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Chapter Text

Jinu coughs roughly into his sleeve.

Why? Why now, when they are so close?

He tilts his head back and lets his body slide down the wall.

He sighs. He has to make this work; the other are counting on him.

Jinu opens his eyes and looks at his reflection: his sleeveless shirt shows all his patterns, a constant reminder of how he cannot escape himself. His nature. 

He was born half-demon: his father died when he was too young, and his mother…well.

His mother was a demon. 

We’ll make them disappear. And everything will be okay. 

Gwi-ma’s voice resonates around his head, warm and familiar. His godfather was the reason he became a hunter. How he met his best friends. Yet, a pang of pain escapes Jinu when he thinks of the many times he wanted to tell the other about his patterns…and Gwi-ma stopped him.

They wouldn’t understand.

He’d say. 

And so, Jinu would keep hiding. 

Wearing long sleeves.

Turtlenecks.

He can’t remember the last time he allowed himself to feel free.

To feel anything that wasn’t shame .

“Jinu, are you there?” Romance’s voice carries some worry, and Jinu can’t help a warm smile from forming on his lips. 

“C’mon, man, the show is in five minutes, the fans are going nuts!” Abby’s lower tone pushes on the door. 

Jinu sighs and stands, pushing invisible dust from his clothes.

He grabs the long gloves and pulls them high: they reach his shoulders, leaving only a slip of skin out. One of the few places not yet covered in demonic patterns. 

Another knock reminds him he’s on borrowed time. In more ways than one. 

“Well? Is he dead or something?” Baby’s deep rumble reaches his ears as he opens the door: three heads turn simultaneously towards him. Abby’s strawberry blond hair falls before his hazel eyes, and a wide grin reveals a dimple on his right cheek.

“Hyung, took your sweet time!” He chuckles then, only for Romance to playfully whack at his bicep. Baby snickers as Abby scowls.

“I’m sorry, I was just… nerves, I guess.” He utters, scratching the back of his head.

Pink hair fills his vision: Romance studies him, brown eyes scrutinizing him.

“Mh. You’re sure you’re alright?” He then asks, and Jinu wonders if he has somehow slipped. Panic immediately claws at his lungs: he can’t have them find out his patterns; they can’t know. They would despise him, consider him a monster.

Before he can spiral, a lilac mane makes its appearance behind Baby.

“It’s time, move.” Mystery utters, his anxiety betraying his usually calmer demeanor. 

“Yes.” Jinu places his hand on Romance’s shoulder and squeezes softly. 

“Let’s go.” He says then, confident strides leading him to the stage. 

The lights are bright, blinding; he can hear the fans’ shouts and swallows.

“Abby.” He calls, right before they’re about to step on stage.

“Can you sing my part tonight?” He asks, hating how his voice sounds wobbly.

Four pairs of eyes set on his face, and Jinu grimaces.

“Yeah…no problem.” Abby looks suspicious, and Jinu scrambles to find a plausible excuse.

“Why wouldn’t you ask me?” He almost fails at hiding the fond eye-roll that threatens to appear on his features at Romance’s offense. 

“Man, sometimes you can’t be the main character, you know?” Baby mocks him, cupping Romance’s cheek with his hand. 

“You can share it, it’s fine.” Jinu shrugs, glad the reason for his request isn’t being further investigated. 

“Is your voice strained?” He had to talk too soon, hadn’t he? Mystery’s light eyes are barely visible behind his bangs, but they’re decisively set on Jinu’s face right now.

“It is good we are going on a break after tonight, I need some rest.” Half-truth, half-lie. Not too different from himself, he humorously thinks. 

None of them looks convinced, but Bobby appears, frantic hands pushing them on stage.

“Gogogo!” Their manager whispers-shout, shoving them ungracefully. 

Jinu can’t help the giggle that rises from his throat.

“Ready?” He asks, searching his friends’ eyes: they nod, quiet smiles filling their cheeks. 

“Let’s make this Honmoon golden.” Romance whispers, fingers tightening around Jinu’s hand.

Chapter Text

“You’re soft, Rumi.” 

Here we go again.

“I wouldn’t say I’m soft, Celine. I’m reasonable.” Her patience’s last string is dangerously close to snapping.

Celine might be the Queen of the Underworld, but her political mind is not the brightest, in Rumi’s modest opinion. 

“Hold your horses.” Mira’s angry whisper reaches her right ear. Her general must perceive Celine’s anger before her, as her narrowed eyes quickly dart from the Queen’s claws to Rumi’s throat.

She would scoff, but that would truly mean she’s out for trouble, then.

“Too soft to truly be my heir.” Low blow. Bitch . 

“If I truly were too soft, as you say, would I stand up to you when your senseless strategies lead to the death of so many demons?” Rumi tilts her chin up, fearless.

A mumbled string of curses comes from her left: out of the corner of her eye, she can see Zoey lowering her gaze to the ground, bowing her head even more. A trusted advisor, her oldest friend. And she’s probably cursing her demonic life choices right now.

“Majesty, what Rumi meant is that…” Mira starts from her right, but Celine cuts her off with an annoyed wave.

“No, she’s right. It takes some stomach to gamble her general and her advisor’s lives so effortlessly.” Celine's tongue rolls around the last word, a sly curve of her lips making Rumi’s insides bright with fury.

“You wouldn’t dare.” She clips back, jaw tight.

Celine shrugs, uncrossing her legs: she takes all the space on the throne now, a blatant show of power. 

“What is it that you want me to prove?” Her fingers stretch over the hilt of her sword.

Celine had considered her an heir before Rumi had the conscience to understand the weight of such an inheritance. Not that she could have refused anyway.

The Queen had welcomed her, a young orphaned demon girl with no memory of her past. She raised her to be strong, ruthless, and efficient. And now, she says Rumi is too soft. 

I am what you made me , she wants to scream. 

“I want you to prove to me you're ready to take my crown when time comes.” Celine’s right eyebrow perks up, as what she is saying is obvious. 

Mira sighs, and Rumi plans to do the same any second now. 

They’ve known each other for centuries. Mira was born human, the last daughter of a military family. Her fiery soul had been safe until her twentieth-fifth year of life: she was appointed general of her troops, pride of her generation. But her ambition kept growing, until the claws of her arrogance got to her soul: she had sacrificed her soldiers to obtain victory, losing her soul as well in the process.

“And what would suit your need, Majesty?” Zoey’s voice lurks carefully forward: familiar with the invisible battles fought in politics, her advisor’s mind only purpose is to survive Celine’s deadly spiderweb. As a human, she had moved around courts, conquering her social status one piece of soul at a time, until she had found herself with nothing but an empty chest. Now, her demon mind continues the incessant needlework that allows Rumi’s political figure to be well-respected. 

The Queen holds her chin between clawed fingers, long eyelashes casting black shadows on her purple skin: Rumi always believed her to be beautiful, in her monstrosity. Silky black hair surrounds her seated frame, pooling around the throne: she swears she could see it moving on its own accord, sometimes. 

Celine balances her weight on the arms of the throne as she stands up.

She takes a step forward, and Rumi's instincts scream at her to fall back.

As if she read her thoughts, Mira’s firm hand on her back halts her movements.

Celine stands tall before them: her head is tilted to the side, black hair partly covering her velvety red robe. She’s studying Rumi with her ruby-colored eyes, and Rumi suddenly can hear the screams of all the demons Celine has murdered in front of her. 

This is how you rule, Rumi , she would say.

“So?” She asks, defiant golden eyes locking on her godmother’s.

Celine smirks, amused: she lets her gaze burn on each of them before fixing it on Rumi once again.

“Bring me the hunters’ heads.” Well, fuck .

Rumi would roll her eyes, were they not bulging out of her head.

The hunters: five men, boys. Nothing more than a pile of limbs , Mira would say.

If they had been easy to kill, she, Zoey, and Mira would have collected their heads already.

“All five of them?” Mira asks, a pink eyebrow curved up, creating lines on her smooth forehead. Her mind must already be planning a merciless attack.

“It’s no easy task, Celine.” Zoey uses the Queen’s first name, surprise taking a toll on her otherwise perfectly controlled manners. 

“For you, it should be.” The Queen lifts her right shoulder and dismissively waves her hand.

“I’m tired of losing precious soldiers to their blades.” She mutters, black claws scratching her chin. 

“Their deaths should weaken the Honmoon enough for us to feast on souls, no?” She tilts her head again, as if to dare them to prove her wrong. 

“Truth to be told, we don’t know. It could also straighten it with their fans’ grief.” Zoey observes, and Rumi feels relief curling up her spine. She’s not a fan of senseless murder.

“Strategically, their deaths could create more problems than opportunities if we don’t weaken the Honmoon first.” Mira’s reasonable comment is music to Rumi’s ears.

