ready to let him walk away again.

Chapter Text

You're not leaving me again.

The second he moves further towards the door, something fierce, ancient and what feels almost electric cracks awake in me.

My sword blazes back into existence—like it’s been waiting to reappear—materializing in a rush of heat and light in my palm, gleaming in its original form.

No soul-glow this time. Just raw materialization of my own powerful energy, with a shine like it has its own beautiful, righteous pulse. 

I don’t hesitate. Not for a second.

With a swift pivot and a surge of fury, I throw it forward with a deep noise closest to a growl escaping from my throat.

It slices through the air like a comet, embedding itself partly in the opening side of the door and deep into the wood of the doorframe—right in front of him—quivering with power echoing giving of a violent thunk.

The message couldn’t be clearer. Not even for an absurdly stubborn 400-year-old demon.

The weapon still rattles from the force, vibrating slightly in the tense silence that follows. The door handle just below shakes from the impact—metal on metal—but the sword has lodged itself deep, perfectly locking the door in place like a deadbolt made of fury and magical steel.

There’s no way it’s opening now. Not without tearing the door apart.

Jinu has proficiently been stopped mid-step. I smirk.

He stares down in his shortly frozen stance, back still turned sideways towards me.

Though I can’t see most of his face, I still get his profile with that dark hair too perfect to be real… and I fight my on mind on not losing focus, not even for a second. 

He’s got one hand hovering just below the handle. He blinks once. Then twice.

“You’re not walking out.” I state tough words are not needed.

He turns his head, slowly. His eyes on me for a moment—his brows lift slightly, and something that might be surprise (or amusement?) flickers in his handsome expression.

He turns his head back again as he reaches for the handle of the weapon, testing it. His fingers curl around the grip. For a second, he seems almost reverent—like he’s touching something he shouldn’t.

Maybe the part of his soul that was missing is somehow remembering its last home. Whether he wants to deny our connection or not, the shimmering of the light from my sword is unmistakable. Why won’t he accept that we somehow belong together? I still can’t believe he would actually leave me just like this. Just after being released…

I carefully watch him, while trying to keep my heart steady as it feels like it might explode out of my chest.

His fingers quiver for a moment.

Then he pulls.

The sword doesn’t budge. Not even a centimeter.

He tries again—sharper, with more force and both hands—but it’s fused to the wood, embedded at just the right angle to lock the hinges tight and wedge the door solid. Modern design can’t compete with the ancient power of this weapon mixed with my fury.

I somehow managed to release the small sigh I was holding back, relieved— knowing that Jinu will not be leaving this easy.

He exhales, steps back from the door in a nonchalant way, and turns toward me.

That crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, wry and deeply, infuriatingly familiar.

“I forgot how strong you are,” he then says softly, like it’s both an admission and a wound to something he didn’t want to remember. Maybe something he couldn’t.

“Stronger than anyone ever gave you credit for. You showed them all, even Gwi-ma mistook you and your friends.” 

“Don’t think you can flatter me,” I snap. “Talk to me— why won’t you tell me what is going on?”

But instead, he moves again. Why is this guy still trying to avoid me?

I rush forward, catching him by his shoulder before he can even grab the handle of the next door into the house.

Jinu spins and I quickly throw my other hand at him as the first is rolling off him.

He twists to block me, and I don’t hold back. We clash—flesh and power, pure muscle and strength—striking like lightning. His hands grip my arms to stop me; mine shove him back with everything I have.

It’s not an all-out fight. God! I can’t even imagine hurting Jinu, not really. 

Instead it’s a storm of movement, followed by a dance of counter-steps.

A vivid hurricane turned duet. No one wants to admit that we both are holding back, but at the same time my anger is boarding on to a level closer to lethal.

Every step I take is a question not voiced by sound but clearly spoken by movements.

Every counter is a quiet answer he refuses to give. 

The lethalness is getting almost mind numbing, why won’t this guy just stay still for one second?

”Talk!” I yell in frustration at him, as he avoids another of my attempts to get him on the floor, to stop his attempted fleeing.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?” I growl, trying to land a new hit—not to hurt him, just to slow him down.

“Because it’s not your weight to carry, Rumi!” He says in a tone that makes no sense to me. Is he apologetic? 