And she can’t stop the small smile forming on her lips when she sees Celine’s forehead crumpling with displeasure. 

“Well then, how do you suggest getting me what I asked of you?” Oh, she’s pissed now. Rumi’s day keeps getting better. 

“I have an idea.” Mira and Rumi pivot toward Zoey at the same time, twin anxious expressions on their features. Zoey’s ideas have a history of being… creative .

“I’m waiting.” Celine nudges her to keep talking. 

“The Saja Boys’ strength comes from their friendship and their fans, right?” The shorter demon starts, emerald eyes shining with mischief. 

“Mhmh.” Mira carefully studies her, a suspicious look sharpening her features.

“Then that’s where we strike.” Zoey’s dark hair frames her now-smiling face.

“What are you suggesting, exactly?” Celine’s lean body is perked up with interest.

“That we present ourselves as their peers, and then plant venomous seeds.” Mira’s tone holds a spark of approval, and Rumi finds herself smiling as well. 

It is a good plan. 

Weakening the relationship with the fans and among the hunters would allow more demons to pass through the Honmoon and to gain the necessary strength to conquer the human world.

That would make the hunters more vulnerable as well, and easier to kill, eventually. 

A spotless plan, the way they like them. 

Rumi’s eyes leave Zoey’s satisfied smile and return to graze Celine’s features.

Her red gaze is fixed on Rumi: a sly smile curves her lips, showing a hint of her fangs.

She walks closer, until she’s only standing a breath away from Rumi: they’re the same height now, even though Rumi has only memories of looking up to the towering Queen. 

Red and golden meet, rivalling with steadfast determination. Rumi won’t look away first.

“Prove me you’re a worthy heir.”

Chapter Text

“Did you see? It almost turned golden!” Baby jumps on the sofa with his full weight, and Jinu almost topples over: Mystery’s quick fingers wrap around his bicep, keeping him upright.

“We’re so close, finally! Those hideous demons will be banned for good!” Abby’s voice drowns in his japchae, while Romance stares at him, unimpressed.

They’re spread out in their living room: soft, worn sweaters and loose t-shirts are the only clothes allowed during a break. 

Jinu breathes out his relief: the last concert before their break has gone well, even though he partly performed. His voice feels…strained. He couldn’t risk it, not when they’re so close.

A bad performance would have an effect on fans and the Honmoon as well. 

And he won’t allow it.

“Is your voice any better now?” His head perks up at Mystery’s question: Jinu wonders if there’s a possibility the other man might be able to read his thoughts. God, he hopes not. Not that it would surprise him too much: Mystery has lived up to his stage name since he’d first met him, even though his combat skills left too little to imagination. 

“Yes, I was just tired. This past month has been intense.” It’s not a complete lie, after all: he pulls at the sleeves of his jumper. He can feel Romance’s brown eyes burning a hole into his face: there’s no hiding from a childhood friend, and he should know. When his father died and Gwi-ma became his guardian, Jinu had never felt more alone. Until he met Romance on his first day of school, when the then-brunette boy hadn’t accepted Jinu’s idea of having lunch alone. And since that moment, he had never left his side. 

Music drew them closer, giving both of them an escape from their real life: Jinu gazes at Romance’s full plate, and his right eyebrow curves up. Romance rolls his eyes and brings full chopsticks to his lips. 

“Well, rest up! Because we have the Idol Awards in two weeks and we need to be in our best form!” Abby’s enthusiasm is unwavering, and Jinu would love to have only a tenth of the gym rat’s energy: to think Gwi-ma had scouted him while working out, truly says a lot about the man’s stamina. Perfect notes while weight-lifting? C’mon .

Abby finished his meal and has now decided to bother Mystery, who’ quietly reading some comments on social media. 

“Are they saying I’m everyone’s bias?” He then asks, a smug smile making his dimple appear. Mystery doesn’t look away from the phone, but Jinu can see the devious curve of his lips.

“Nope, apparently I am.” Mystery delivers the killing blow with the same accuracy he’d strike down a demon with his shin-kal.

Abby has the audacity of truly looking offended: his right hand is placed on his puffed chest, and Jinu struggles to suppress a grin. 

“You’re lying.” He whispers, his lips now turned downward. 

“He is, I’m everyone’s favourite and all of you know it.” Baby is scrolling on his phone, feet casually arranged over Jinu’s lap. He is the youngest and the last one to join the group: Baby wasn’t scouted by Gwi-ma; he simply showed up at his doorstep one day with mental rap skills and an executioner’s sword that was almost taller than him. 

“Naive of you to believe you’d stand a chance.” Romance’s plate is half-full, but he has left it on the table: Jinu can feel his eyebrows growing closer.

Abby’s inappropriate retort dies on his lips, as a sharp sting hits their temples.

Jinu is standing before he even realizes it, his fingers clenched around the hilt of saingeom: right before him, Romance holds his gakgung, sharp eyes fixed somewhere over Jinu’s shoulder.

“A breach in the Honmoon.” Mystery hasn’t risen from the sofa, but the small daggers are already glowing.

“You know what they say,” Abby is smiling. A nice evening fight is exactly what he needs to guarantee himself a good night of sleep. 

“There’s no rest for the wicked.” Baby grins, eyes bright with mischief. 

“You know what I was thinking?” Abby’s gokdo slices through a demon, and Jinu can now see him towering over the disappearing form.

“What?” He asks, a swift twirl allowing him to avoid a claw on his arm. He needs to be more careful: what if his patterns are revealed because of a ripped sweater?

The demon swinging at him disappears in a pink mist, and Jinu tilts his head up: Romance stands on the nearby rooftop, bow securely clenched, his senses completely dedicated to his surroundings. Jinu locks his eyes onto Romance’s brown ones and nods a silent thank you.

“That one is mine!” He turns, Baby’s quick jumps on the wall stun him for a second: that is fast . The huge blade nears a bigger demon, but Jinu recognizes a smaller, quicker knife meeting the target before Baby’s sword. 

“Oopsie, my bad.” Mystery’s mocking tone shouldn’t be this funny.

“Anyway, I was thinking!” Abby shouts, grappling a water demon, a disgusted snarl twisting his features.

“Some would say that alone can be considered a problem.” Romance, even from above, won’t miss an opportunity to banter.

“I would really love to have some bingsu after this!” Abby ignores him, slicing through the demon as an arrow hits it. 

“I had it.” He then shouts, looking up.

“Sure you did.” Romance’s flat response has Jinu cackling. 

“Incoming!” He turns, eyes widening in disbelief as dozens of other demons near them. 

What the hell?

“Ro! Any civilians around?” Jinu hates it when normal people get involved, which, if you ask him, is too often. Romance scans the surrounding area with careful eyes, then returns them to Jinu.

“I don’t think so.” He jumps down from the building and gracefully lands next to him. 

“That is a lot of demons.” Mystery flanks Jinu’s left side, while Baby hangs right behind him.

“Don’t spread out, it’s best if we face them as one front.” Abby’s godko hisses to Jinu’s right.

“Ro, you stay back and I’ll cover you,” Jinu mutters, finger tightening on the hilt. Romance nods and raises his bow, arrow ready to be released. 

They fight in tandem, years of practice behind their every movement: where one misses, the other strikes; when one falters, the other aids. They’ve never fought apart; it’s not something they do. Jinu has always thought of their fights as choreographies, in a way: perfectly designed, delivered with flawless precision. 

That is why, when he sees a glimpse of purple human hair, his movements halt, and he gazes at Romance: the archer has seen it as well, and briefly nods to Jinu.

“Go, I’ll be fine.” He whispers, an arrow flying from his fingers and hitting its target.

Jinu dips his chin in acknowledgment and runs off, feet hitting the concrete: he nears the alley, carefully slowing his step. It’s dark and narrow. 

His sword’s light cuts through thick shadows.

He can still hear the fight behind him, yet something is pulling him forward.

“I won’t hurt you.” He tries to reassure whoever is hiding in the darkness. 

“You won’t?” A soft, beautiful voice reaches his ears. 

He takes a few steps to his right, where a tall bin leans on the alley’s wall.

“Pinky promise.” He whispers, a small smile appearing on his lips as the stranger leaves her hideout to step into the light emanating from Jinu’s sword. 

Oh. Oh .

That is a woman, a very beautiful woman.

Purple hair, carefully braided, swings around her slim frame: her clothes are simple, but something about her seems ancient. Grace flows from every step she takes, and Jinu snaps his mouth closed a second too late. Now, brown eyes are looking at him with a drop of amusement. He clears his throat.

“Are you okay?” He then asks, lowering his blade. She seems strangely unbothered by it.

“I am, yes. I am Rumi.” She extends her right hand, wrapped in a white glove. 

Jinu takes it: Why is his heart beating so fast? “Jinu.” He whispers, praying that his voice isn’t betraying him the same way his heartbeat is.

The woman, Rumi , tilts her head to the side and smiles.

“Jinu. Thank you.” She unwraps her fingers from his hand, and Jinu is scrambling to find something to say, to keep the conversation going.

That’s when a scream painfully reaches his ears, and his stomach drops. Romance.

He turns so quickly that something in his neck might snap.

Nonono, please no. 

He rotates back to Rumi to apologize, to tell her he has to go, that she’ll be safe. But there’s no one before him now.

“What…” He breathes, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. 

A low whine sparks up the panic in his chest.

He runs back to where they were fighting as anxiety threatens to cut the air out of his lungs. 

There are no demons left, only ashes and puddles of murky water fill the space between him and the rest of the boys. He can distinguish Abby’s wide back, tight with tension. Mystery is crunched down, hiding Romance from Jinu’s view. Baby stands to the side, a nervous feel to his steps. 

Jinu is at Mystery’s side in a second: his hands over Romance’s seated form. 

He’s not sure what he can do to help; truth to be said, he’s still trying to retain control of his own breathing. 

Romance’s eyes are glossy with pain, but he reassuringly smiles at him as soon as he sets his gaze on Jinu. 

Jinu wants to cry. 

Romance's shoulder drips blood all over his grey sweater: a deep, angry mark cuts from his clavicle to the middle of his arm. 

“What happened?” God, his voice is trembling.

“You weren’t there, that’s what happened!” Baby snaps at him while Romance closes his eyes and sighs. 

“Baby.” Mystery’s low voice is a careful warning. 

“I’m sorry.” Guilt swallows Jinu’s apology.

Romance’s gaze finds his in an instant.

“It wasn’t your fault. I told you to go.” He mutters back, gulping down what Jinu imagines to be a burning pain.

“I beg to differ.” Abby’s snarl finds a welcoming home in Jinu’s already growing shame. 

“We need to get him home; he only needs some stitches.” Mystery nudges at Jinu’s arm, drawing back his focus to the wounded hunter.

“And a painkiller, if you don’t mind.” Romance chuckles, only to grimace in pain the next second.

“Yes, I’ll carry him.” Jinu nods, waving his panic away. 

It’s all your fault.

“It’s a long walk back; we’ll take turns.” Abby crunches down and wraps his arm around Romance’s uninjured side. Jinu hovers his mangled shoulder, carefully threading his fingers on his friend’s side. 

Romance stands with a groan and a string of colorful curses, earning a giggle from Baby and a small smile from Mystery.

“Thanks.” He whispers, tentative steps carrying him forward. 

“Well, shit.” Jinu’s head perks up at Abby’s call. What now?

He follows the hazel gaze, hoping not to see yet another demon.

When his eyes finally find what Abby had been cursing at, he wishes it were a demon instead.

Right before them, smartphone in hand, eyes wide and lips tightly pulled together, Bobby stands over a dirty puddle. 

Well, shit, indeed.

Chapter Text

“Did you see the hunter’s face when he saw Rumi? I was pissing myself.” Rumi rolls her eyes at Mira’s cackling, batting away her friend’s hand.

“This could be truly easier than I imagined.” Zoey comments, eyes carefully set on her nails: she’s applying nail polish with the same care Rumi has seen her orchestrating coups. 

“I’d suggest we don’t distract ourselves too much, girls.” She fights the smile threatening to fill her cheeks as she observes Mira lending Zoey a helping hand. 

“Yes, boss.” Mira mocks her, and Rumi scoffs. 

“Rumi is right, we can’t let ourselves forget what’s at stake here.” Zoey sits back, allowing Mira to complete her nail art. 

“The whole Underworld depends on us succeeding.” Rumi sighs, her fingers slowly threading through her purple hair.

“No pressure.” Mira shoots her a warning glare.

“Celine has gone mad with power, Rumi. Thousands of demons die pointless deaths only because she wants the hunters’ heads.” Zoey’s tone hasn’t lost its soft rhythm, but its edges have become sharper. 

“I know. And I truly think your plan could work. The first cracks were easy to show.” Rumi nods; she can remember the hunter’s features clearly. Jinu . He couldn’t be that good of a hunter, given how he hadn’t even sensed she was a powerful demon.

“Luring their human manager there was icing on the cake, by the way.” She turns to Mira: her general had decided to add an extra chaotic element to the already explosive situation, and it had worked wonders .

The second the manager saw blood and weapons, he started screaming: Rumi, Zoey, and Mira had to subdue the laughs threatening to reveal their position when the poor guy realized that the blood was coming from one of his boys. 

“That pink-haired hunter was a weasel; he dodged so many of my hits before I managed to strike,” Mira mutters, annoyance twisting her features in a scowl. 

“You got him in the end, though,” Zoey reassures the older demon with a soft pat on her shoulder, and Mira's scowl deepens. Rumi attempts to hide her smile. 

Zoey is right, after all: Mira’s fighting skills had, as usual, been perfect: by striking the archer, the demons had gained the opportunity to escape. Rumi hadn’t loved the idea of using lesser demons as bait, but refusing to do so would have only confirmed Celine’s theories about her being soft . At least, most of them had been able to escape after the archer had been injured: Zoey explained that she had always seen the hunters fighting together, and for that reason, they had decided to separate them as their first move. 

Jinu seemed easy to fool. His kind eyes had shown Rumi that it would only take a little push to convince him of her best intentions. She decisively ignored the small pang of guilt in her stomach: even if it meant the hunters had to die, this was the greater good. 

“Do you think it will be enough?” She turns, her mind moving away from her crowded thoughts. She meets Zoey’s doubtful stare.

“I think so.” Rumi shrugs and places a placating hand on the younger demon’s shoulder.

“It will. We separate them, steal their fans, and the Honmoon will be weak enough for an army to get through.” Mira’s harsh tone quiets their doubts easily enough. 

“Then, Celine can do whatever she wants with them.” Rumi waves her hand until it rests on the hilt of her long sword. 

“I hope she doesn’t ruin their faces, though.” Zoey holds her chin between thumb and forefinger as Mira starts cackling.

“Well, maybe having their heads will placate her wrath!” Rumi sighs. She silences her wish not to see more pointless death, but again, she can’t have Celine’s accusation find evidence. If the hunters have to die to return some balance to the Underworld, so be it.

“Why is she so obsessed with them anyway?” Mira has started hunting the web for the information they need, but her eyes briefly flicker over Rumi’s features.

“Her daughter was killed by one of them.” Zoey provides the answer quickly enough. 

“There’s more to the story.” Rumi sighs as she gets comfortable on the carpet: they’re about to deep dive into Korean Pop music, and she’ll need the most comfort she can have. 

Attentive eyes invite her to continue, and she starts picking at her hair.

“Her daughter was killed together with her child.” Even though Rumi believes Celine to be heartless, there had been a time when some mercy was still considered by the demon queen.

“The hunter who murdered them is the same one who trained those guys, the Saja Boys.” She concludes, allowing her hair some rest as she sets it back on her shoulder.

“So this is truly about revenge,” Mira observes, her right eyebrow crawling up her forehead.

Rumi shrugs. 

Whatever her reason might be, Celine has lost herself in it. 

And if this is the only way for Rumi to prove she’s a worthy heir, she will do what it takes to retain control of the Underworld. Her reign of pain must end. 

“So, shall we start?” Zoey’s enthusiasm draws her away from her dark thoughts, and Rumi breathes out the last of her hunting anxieties. 

Three hours later, Rumi is spread diagonally on the couch as she studies Mira’s choreography with critical eyes.

“That move is sooooooo smooth, I love it.” Zoey claps her hands from her spot on the floor: three different notebooks surround her legs, scribbled writing covering each available corner of the pages.

“You don’t look too sure.” Mira stands with her arms on her hips, calming her quick breaths. 

Rumi clicks her tongue.

“No, I like it. I just think we need something more…” She starts digging for the right word in the depths of her mind.

“Alluring.” Zoey finishes for her, eyes searching for the right lyrics among the mass of scribbles on her notes. 

Mira scratches her cheek, brow furrowed.

“We only want their souls, after all.” She shrugs and sits on the floor, facing Zoey

“The sweet juice.” Rumi sighs, her mouth watering with the idea of having some good souls to feed on.

Zoey’s head snaps so fast that Rumi believes she must have snapped something in the process.

“That’s it!” She furiously writes something down, and then nudges Mira to play some notes on the piano.

“ We've starvin' for so long, I'm out of control. ” The dark-haired demon starts singing, and Rumi sits straight, inspiration floating up her spine.

“ It's time to wake the sleeping madness in me. ” She continues from where Zoey left off, a small smile making its way on her face. 