“You gave me your soul, Jinu! I’ve been carrying you with me every day since!” My tears of anger and frustration are treacherously close.

He falters. Just for a second. I press in, spinning and kicking out low, forcing him to dodge instead of fleeting.

“I watched you die for me,” I shout, trying to avoid to conjure my blade to reappearing in my hand again, letting it stay locked in deep ainto the doorway. “I wanted to set you free, but had to watch you die— disappear right in front of me, after you had given me your soul… I never asked you to do that…”

I channel the pressure building in my chest feeling the surge of power rumbling through it. “You don’t get to come back after everything and just walk away like none of it meant anything!”

His expression cracks. “It meant everything. That’s exactly why I can’t stay.”

We circle each other now, breathing hard. His shirt—my oversized hoodie—now hangs slightly off one of his shoulders. His hair is a bit of a mess from our skirmish, eyes glowing just faintly from power stirred awake too soon.

“Then make it make sense, Jinu,” I say, voice low and shaking. “Tell me why you’re really here. Tell me why you think you have to leave.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You just won’t.”

The room goes still. Only the sound of our breathing between us.

I stare him down. “I’m not letting you go. Not again.”

He looks at me like I’m the only thing left tethering him to the Earth.

But his mouth won’t move.

And at the same time his eyes won’t lie.

He’s still holding something back—something massive.

And I don’t know if I can survive it.

This is not how I wanted or dreamed about our reunion.

The silence between us isn’t empty. It thrums.

How can I make him understand?

Jinu shifts his weight, like he might try again for the hallway. Like maybe this time I’ll let him pass.

I don’t. There is not a chance of me letting him pass this easily, without explaining all this crazy nonsense.

Why won’t he just stay? The anger starts to build up again, I feel it beginning to boil under my skin.

I launch forward again, power crackling in my limbs, and this time he doesn’t move fast enough. 

My foot sweeps behind his knee, and his balance crumbles just long enough for me to drive him backward. He stumbles, and before he can brace himself, I’m already on him.

We crash to the floor together, my body following the momentum of the throw. His back hits the polished wood with a dull thud, and I’m above him—knees planted on either side of his hips, hands pressed to his chest.

His breath leaves him in a rush, and for once, he doesn’t try to move, arms limp down on the floor not far from his side.

Finally! I sigh exhausted.

I stay there, panting, braid falling down around my shoulder, my palms spread wide across the soft cotton of the hoodie he’s wearing—still my fucking hoodie.

He stares up at me, blinking with eyes wide. Chest rising and falling hard beneath my hands.

What is he thinking? His expression is still a mystery to me.

Then there’s that flicker again—that raw, heart-sick emotion he tries so hard to bury. Like this moment means too much, like he can’t even comprehend what, and he doesn’t know how to survive the misery of the whole thing.

I need him to stop fighting against me.

I need him to just be here.

I need him!

My voice comes out broken. “Why won’t you just stay?”

Jinu’s gaze flickers to the side. His jaw tightens. He can’t even bear to look me in the eyes anymore.

We stay like that—me on top of him, the heat of his body burning into my own skin, our breath tangled in the air—for one long, intimately silent heartbeat.

And then he exhales.

The kind of breath that lets something go.

His shoulders drop the tiniest bit.

His gaze softens as he turns his eyes back at me—like he’s not ready to stop hurting, but he's tired of holding a blade to his own throat.

The fight drains from him—not all at once, but in slow, deliberate pieces. I see it in the way his fingers twitch against the floor. In the way he doesn’t look past me anymore, only at me.

Something sharp inside me eases, but I stay above him, hands still pressed to his chest like I’m afraid that if I move, even the smallest bit, he’ll disappear again.

“Why did you just sit there?” I ask quietly. “On the couch?”

He closes his eyes for a beat. When they open, there’s no mask left—just Jinu. Raw and real, golden eyes shining up to meet mine.

“Honestly,” he sighs with an uncertain look over his face, “I was close to panicking walking into the living room,” he admits.

“Then I heard you moving around —about to go through the door—and I just… sat down. I needed my heart and head to stop spinning. I saw the open gum package on the table, grabbed one just to calm myself down. I was so confused with everything…”

His voice is lower now, almost tender.

“But then I saw you.” he reluctantly releases another sigh.