“ Ah, I need some fresh air now. Come closer, I'll whisper to you. ” Mira jumps in, her fingers flying on piano keys. 

“ You want some sweet juice? Chew it, pop it, pop it. ” Zoey smiles and continues singing, her quick writing halting only to look up at her friends.

“I think we might have the right song.” Mira’s lips are curved upward, her right fang slightly pinching the skin.

Rumi licks her lips as she stands from the couch, painted nails shifting back to dark claws.

“It’s time to show those boys how it’s done.”

Chapter Text

“I told you I’m fine, Jinu, will you stop hovering like a mother hen?” Romance’s tone is laced with irony, but a small hint of real annoyance halts Jinu’s attempt to help him with the choreography. 

“All right, all right, fine!” He holds his hands up in mock surrender as Abby rolls his eyes, water bottle tight in his fingers. 

“Maybe if we switch up these two parts…” Jinu turns to Mystery, who’s attentively discussing the different moves with Baby: the maknae’s features are twisted in a pensive expression, as if he’s not sure his bandmate’s idea could work.

Jinu sighs and lets his tired limbs crumble to the cold pavement: tonight is a big night. 

The Idol Awards are important not only because of their fans, but also because it’s one of the best moments to straighten the Honmoon. No pressure . 

Jinu pulls at the turtleneck enveloping his throat: it’s suffocating, but his patterns have started crawling up his collar, and he can’t have the others see them.

“Aren’t you sweating your ass off in that turtleneck?” Abby’s unimpressed voice reaches him before his hazel eyes do: Jinu is yet to ask both him and Romance to fill in for him tonight. 

“Nah, I’m fine.” He dismissively waves his hand over his bent knee: truly, he’s not fine at all . 

And he also knows he’s not fooling any of them: Romance had clocked his bullshit even before his own injury. 

“I understand if it’s not now, Jinu. But I hope you know you can talk to me.” He had said, and Jinu had to fight the strong need to confess everything. But then, Gwi-ma had resonated in his head clear as day: They could never love you if they knew the truth.

Abby had been stealing glances at him since he had asked him to take his parts in their last performance before the break: he hadn’t asked questions, waiting for Jinu to say something.

Mystery had been a silent, steadfast support: Jinu had lost count of the warm cups of tea the quiet member of Saja Boys had placed in his hands. Whenever they had found themselves in the studio together, his firm on the shoulder had kept Jinu from a meltdown each time he couldn’t reach a note. 

Baby kept hovering around, unsure of how to handle the situation: Jinu had noticed how the youngest had softened his usually harsh manners and sharp comebacks when it came to him. Jinu giggles as he remembers how Abby had been the victim of the Baby’s extra sassiness: the kid had to unload somehow. 

“Jinu, can I have a word?” Jinu spots Bobby’s head appearing from the door. 

Overall, he can’t believe Bobby knows now: the first hour of his introduction to the demon world had been chaotic , to say the least. Blood, curses, and tears had been involved.

Jinu had been way too invested in Romance and his bleeding injury to even consider anything else, but leaving Abby and Baby to handle Bobby’s meltdown quickly revealed to be not the brightest idea. He clearly remembers Mystery enveloping his wrist in his long fingers.

“Go and fix this. I’ll handle Romance.” Jinu had a refusal on the tip of his tongue, but Romance had cut in, literally kicking him towards the chaotic trio. 

They had explained to Bobby most of everything once they had settled back in their shared apartment: their manager had asked questions, and they had given him honest answers. 

Then, Romance had fallen asleep on Jinu’s shoulder, and Bobby, sweet and caring Bobby, had fixed them with a stern look and said: “This changes nothing. You’re my boys, and I’ll keep protecting you. Even from demons.” 

If Jinu had teared up then, that’s nobody’s business. He knew he hadn’t been the only one from the concert of sniffs that had spread around the living room, anyway.

Now, Bobby’s brow is narrowed while he looks at Jinu’s reflection on the mirror: has something happened? A thousand catastrophic scenarios start playing in his mind, and Jinu wishes he could put his head underwater. 

“Woooooo Hyung is in trouble!” Baby’s deep voice causes a cacophony of chuckles and scoffs.

“Shut up, you menace.” Romance utters as he tentatively rolls his recovering shoulder. 

Maybe Bobby wants Romance not to perform? Jinu won’t allow that: they stick together, no matter what. 

He drags his feet toward the door, trying to come up with answers to questions he has yet to know. 

Maybe Abby is onto something when he says I have an anxiety problem , he briefly considers before shoving the absurd idea in a dark corner of his mind. Lately, the dark corners have started outnumbering the bright spaces. 

“Is everything all right, Bobby?” He asks the moment the door shuts behind them: he’s quite sure both Abby and Baby have their ears attached to the wooden surface, trying to hear their words.

“You tell me, Jinu.” Oh no, this is bad.

“Is this about Romance? He’s fine, we changed the choreography to…” Jinu starts rambling, anger seeping through his voice.

Bobby raises a hand to stop him, and Jinu’s lips snap closed.

“This is not about Romance, Jinu.” The manager sighs, carding a hand through his dark hair.

“In the past two weeks, you haven’t been able to sing as usual.” Ice starts flowing through Jinu’s veins, travelling from his fingertips to his chest.

“I…” There has to be something he can say, an excuse he can come up with. A logical explanation. Anything .

Bobby silently waits for him to continue, and the ice in Jinu’s chest starts closing around his heart. He dreads the small, condescending smile he sees forming on the older man’s face. 

This is it, he’s out. Bobby is about to tell him there’s no place for him here anymore since he can’t even do this one thing properly. 

His fists are tight on his sides, and Jinu can feel his nails creating crescent moons on his palms. 

“You’re working yourself to the bone again, aren’t you?” What?

He tries to say something, to either deny or confirm, but Bobby is quicker.

“Take the boys for a stroll around the city today.” Again, what?

“I know tonight is a big night, but you’re too tense.” Jinu struggles to fill his lungs properly: hyperventilating doesn’t sound like the best idea right now.

“Go out, eat some mochi, breathe some fresh air.” Bobby continues, unaware of the last-minute save he did for Jinu’s meltdown. 

“Yes.” Jinu manages to croak out and spins on his heels.

“Thank you.” He says, turning back to their smiley manager. 

He pushes the door, and, as expected, the wood meets two bodies with a soft thud.

“Ow.” 

“Damn it.”

He rolls his eyes at Abby and Baby, while Romance and Mystery snicker mercilessly.

“We’re going out.” He announces, still not having completely processed his conversation with Bobby.

“WHAT?” Romance’s eyes are about to bulge out of their sockets.

“Are you messing with me?!” Abby’s shocked voice matches the dramatic hand he has placed on his heart.

“Fuck YES!” Baby, to the surprise of none, is already jumping on Jinu, his enthusiasm melting away the ice caging the leader’s chest. 

Mystery shrugs, but Jinu can see the smile showing the small dimple on the left cheek. 

Ten minutes later, hidden by sunglasses and hats, they’re strolling through Seoul’s streets. 

It’s nice: rehearsals right before big events tend to stress him out a lot, and when Jinu is stressed, he can’t calm the others. And the possibilities of things getting worse grow drastically in number. 

“Is everything alright?” Jinu jumps out of his skin. Fucking Mystery and his fucking ninja skills. 

“Do you wish to see me dead?” He turns to the purple-haired man, whose sheepish smile hides a hint of embarrassment.

“I’m fine, anyway. I think it’s just nerves. We’re getting so close to the Golden Honmoon…” Maybe, if he gives away enough and only leaves some unspoken bits, Mystery will be satisfied enough to stop his silent investigation into Jinu’s wellbeing. 

“We’re, yes.” Mystery comments, eyes carefully trained on Baby and Romance, engrossed in choosing their ice-cream flavour. From how defeated Abby looks, this debate has probably lasted for at least five minutes. 

Jinu sighs: maybe it’s time to go and save Abby: he takes one step forward, but his advance is interrupted by Mystery’s fingers around his bicep.

A question dies on the tip of his tongue, as Mystery puts his finger on his lips and nudges his head to their right: what is going on?

Jinu’s brow narrows, and he rotates on his heels, now facing the direction Mystery is pointing to: that is… music?

He turns back to Mystery, whose light-colored eyes are searching through the crowd.

“What is it?” Baby’s sudden comment distracts Jinu from asking Mystery yet another question about his past.

“I can hear music.” Romance’s soothing voice reaches his ears, and Jinu turns: he chose strawberry and vanilla. Of course he did . 

“Let’s go and check this out.” Abby’s wide shoulders enter his vision, blocking him from seeing everything else. He scoffs as he wonders if it’s healthy to spend that much time in a gym.

Romance and Baby follow Abby’s footsteps quickly enough: Jinu turns to Mystery, still lost in his thoughts. Then, his gaze finds his friend’s, and, with a silent nod, they follow the others.

As soon as they get to the square, air leaves Jinu’s lungs. It’s her. Rumi .

And she’s singing, dancing, smiling.

An Jinu might as well die right now because how is this woman real ?

“Hyung, are you okay? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Abby’s drawl has Jinu blink once, twice. Then, he turns to Abby: right beside him, Romance stares at him, a silent question mark twisting his features.

“It’s her. The girl from two weeks ago!” Mystery’s right eyebrow disappears under his hair as Jinu’s newfound energy fills his voice. 

“Oh no, we’re cooked.” Baby groans, forehead hiding behind Abby’s shoulder.

Romance chuckles and places his hand on Jinu’s shoulder.

“Do you want to say hi?” What? NO.

“Nonono.” Jinu starts pulling back, but Mystery’s hand grips his other shoulder.

“We’re so going to introduce ourselves. Have you seen the tall one with pink hair?” Abby’s smile is bright as he envelops his fingers around Jinu’s forearm.

“I can’t believe you act shy.” Baby scoffs: he’s the only one not physically pulling him out of the shadows right now, and hovers right behind him.

“I don’t act shy, I AM SHY,” Jinu mutters through clenched teeth as he tries to resist his friends’ hands.

“Too bad, then.” Romance smiles as they approach the girls, whose performance has just finished. Jinu takes a deep breath as he searches for Rumi’s eyes: maybe she won’t even recognize him, right?

Oh, but she does. 

And she smiles at him.

Well, there goes nothing.

“Jinu.” Such a beautiful voice.

Someone hits his hip. Ah, he hasn’t answered yet. 

“Rumi, hi.” Why is his voice so squeaky? He swears Mystery is snickering behind him.

He is so going to murder all of them.

“And you must be the rest of the Saja Boys.” As the boys introduce themselves, Jinu offers his hand to the two girls flanking Rumi.

“Mira.” She is tall, almost as tall as Abby. And she is scary.

“Hi, I’m Zoey.” Jinu immediately likes her: she reminds him of his little sister. 

Something painful squeezes around his heart when the faint memory of his sister crosses his mind: with a breath, he pushes it back into the corner of his mind.

“I’d love to properly meet you guys, but a street doesn’t suit this purpose.” Rumi’s eyes are bright with a frenetic energy that fascinates him, and Jinu’s nodding before he realizes. 

“Why don’t you follow us? We know a nice, quiet place just around the corner.” Zoey’s wide smile seems to have melted Mystery’s brain, and Jinu takes a mental note to roast him the moment they’re back home.

“Lead the way, ladies.” Romance is clearly in his prince charming mode , as Baby calls it.

The girls exchange small smiles as they start walking towards an alley.

Jinu feels his feet moving and fingers tapping his arm.

“Is this a good idea? The Idol Awards are in a few hours.” Baby’s eyes are hovering over the three girls: Mystery, Romance, and Abby are already behind them.

Jinu wraps his thoughts in a neat pile for a second: the Idol Awards are in a few hours, yes.

But Bobby told them to take the afternoon off and relax.

And he also would love to talk to Rumi, to meet her properly.

He meets Baby’s wide gaze.

“Yes, c’mon.” He whispers and pushes the Maknae in front of him.

Baby giggles happily and pulls him in a clumsy jog: when they reach the others, they’re chatting among each other as they walk. 

For a moment, Jinu feels ice trickling down his neck.

He takes a deep breath, wishing his nerves would give him a break.

“We’re here! It’s an old restaurant, and the owner always has a special room for us!” He turns to Rumi, whose voice calls to his ears as if it were his favourite childhood song. 

She smiles at him as he walks past her and into the restaurant, following the others: the place is bathed in dim orange lights and, to Jinu’s surprise, completely empty. 

That is a bit strange. Maybe this is a side entrance? 

He searches for Romance with his eyes and finds him with his chin tilted up, eyes set above him, and pink hair falling over his shoulders.

“Nice place.” Abby’s comment is a bit dry, and Jinu flinches. He should be nicer to the girls, they’re their guests! 

“It’s…rustic.” Mystery mumbles from somewhere behind him, and…why is Jinu feeling so light-headed? 

“It smells weird in here.” Baby steals the words from his lips.

A sweet, sticky smell crawls inside Jinu’s nostrils.

He feels so tired.

“Must be the blood.” What?

Mira’s voice cuts through the glass and has Jinu turn his head to the door.

His stomach plummets to the ground as his fingers tighten around the hilt of his swords.

Three pairs of eyes watch over them: red, golden, emerald.

Too bright, too sharp to be human.

“ Fucking knew it. Too good to be true.” Abby spits out his words harshly.

This is all my fault , Jinu thinks.

“Incoming.” Romance’s warning is enough to have other weapons to brighten the room in a second.

“You’ve murdered so many of us.” Zoey takes a step toward, hand holding the door open as demons start crawling out of every corner.

“Shit.” Well, if Mystery is worried, Jinu is allowed to panic.

“Let’s see how well you do with dimmed senses and no way out.” Mira’s smile shows her fangs, and Jinu feels chills running down his spine.

“You can’t beat us.” Baby’s deep growl gives him more strength than he believed possible. 

Rumi looks at Jinu, then, head tilted to the side and golden eyes digging into his brain.

“Why are the drugs not affecting you in the same way?” She quietly asks, more to herself than any other person in the room.

Drugs? Affecting? 

Sirens go off in Jinu’s brain as he frantically looks around to find his friends: on his right, Mystery is barely standing, hands tightly gripping his knives; next to him, balancing his weight on his big blade, Baby looks at the approaching demons with wide eyes.

Jinu turns to the left, more slowly than he wants: Abby, tightly holding his waldo, stands in front of Romance, whose back is to the wall: they’re both breathing heavily, and Jinu can see the sweat dripping from Romance’s forehead. 

Shit shit shit.

“Whatever, we have to move.” Mira distracts Rumi from further analyzing Jinu’s condition.

“We have a performance to deliver.” Zoey’s laugh fills his ears, and it sounds wrong . 

“The Idol Awards.” Abby’s anger seeps through his words.

“No.” Mystery’s whisper is quiet, and Jinu realizes that the attack is not about them.

“Stay away from our fans.” Romance sounds strained: whatever drug they used, it’s affecting him more.

“Have fun, boys!” Rumi waves at them as she pulls the door behind them.

Jinu can’t breathe.

The room plunges into darkness. 

Chapter Text

“Jjan!” Thin glasses clash with each other, the bright sound echoing on the walls of the empty throne room. Zoey giggles as she makes herself comfortable on the wide stairs leading to Celine’s throne.

“Our performance was truly the best!” Rumi smiles at the youngest’s enthusiasm, the cool liquid itching her throat as she swallows.

“And we managed to gather a quantity of souls I hadn’t seen in quite a while,” Mira observes, leaning with her right shoulder on the dark obsidian column: the throne room isn’t Rumi’s favourite place. It’s a place flooded with blood, pain, and memories she wishes she could erase from her mind. But, alas, Celine wanted to see them as soon as possible. 

Rumi wonders if it is to praise their work or to scold them because the hunters are still alive. Well, they might be dead, considering the situation they had left them in. She grimaces as she remembers the look of betrayal that crossed Jinu’s features. 

“You’re quiet.” Rumi raises her gaze to Zoey: her advisor is balancing her arm on her knee, glass gently held in elegant fingers.

“ Mh …I was thinking about a nice cool Boba Tea, and how I can not have it while I’m down here waiting for a pointless audience with Celine.” Rumi quips back, the corners of her lips tilted up: the Underworld can be incredibly boring, sometimes. 

“I’d kill for some good ramyeon.” Mira sighs, leaving her place next to the column and getting closer to Rumi, who stands right before the throne.

Zoey is about to reply, an easy smile filling her cheeks, but a defining clicking sound freezes the air of the room. 

“Get here,” Rumi whispers, standing between the girls and Celine’s approaching form.

The Queen takes one step after the other without even glancing at them: a purple gown envelops her tall frame, velvet floating around her arms. Her dark, clawed fingers peek out from the wide sleeves. Black, lucid shoes, with pointed and crooked heels, continue the clicking melody that bears nothing but bad news.

She stops next to the throne, black claws scratching the obsidian stone.

“Well?” Her right eyebrow perked up; with her rigid features, she is the picture of indifference and impatience. 

“Majesty, we managed to stop the Saja Boys from performing at the Idol Awards.” Zoey takes a step forward as her voice carefully curls around the Queen.

“It would have been the strongest moment to reinforce the Honmoon.” Mira continues, her soothing tone threading over Rumi’s nerves. 