”Really saw you. And I couldn’t believe it was true. I didn’t want to scare you. My heart just stopped, I think all blood left my face...”

”I could feel every nerve in my body freeze. So I just sat there, and hoped…”

“Hoped?” I can’t believe this guy, one moment fighting with everything he’s got and now spilling everything out. “Hoped for what exactly, that I would just let you go?” 

“I hoped you’d recognize me— And maybe wouldn’t begin to scream too loud or run out to call the police when you saw someone suddenly appearing inside your home.”

I swallow hard. “You looked so calm. Like this was nothing to you. Like you just belonged there.”

He gives a quiet, broken laugh. “Me? I was freaking out. I couldn’t believe how good it felt just to see you. And I couldn’t talk. I was scared that if I did, my voice would crack and you’d yell at me to leave...”

”Never, Jinu.” I can’t believe the words escaping my own lips, “I would never ask that...” 

I feel it happen—like a shift in gravity. A quiet yielding.

We both lean forward without realizing it. Foreheads nearly touching. Our breath shared in the minuscule space that still exists between us. For now.

He watches me like I’m the only clear thing left in the universe.

My hands slip slightly on his chest, trailing up to the neckline of my hoodie, fingers brushing over his collarbone only just visible.

His eyes flutter at the touch, beautiful lips slightly parted. His lungs are noticeably less active, as I can’t anymore feel his deep breathing below my body. My thighs are trembling at the thought of touching his waist.

My eyes tracks his when I see him seek down and I know it’s my mouth that he looks at. Dammit, why can’t I stay mad at this man?

I lose my breath again.

I don't know who moves first.

Maybe we both do.

Because the moment that follows isn’t planned. Isn’t asked for.

It just happens—like breath, like instinct.

Our lips meet.

Soft.

Fragile.

Like if we press too hard too fast, everything might fall apart.

His hand lifts slowly from the floor, resting gently on my waist, then curling there—like he’s reminding himself I’m real. Like he still isn’t sure he’s allowed to hold me.

But I don’t pull away.

The kiss deepens, not in urgency, but in ache.

It’s not about hunger—it’s about recognition. About finding something we lost before it even happened and were too afraid to hope for ever getting close to again.

His velvet lips moves like they’re possessed. Mine even more, as I open up and our tongues connect—slow at first, then deeper, like a promise neither of us is brave enough to say out loud.

It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had, God damn it, it undoes me.

Everything about Jinu is pure perfection. Our bodies, hands and mouths in sync as we are running out of breath.

I don’t flinch, when I press even closer, he exhales against my mouth and lets go of something silent inside himself.

Then his grip tightens.

Suddenly, it’s like he’s starved for this, for me, and has been for far too long.

His other hand comes up, cupping the back of my neck, fingers tangling just below my hairline like he’s grounding himself. Like I’m the only solid thing in a world he no longer understands.

He kisses me like I’m precious. Like I’m breakable. Like he’s desperate to burn the memory of me into every nerve ending he has left, like I am for him.

I can feel the heat in his breath, the raw desire mirroring my own, coiling in the space between our bodies, barely contained. His lips trail to the corner of my mouth then down and a sharp pain escapes from my lower lip. His teeth on my swollen mouth.

And when I gasp—soft and startled—he groans quietly in response, the sound slipping out like it betrayed him.

He wants me.

God, he wants me. And for the first time since everything shattered, I don’t just feel needed—I feel desired.

His hips shift beneath me.

Just a fraction—barely a motion at all—but I feel it. The undeniable press of him through the fabric between us. It shoots like wildfire through my stomach, down to my toes, curling into the deepest part of me that has ached for this… for him.

My fingers dig into the sides of his hoodie—my hoodie—the one that hangs on him all wrong and somehow still looks unfairly perfect. I fist the fabric tight, like if I let go for even a second, this will all vanish. Like he’ll vanish.

And then he groans again—this time against my throat.

His mouth has left my lips only to find the slope of my neck, and I swear I forget how to breathe. His teeth graze just above my collarbone, and my whole body arches—my hips pressing down against his in instinctive response.

He reacts instantly.

A sharp inhale. A trembling hand dragging up the side of my ribcage like he’s trying not to touch me but can’t stop himself. The tension in his body is nearly unbearable—like he’s trying to hold back a tidal wave with just his willpower.