“But now, the Honmoon is weaker than ever, and we managed to gather souls for every demon to satisfy their hunger.” Out of the corner of her eye, Rumi can see Zoey’s hands, palms up, as if to offer imaginary souls to Celine. She wishes she could scoff without risking her head. Or her friends’.

“I see.” The right corner of Celine’s mouth curves up and, for a second, Rumi truly believes there won’t be any other comment from the ruler of the Underworld.

“Yet, the hunters still live.” Ah, she knew this was coming.

“Celine…” Rumi starts, appealing to her patience and goodwill as a desperate man clings to rain in the desert. 

“They are no use to us if they’re dead. Do you want martyrs to make the Honmoon stronger?” She then continues, head slightly tilted to the side.

“Rumi, I believed my request was clear. I want their heads.” Well, as rain can’t find the desperate man in the desert, Rumi’s patience can’t work miracles.

“And I believe your request to be pointless, Celine! Making the Honmoon stronger doesn’t do us any good!” She can hear a soft whimper from her left, where Zoey pushed back, hiding behind Rumi’s taller frame.

“ US ? Rumi, you’re duller than I imagined. I couldn’t care less about the community.” Rumi tightens the fingers of her right hand around the hilt of the sword.

“I was hoping you’d have a sliver of grace left. This is your people we are talking about.” Rumi’s demonic voice starts climbing from her lungs to her throat.

“My people want what I want.” Celine rolls her eyes, annoyed by the conversation.

Rumi is about to reply, but a firm hand on her clenched fingers stops her: Mira’s eyes, lined with worry, halt her words. This is not the time, nor the place.

“We’ll bring you their bodies by evening, Majesty,” Zoey whispers, grabbing Rumi’s left elbow. 

“No.” Rumi’s eyes never leave the Queen’s ruby stare. 

“Rumi, what are you doing?” Mira’s angry whisper reaches her right ear.

“Why do you need them dead? It’s no use and you know it!” The growl of her demonic voice is full now, scratching at her throat and echoing on the walls.

The world stills around them as Celine takes one step forward.

Rumi can feel Mira and Zoey’s fingers tightening around her arms.

Celine stops right before her, head tilted down to look into Rumi’s golden irises.

“There’s no better use for death than revenge, Rumi.” Her voice, silky and inviting, wraps itself around Rumi’s mind.

“Your family was killed by their predecessors. My daughter was among the demons that fell on their swords. Is that not reason enough to see those five boys in pieces?” Celine’s eyes, red as blood pouring out of a cut, narrow as the Queen cups her cheek.

“They shouldn’t pay for the mistakes of the previous generations.” Rumi can hear how weak her voice sounds and hates it. 

“Shouldn’t they?” Celine looks amused, like a cat cornering its prey.

“Maybe you're right, in a way. Maybe they should pay for their own mistakes instead.” She then continues, pulling back her hand from Rumi’s cheek. Her skin itches with a familiar burn.

“Let them live then. They’ll prove their nature to you.” Celine waves her hand, dismissing them, boredom lacing her features and voice.

Rumi finally takes a breath, her lungs filling desperately with air she hadn’t realized she needed. Mira and Zoey silently pull her away, steering her body toward the tall arch that separates the throne room from the rest of the palace.

“It’ll be wonderful to watch them disappoint you.” Rumi’s feet are not fast enough, and Celine’s voice reaches her ears as she steps out of the throne room.

Chapter Text

“Stay still.” Romance’s voice is not angry. It could never be, when it comes to Jinu. But there is uneasiness in his stance, as lines of worry create deeps in his features.

Jinu sighs, allowing his closest friend to stitch together the skin on his side: adrenaline hasn’t worn off just yet, and he is basking in the apparent lack of pain. 

He was lucky the demons only injured his side, where he bears no patterns; otherwise, a lot of explaining would have been necessary.

He allows his gaze to wander over their living room: while he and Romance sit on the smaller sofa, Baby is busying himself with Abby’s head injury on the bigger couch. Mystery, on the other hand, is slouched on the armchair, as he stitches a deep gash on his stomach.

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand with that?” Jinu tries to stand up and move closer to the other member, but Romance’s hand halts his movement.

“I said: stand fucking still.” All right, maybe Romance is a bit angry at Jinu.

“Sorry.” He mutters, casting his eyes down on his lap: flashes of battle replay in his head, and he wishes he could just go back in time, not follow the three demons, not risk the life of his friends. 

“I can hear your thoughts, Jinu-Hyung.” He looks up to meet Mystery’s eyes, but his gaze stops at the blood spread on his stomach. Mystery had taken a hit meant for Baby, pushing the Maknae behind him as soon as the water demon had approached.

“He can keep them for himself. I’m not up for any Hyung’s bullshit right now.” Abby’s tone is clipped, furious. He had been standing before Romance the whole time, not allowing any demon close enough to the already injured member; he hadn’t even realized his own injury until black spots started to cloud his sight. Now, spread on the sofa while allowing Baby’s smaller hands to clean the wound on his temple. Jinu feels his stomach twist in discomfort as he observes the darkened skin around Abby’s left eye. 

The silence in the living room is thick, tense with unsaid words and ushed apologies: Jinu knows all of this is his responsibility. He’s the oldest, the leader. His duty is to protect them, guide them. Not letting them walk into a damned trap. 

They had barely made it out of the abandoned restaurant, still half-drugged and bleeding all over each other: the walk to their apartment had been long and desperate. Quiet, in a way that meant nothing good was going to come out of the words they could exchange. 

Jinu knows what comes next. He might be the oldest, but that doesn’t mean any of them will hold back their anger.

The silence is suffocating, and Jinu swallows his fear. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet, cautious. His eyes never leave his curled fingers on his lap.

A scoff.

Jinu’s head snaps up, meeting Romance’s cold stare.

“You’re sorry. That’s great to hear, Jinu, really.” Sarcasm drips from Abby’s tone as the taller hunter gets himself seated and pulls Baby next to him, his hands threading carefully over the youngest’s tense shoulders.

“We disappointed millions by not performing at the Idol Awards.” Mystery, always practical, avoids ignoring the elephant in the room.

“The Honmoon has never been weaker.” Baby’s eyes are glossy and tired, yet the Maknae manages to shoot daggers at Jinu.

“I’m sorry.” He tries again, searching for forgiveness in Romance’s brown eyes.

“You should be apologizing to those who lost their soul tonight, not to me.” If even his closest friend can’t accept his apology, how can he forgive himself?

“We need to find a way to fix this.” Mystery sighs, lowering the stained and torn t-shirt over his stitched-up stomach.

Jinu nods, blinking away the tears threatening to spill.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll go to Gwi-ma, I’ll fix everything.” He hurries out, guilt eating up his stomach. 

A hand stills his fidgeting fingers.

“We will fix it together, Jinu.” Romance is not looking at him, but his voice is softer as he tries to convey some peace. 

“After I take a well-deserved nap.” Baby mutters, laying his head in Abby’s lap. The pink-haired hunter chuckles as he lets the younger find a comfortable position to sleep.

Ah, he doesn’t deserve this. Their forgiveness, their understanding, their comforting gestures. 

Not when they don’t even know his true nature. 

“Is your neck injured?” Mystery’s question sends a thrill of alarm in Jinu’s system.

“No.” He quickly answers, his right hand leaving the warmth of Romance’s hold to cover whatever escaped the turtle-neck swiftly. 

“Are you sure? Let me have a look…” Romance turns to him, brown eyes scanning him for hidden injuries.

Jinu’s blood freezes as soon as Romance’s hands near his neck.

No, he can’t allow this to happen.

“I said I’m fine.” He says as he quickly stands up, carefully avoiding his friend’s fingers.

Four pairs of eyes set on his standing figure, and suddenly, Jinu can’t breathe properly.

“I’ll go to Gwi-ma. You stay here.” He cuts off Mystery’s protest with a harsh voice that he uses as rarely as possible. He hates to impose his decisions on others, not to give them room for argument. But what choice does he have?

His legs hurry out of the room, where his friends remain in stunned silence.

He has to get to Gwi-ma. His patterns are growing, the Honmoon is weakening. He’s slipping, failing. Failing their fans, his friends, and himself.

He realizes he has been running only when he gets in front of Gwi-ma’s house: his breathing comes in short puffs, and his chest hurts.

He steps closer to the door and knocks once, knuckles softly rattling on the wooden surface.

He hates this place.

Blue used to be his favourite color.

But now, as he looks at the deep color of the old door, there’s nothing but dread in his heart.

“Jinu.” Gwi-ma’s voice is not surprised or happy. 

The former hunter knew this moment would arrive.

The moment Jinu would crawl back to him, to the person who made him who he is today.

“I need your help.” He blurts out, eyes firmly set into Gwi-ma’s black stare.

“Do you now?” The older hunter tilts his head to the side, a small smile turning the corners of his thin lips up. A storm brews in Jinu’s insides. 

Sometimes, he wonders if Gwi-ma ever loved him: Jinu had lost his father when he was too young to remember, and the hunter had sworn to protect him as his own. 

Protection does not necessarily imply love, though. 

“The Hoonmon is weaker than ever.” Jinu tries to still the tremble of his voice.

“And whose fault is that?” Gwi-ma sings as he turns his back to him and disappears inside the house. Jinu’s hands tighten is fists, his nails digging crescent moons in his palms.

“Mine.” He follows his mentor in the kitchen, where Gwi-ma hands him a glass of water.

“Your voice sounds strained.” The older man’s hair is still pitch black, even though years have been less kind to his features: deep lines accentuate his expressions, except for the places where his skin shows the smooth textures of scars. 

Jinu sets his eyes on the mark on Gwi-ma’s throat.

“The patterns have reached my voice. I can’t sing anymore.” He shouldn’t feel ashamed. It’s not really his fault.

“You should have acted sooner.” But according to the older mentor, it is.

“I thought I had more time to fix it.” Jinu tries, his brow furrowing.

“You spend too much time thinking and not enough time acting, Jinu.” Gwi-ma sets his own glass on the table, and Jinu can’t help but flinch. He wishes he could just get out of this house. But he can’t. He needs answers, he needs a way to fix his voice, and the Honmoon.

“Why is this happening?” He raises his eyes to meet the older hunter’s gaze.

“Surprising as it may sound to you, I do not hold all the answers, Jinu.” He sighs, lowering himself on a chair. 

“We knew the demon side would eventually take over.” He then continues as he raises his right hand to gesture to Jinu. 

“You promised me you would help me fix it.” Jinu hates how small his voice sounds, how young he feels.

“I did, yes. But you wasted precious time.” Gwi-ma retorts, left hand playing with a knife.

Jinu tightens his jaw and tries to take a deep breath.

“There might be one way.” After a few seconds of silence, Gwi-ma speaks again.

Jinu’s head snaps up, eyes wide with expectation.

“I’ll do anything.” He blurts out, a bitter taste assaulting his mouth.

“You already know what I’m speaking of.” The older hunter carves small dents into the wooden table.

Jinu’s eyebrows move closer in confusion, but then, a long-buried memory resurfaces so strongly, he has to find balance by holding to the nearest chair. 

“No.” He whispers, so quietly he can barely hear himself.

“You said you’ll do anything. That is the only way.” Gwi-ma speaks so easily of this, as if he isn’t asking Jinu to murder a part of himself.

“I…” What if Gwi-ma is right? Maybe this is the only way to fix everything.

He takes a deep breath.

“I need some air.” Jinu manages to whisper as he runs out of the room, instinct pulling him towards the upper floor, to a safer place.

He crawls into the attic, his long legs folding as he stumbles into the small room.

Jinu allows his lungs to freely fill again, the smell of books and dust calming his nerves.

It has been so long since he felt the need to hide in here.

Jinu looks around at the familiar sight: the attic hasn’t changed at all. It is still filled with memories of the hunters of the past, of his father. 

The thick chest in front of him, locked as it has always been, reminds him of nights when he would hide in here and cry in silence, wishing for Gwi-ma not to find him. Jinu would stare at the chest, hoping for it to swallow him whole, so he could stay away forever.

Now, he looks at it with the same feeling.

Jinu covers his eyes with a sigh and runs his hands through his hair.

He’s exhausted. 

Jinu raises his gaze to his father’s chest once again.

“What am I to do?” He whispers, pulling at his black strands.

Frustration pulls his leg away from his curled-up body, and he kicks at the wooden crate.

A soft thud.

Jinu raises his face from its hiding spot between his knees: right before him, tattered and bearing the sign of time, there’s a diary. 

His father’s diary.

Chapter Text

The sun is warm on her skin, and Rumi relishes it: she loves the Underworld, yes, but this side of reality was never something as dreadful as Celine has them believe.

The Secret Garden of Changdeokgung Palace has been her favourite place since she has memories of it: the early autumn air bites at her exposed skin the moment she steps under the large shadow cast by a tree, and a small smile makes its way on her features as she finally senses different temperatures than the constant, blazing hot climate of the Underworld. 

She distantly hears the call of a magpie and tilts her head up: there, perched on a thick branch, the small bird warily eyes her before taking off.

She walks to the closest bench, right in front of a wide pond: water moves lazily, and small waves ripple through the surface.

Rumi sits and hugs her legs to her chest, taking in the quiet landscape before her: there is so much on her mind. 

Celine has her reasons; she knows that being the ruler of the Underworld is no easy task, surely. Yet, Rumi can’t help but think there could be better ways of handling their needs: if the higher demons would relent on their privileges, there would be enough souls for everyone without having to reach out to this part of reality. There would be no need for meaningless murder, she thinks with a deep sigh. 

But, since she can remember, Celine’s rule has never once compromised the higher demons’ privilege, weighing down instead on lower demons, weak and starved since their creation.

Rumi never liked that. It isn’t fair, never has been.

She knows Zoey and Mira share her vision, but how can they change the Queen’s view?

Truth is, they can’t.

Celine had been a more merciful ruler in the past, but everything had changed the moment the previous generations of Hunters had begun their ruthless chase of the higher demons. 

Rumi had been too young to remember, but an infinite number of stories distorted the demons’ vision of the world after that, to keep them away from the dangerous blades. 

And it hadn’t been such a terrible thing, considering how many had lost their lives to the Hunters. 

She struggles to believe how different the world must have been before that: hidden legends that have been carefully kept secret tell of a time when the two sides of the Honmoon lived in balance. Yet, it had been possible. Then, why can’t it be a possibility once again?

Rumi buries her head between her knees, struggling to clear her mind from crowded thoughts: is she to overrule Celine? Is she to take her place?

But what then? What guarantee does she have that she’d be a better ruler?

Celine had been a good ruler until her own daughter had been killed. Then, grief had erased all traces of warmth from the Queen. Rumi still remembers her pained scream when the soldiers had dragged her body into the throne room, still wrapped around the hunter’s corpse. 

She clenches her jaw, trying to cast away the dreadful memories: that death had made her Celine’s heir. And it had completely changed the course of her life.

She opens her eyes, taking in the autumnal colors of the garden: it has been a long time since she was able to take some time in the world of the living. Her responsibilities as heir to the throne had pulled her away from all the things that Celine did not believe worthy of the Princess of the Underworld. And so, Rumi had listened to music less and less, had found herself standing before desolated, scorched lands instead of blooming gardens, and she had lost the little time she had to learn about her birth parents. 

When Rumi was old enough, Celine had promised to help her learn as much as possible. But her fine words had never been followed by true actions. So, she started looking for answers by herself: on both sides of the Honmoon, she could not find more than crumbles regarding her parents. And when she became Heir, well. Then she simply had to give her quest up, favoring court meetings, military strategies, and vicious planning. 

She sighs for what she fears is the tenth time in the last hour and moves to stand up.

“Don’t.” A deep, familiar voice freezes her movement.

Rumi ignores the warning and turns, right wrist twisting enough to allow the dagger she hides in her sleeve to drop between her fingers.

What Rumi finds is not a sight she expected in this place: Jinu, eyes red and hollowed out by sleepless nights, stands before her with his blade surely clenched in his right hand.

He has looked better, and considering she has met him during battles he was losing, it says enough: his dark hair frames his face in messy locks, and his features are coiled with tension.

Yet, she can clearly see the slump in his shoulder, the tremor of his arm.

Her eyes find his left hand: his fingers are clenched around a battered diary.

Rumi raises her right eyebrow: What is he going to do, attack her here? In broad delight, clearly at a disadvantage? 

“Fancy meeting you here, Jinu.” She drawls, using her dagger to move the sword away from her face. She’d much rather keep her skin clear of blood, thank you very much. 

Jinu takes a step back, and Rumi sighs: How can Celine believe this is a threat to them? Sure, the fact that they make the Honmoon stronger definitely isn’t a good thing for the Underworld, but there could be a million other ways to fix a solution, instead of simply murdering the hunters.

She allows her eyes to wander over Jinu, assessing how much of a treat he could be: truly, a wet cat would be more menacing right now.

“Sit with me, would you? I’m not in the mood for fighting today. And you don’t seem to be in the shape for it anyway.” She tilts her head to the side as she speaks, and immediately notices Jinu’s eyes following the movement of her braid, slowly falling down her shoulder.

A storm of thoughts seems to be battling behind Jinu’s dark eyes, and Rumi allows him to battle his own instincts. They are not that different, after all.

She turns her back to him and sits again on the wooden bench, a light breeze caressing her cheeks. She doesn’t think, not ever for a second, that he could stab her in the back. She wonders why: she either doesn’t fear him or trusts his honor.