"Rumi," he breathes against my skin. My name isn't even a word—it’s a plea.

Every part of me is on fire, and every part of him is answering.

Still beneath me, he shift slightly. There’s no space left between us, not in body, not in breath. Only the ragged rhythm of our hearts hammering in sync.

I want him.

God, I want all of him. The old Jinu, the broken Jinu, the resurrected one who somehow still fits perfectly beneath my skin.

I feel his mouth return to mine again—slower now, but deeper. And the way he kisses me this time?

It’s like he’s already mourning the moment it’ll end.

And something in me breaks at that.

Because this kiss—this kiss feels like goodbye.

Even as he holds me tighter.

Even as his body betrays how much he wants to stay.

Even as every part of him aches toward me with the same intensity as my soul aches for him.

I pull back—barely.

Just enough to see his face.

And he’s already looking at me, lips red, eyes dark with a thousand things he’ll never say. One hand still at the back of my neck, the other still at my hip.

It’s written in the lines of his mouth.

In the crack in his gaze.

He’s still going to try.

He’s still going to leave.

Our noses brushing, breath mingling.

“I missed you,” I whisper, voice barely audible.

He closes his eyes.
— and I feel the shift before it even happens.

The way his hand tightens for a second on my waist… and then lets go.

He leans his head back slightly, eyes still closed.

“I shouldn’t have let that happen,” he says, barely above a breath. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” I blink, the warmth already draining from my chest. Why would he say something like that, after having shared the best kiss of my entire existence.

He opens his eyes, and they’re somehow different now. Haunted again somewhat. Like the light that found its way into them was just a flicker he can’t hold onto.

“I shouldn’t be here, Rumi. I can’t stay.”

His voice isn’t cold—but it’s controlled. The kind of control that costs him everything.

“You don’t understand what I’ve become,” he says, softer now. “What I’m tied to. If I stay… I’ll hurt you. Or worse, I’ll drag you down with me.”

“I don’t care,” I say, more desperate than I mean to.

“You should,” he replies, and this time when he pulls away, he really does. His hands slide off me like it physically pains him to let go.

“But you kissed me,” I say, even though I hate how small it sounds.

“I know,” he whispers. “And that’s exactly why I have to leave. I can’t trust myself around you.”

I shake my head, the heat in my chest turning sharp. “You’re not making sense. Don’t you want this?”

He exhales, trembling just slightly as he runs a hand back through his still-messy hair. “You make me feel too good, Rumi. Too human. And I don’t deserve that.”

His words crack through me like thunder, not because I didn’t expect pain — but because I recognize it too well.

“Is that really what you believe?” I ask, voice raw. “That you don’t deserve to feel anything good?”

He doesn’t answer, not right away. His jaw tightens. His eyes drift away to the floor beside us like the weight of being seen is suddenly too much.

“You gave up everything for me,” I say. “Your soul. Your body. Your life. And even now… you’re still trying to protect me from something I don’t even understand.”

He looks at me then. And I swear, for a breathless second, he’s about to finally let me in.

I breathe in as I add distance between us, just letting the air between us buzz with everything we are.

“You make me feel normal,” I tell him. “Like I deserve to be here. Like my patterns aren’t a curse but… proof I survived.”

His lips part. And he doesn’t hide the way it shakes him.

“You think I make you feel too human?” I continue. “Well, you make me feel like I’m finally allowed to exist, demon and human alike.”

And still, he doesn’t move.

The distance is razor-thin. Just enough to hurt.

Chapter Text

“Get… fff…”

The words won’t read into my mind, their meaning lost and afar, feeling almost fuzzy at the edges—like they’re fighting through a storm of static just to reach me. 

I barely hear anything, our surroundings feel vibrant yet silent. Nothing is coherent, things are simply not registering from outside our bubble.

Because I’m still not done memorizing the feeling of Jinu’s mouth on mine. The warmth of his hands gripping onto me, our bodies colliding like he wasn’t sure where he ended and I began.

And maybe I’m still too winded—too spun around by the way Jinu seems to keep shifting like magnetic poles reversed, pulling me close one second, pushing away the next, like he doesn’t know which part of him to follow. And it’s deeply, painfully frustrating to witness.

But that kiss…

That ache...

That desire…

That was real.

Not imagined. Not accidental.

It was fire and longing and something too tender to name, rising between us like it had been waiting an eternity to be awakened.

No matter the circumstances, or the hurtful words thrown at me from Jinu who looked completely at a loss, or the amount of complete confusion that just keeps exploding between us, the thing that just happened—

— THAT was something real and beautiful. And he will not succeed in taking that away from me. I’ll fight him for as long as it takes! The anger still lingers just beneath my restraints.

Eventually, my struggles are damping the intensity of the moment.

The concept of the world slowly starts to reform around us. 

He is still beneath me though.

Pinned to the floor, chest rising and falling uneven like he hasn’t quite decided if he should breathe at all.

His beautiful features are like they were made to haunt me: High cheekbones, sharp jaw, lips still flushed from our kiss. The faint demon markings shimmer faintly along the edges of his face, twisting like smoke beneath his skin—shadows that look alive, like they’re whispering secrets only he will know.

They should make him terrifying. Instead, the patterns only make him more devastatingly attractive.

The curve of his throat, the lines of his collarbone disappearing into my hoodie draped carelessly over his frame. His body beneath me feels carved, impossibly solid, every muscle flexed as though his very existence demands control. The heat radiating from him is unnatural, intoxicating.

And those eyes—God. Those eyes. They flicker with a glow I can’t name, part wild demon-fire, part something painfully human. Something that burns just for me. Or that is what I want to believe. Why can’t I just tie this idiot down, and stop him from ever leaving again? I can’t take my eyes from him.

I shouldn’t want to trace every line of him. I shouldn’t want to drown in the energy pulsing beneath his skin. But I do.

I’m entranced, caught between terror and worship.

Because he isn’t just beautiful. He isn’t just a hauntingly gorgeous demon. He’s something more. Something that doesn’t belong in this world and yet, somehow, was made to belong to me.

And still—somehow—he already feels miserably far away.

Our eyes are locked in, though Jinu looks about to turn away again. I just can’t see reason with this guy.

The moment feels suspended.

A held breath.

The universe pausing just for us.

His chest rises and falls beneath my palm, his eyes locked on mine like I’m the only real thing in the room. And God, I don’t want to let him go. Not now. Not ever again.

Everything else is still being muffled.

Distant. Meaningless.

Because Jinu is still beneath me.

He is alive, very much so can I confirm, as we just had a moment together where all felt just right — perfect is not even covering how well we connected, in body and soul.

The touch of our lips beyond anything I have ever experienced. I can feel it cursing through me.

Because the kiss is still echoing through every nerve in my body.

Because I can feel his breath on my lips like he hasn’t quite let go of me yet.

Because I can still taste him and feel the shadow of his tongue.

But then— “I said… get away.”

The voice sharpens. Closer.

And this time, it cuts through the haze.

I blink.

The sound didn’t come from Jinu. His mouth has been uncharacteristically closed for some time now. Maybe he fears what he’ll actually say if he dares part them. I want to challenge him to finally speak his truth. But this is not Jinu.

No, the voice was not his.

And it didn’t come from me either. I’m at least 98% sure of that. However, with this foggy breeze of a brain I wouldn’t put it past me completely by those last 2%, that I wasn’t blabbing on without realizing it. But I’m still mostly sure it’s not my voice.

It gets louder.

Now, the sound is beside us, closing in.

We both turn our heads—I’m more slow, hesitant, reluctant to pull even a fraction of my attention away from the man beneath me. The man who just kissed me like I was his salvation and his undoing at the same time. His expression changes to one of surprise as he looks over at something.

Then my heart skips, hard.

There’s someone else in the room. I quickly realized the apartment door is still shut, my sword buried halfway through the doorframe—no way in, no way out.

So how—

It’s not until I twist fully toward the source of the voice that I realize two things at once:

One—he’s standing inside the apartment, just past the entranceway, though the door is still firmly locked.

And two—he’s completely naked!?

“Abby?!” I gasp.

Clawed fingers twitching. Shoulders heaving.

Rage humming off of him in waves.

My heart seizes.

His pale-gold eyes flash, wild and sharp as the half-shifted clawed hand still extends pulses with barely restrained power.

Abby. No thoughts of mistaken, all signs right out on full display. Damn he is still so ripped. And I’m really fighting for not lingering too hard on lower equally impressive parts.

FOCUS, damnit!

One of the Saja boys is in my apartment. Well, one of the other Saja boys.  

One of the four that we sent out of the stadium, that we hated with our full hearts, that did Gwi-ma’s work.

But that’s impossible.

He died.

He died in the final battle. I saw it—Mira undid him. He was gone, just like the others.

Just like— Jinu. 

And yet there he stands—barefoot, not a single clothing item on the still mostly human-looking form, impressively build in any shape, bordering to furious, his inhuman eyes glowing like an open wound.

Fangs just barely peeking from under his lips. Claws wide out. Muscles tensed like he’s ready to rip the room apart.

My pulse jumps.

What the hell is happening? 

Abby was killed. Gone.

But somehow, right now—he looks seconds from attacking… me?

I flinch. This is a lot of trouble for just one supposedly-quiet afternoon.

Before I can move, before I can even rise from the chest where I’m still sitting in shock— Jinu moves first.

In one fluid, protective motion, he’s flipped us—me tucked behind his body, his arm braced out over my chest while he faces Abby, teeth slightly bared, eyes glowing with a power I haven’t seen since...

His back is to me—broad, unmoving, burning hot. He shields me without a thought, without a word.

His other arm stretches out, braced toward Abby. Between us. Between them.

Teeth bared. Eyes lit like coals about to burst into flame.

The air crackles—that’s the only word for it. 

And I realize: I haven’t seen Jinu like this ever. So feral.

Neither of them speaks.

Not yet.

Just… staring. Locked in this unreal, electric standoff.

I press my palm to Jinu’s lower back without thinking, trying to ground myself. He doesn't flinch—but I can feel it. The vibration beneath his skin. The way he’s barely holding back.

Then Abby tilts his head. One slow movement. His demon eyes still locked on Jinu like a challenge.

The claws are there now. Fully. His stance changes—low, threatening. Ready.

And still, Jinu doesn’t back down.

“Step back!,” Jinu growls, voice low and rough. Not loud. Not yelling. Just dangerous.

My heart spikes. That’s not how he speaks to just anyone. That’s how you speak to something you used to trust.

But Abby—he doesn’t obey. He laughs. Just once. Bitter and sharp.

“You brought her into this?” Abby hisses. “You?”

“I didn’t bring anyone,” Jinu shoots back, chest expanding as his magic rolls tighter. “You think I wanted this?”

I’m trying to follow—trying to understand. What is happening?

Abby is alive? Jinu is alive — it’s all a bit much for now.

Jinu is protecting me from someone who used to be his fellow demon soldier of Gwi-ma’s, who was in that annoyingly good-looking boy band together, who must have been a close ally of his. Maybe even someone he used to consider a close friend?

I don’t know what to think of it all, and somehow my mind seems to still mostly be focused back on the damn floor, half tangled in the memory of a kiss I can’t explain.

“You should’ve have involved her,” Abby says, voice now a quiet snarl.

”I didn’t!” He barks back, “she doesn’t know anything. She is not part of anything.” 

“Abby, how are you here?” Though my mind is blown and unfocused I can’t stop the words everything is still racing on around me.

“You remember me,” he breathes unimpressed. then he looks back at Jinu. “Shame, I would have liked to bring her. But I guess you are best at leaving girls behind, Jinu.” 

That word stings in my heart, I can only guess how much more Jinu must be affected. Though he doesn’t move an inch or crack from his feral stance. 

“What is happening?” I ask baffled by the complete lack of inclusion, “bring me for what?”

But Abby doesn’t even blink.

“Go away, Abby. I’ll be there in a minute. She can’t hurt me.” 

“No,” he says. “You’re wrong. Last time she was the reason you died.”

There’s something broken in the way he says it. Not accusing. Not angry. Just… stating a fact that seems founded from somewhere closer to desperation than the usual confidence he radiates.

Jinu moves again—shifting more in front of me, just enough to shield me from Abby’s line of sight.

Like it’s instinct.

Like he can’t not protect me, even from someone he used to what? love?

Then, finally, the tension thins just enough for the claws to slowly retract—curling back into skin. Abby rolls his neck like he’s shedding something heavy.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he says, quieter now. “At least, not unless I have to.”

And Jinu—finally—exhales.