After a few seconds, his long limbs crumble next to her: his body moves with the same weight as someone who does not know where they belong.

“Long day?” She asks, trying her best to ignore the small freckles on his nose.

“More like long life.” He chuckles: his laugh is quiet, and the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Tell me about it.” She jokes, her eyebrows dancing with mirth.

Jinu laughs again, and he closes his eyes as his hands run through already disheveled hair.

Rumi’s fingers twitch with the need to fix the silky locks. 

Silence stretches between like a lazy cat, and she takes advantage of it to study the cover of the old diary Jinu has placed on the bench.

“Writing your next banger, I suppose?” She asks then, fingernails brushing against the ruined leather: his larger hand immediately takes hold of the diary, and Rumi wonders if she hasn’t made a bad move. Before she can apologize (is she truly apologizing to a hunter? Maybe Celine is right, she has grown soft.), Jinu sighs.

“It was my father’s.” He says, eyes downcast on his fidgeting hands.

She waits for him to continue, and he does after a beat, raising his eyes to meet hers.

“I’ve always thought he had been killed by your kind.” His voice is so quiet that Rumi has to move closer to properly hear him.

“He was a hunter, he probably was.” She shrugs, unsure of how to handle this moment.

“He wasn’t.” Jinu bites out, and Rumi’s senses immediately perk up. Well, this is getting interesting.

“I’ve always lived in the shadow of his sacred ghost.” Jinu isn’t really talking to her, but she allows him this second of unexpected vulnerability. She understands how, sometimes, it is easier to show your enemy how fragile you are than the people who count on you. 

“I was trained to be the best hunter, to be the leader. Because I was his son, his heir.” Jinu’s voice shakes with anger, and Rumi feels understanding seeping through her own bones.

“Only to be constantly reminded of how I could not be, because I’m tainted, ruined.” She isn’t familiar with the training Hunters go through, but from what she can read between Jinu’s words, it isn’t that different from what happens in the Underworld. Shame has always been a powerful weapon.

“And now, I am to learn that everything I know, that the man who raised me, is nothing but a lie.” He pulls at his hair as he stumbles over his own words, and Rumi’s resolve snaps: she grabs her wrists and feels Jinu grow tense with surprise.

His rumbling stops as he looks up to her from his crunched form: Rumi allows herself a moment of self-indulgence as his freckles stand out even more when he blushes.

He has tortured the sleeves of his sweater, and the poor pieces of fabric must have lost their grip as they slid down the forearms: Rumi places his left arm on his lap as she takes the left one with both hands, a motherly motion pushing her to fix the sleeve. 

The moment her eyes set on his wrist, she freezes: there, violet on milky skin, patterns mark Jinu’s skin the same way they mark every other demon. 

He follows her wide stare and quickly pulls his hand away, sleeve pushed down to his fingertips.

“Please.” He whispers, and Rumi looks up to find desperate eyes.

“No one can know. I can fix it.” Again, Jinu’s voice has grown quiet.

“So,” She croaks out, shock and surprise still finding their place behind her ribs,

“We are not that different after all.” She hopes the smile she mastered is reassuring enough, and maybe it is, as Jinu’s gaze loses some of its sorrow.

“My mother was a demon.” He says, the tips of his ears red as he sits again on the bench.

“That is why the Honmoon won’t close,” Rumi observes, an idea starting to crawl on the walls of her mind.

Jinu nods.

“I don’t know how to fix it.” He quietly admits, searching for understanding in her eyes.

What a peculiar man, she thinks: trusting a demon with his worst secret. 

“Probably because there is nothing to fix, Jinu.” His name tastes familiar on her tongue: his head pivots to her so quickly, Rumi has no trouble believing this man is part demon.

“You're a hunter, and yet part demon. I'm a demon, yet I'm here bathing in the autumnal warmth.” She continues, her voice shifting to its most soothing tone.

“There has to be balance in each one of us. I can understand that, so surely you can do the same.” Rumi smiles as she takes in Jinu’s stunned eyes.

“I can relate to your words, in a way.” She sighs, fingers threading lightly on her braid.

Jinu sits in absorbed silence, patiently waiting for her to continue.

“The weight of previous generations is heavy on our shoulders.” Rumi locks her eyes onto his, and there it is. Small, yet recognizable, a spark of hope, a tiny hint of understanding.

“What if I told you, there's more that we can accomplish if we work together?” She asks then, praying that her words can hold the weight of their meaning.

Jinu doesn't immediately dignify her with an answer, clashing thoughts fighting a long battle behind his eyes.

Then, he pulls down his sleeves even more, and his hands disappear. 

“Tell me more.”

Chapter Text

Jinu barely manages to hide his laughter when Baby crosses Mario Kart’s finishing line right before Mystery: Toad beats Peach, and the Maknae starts jumping around the living room, loudly celebrating his surprising victory. Jinu can’t remember the last time Mystery lost at anything. 

“Okay, that seems a bit unnecessary.” Romance observes as Baby starts doing a celebratory dance, shaking his butt in front of Mystery’s disgusted frown. 

Jinu is sitting at their table, right beside Abby: the laptop’s screen is bright in front of them, and the remix’s software shines with different colours, highlighting their tracks. 

“I like this beat, but I was thinking that maybe we could add some…” Abby’s deep voice vanishes through Jinu’s thoughts: he is listening, yes, but there are so many things on his mind right now, he is not sure his head has that much space available.

A week ago, he found his father’s diary; reading the late hunter’s words had been… strange.

The blurred ink on old paper showed him a different man from the one he knew from Gwi-ma’s stories: he was in love, he was happy. And he was scared. 

Jinu had held the tainted pages with trembling fingers as his eyes had read through the words of a man he believed he knew: his father had a plan to save both their reality and the Underworld, allowing humans and demons to live their separate lives in peace. 

And there would be no need for pointless murder, the diary had read. 

Jinu could swear he had heard that somewhere. 

Apparently, his father and mother had been working together for years to find a compromise: there was a way to co-exist, and apparently, it involved taking down higher demons and their queen. 

But something did not go the way it was supposed to, and Jinu could not pinpoint what had happened: in the last pages of the diary, his father sounded scared, worried, anxious about something, about agreements that were not as promised, about tensions between the hunters. Gwi-ma’s name kept appearing, but there was no report of missions or storytelling of their shenanigans, no: his mentor had been against all of his father’s ideas, and Jinu had read of retellings of violent fights while his stomach sank. And dread had started creeping up Jinu’s spine the more he had been reading: Gwi-ma did not support his father’s relationship, and he could not fathom the idea of working with demons. They had been fighting more and more often, and his father’s written words had grown harsher. He kept reading, hoping to find an answer, to read of how finally they had made their peace. But, a blank page was all Jinu’s desperate eyes met, and his chest had tightened with panic: what was he to make out of this? 

He had grown up with Gwi-ma, and he had always known the older hunter could be harsh: clear memories are dancing around his mind of his training, of hours spent in the dark and bruises littering his body. And he knows too well how much Gwi-ma hates demons.

A bitter taste fills his mouth as he thinks of how many times his mentor’s words had cut deep into his soul: his demon side was something shameful, a disgrace. Those patterns were nothing but a reminder of all the mistakes his father had made, and Jinu was living proof of the fact that they could not be ignored. 

“Hyung, are you listening?” Abby’s baritone cuts through the fog of dark thoughts clouding his mind, and Jinu almost jumps out of his skin.

“Yes, yes. Sorry, Abby.” He mutters, forcing his lips to form a small smile: he meets worried hazel eyes and immediately shies away from his friend’s gaze, only to find twin expressions carved into the others’ features. 

“Are you okay, Jinu?” Mystery’s voice reaches his ears, and he can’t help but sigh: how is it that he can always see right through his lies?

“Yes, I’m a bit sleepy, that’s all.” He waves his hand around, dismissing the others’ worries.

“You see, that wouldn’t happen if you were a sane person and drank coffee!” Romance rolls his eyes as he hands Jinu a cup of tea, which he gladly accepts.

“But Ro…” He starts, only to be interrupted by Baby’s mocking tone.

“...it gives me stomach pain!” The youngest cries in an incredibly accurate imitation of Jinu’s whining. Well, sue him for not wanting to destroy his insides with caffeine!

A cacophony of giggles fills the living room, and Jinu basks in the warm feeling spreading through his chest. And he tries to ignore the pang of guilt that hits his stomach: he hasn’t told them about his meeting with Rumi yet.

Truly, he doesn’t know how. 

The demon’s idea was good, to be fair, but Jinu isn’t sure his friends would be ready to collaborate with their sworn enemies. 

“Are you sure this is possible?” He had asked, eyes wide with amazement as Rumi explained her plan.

“Theoretically, yes. Once the Honmoon is sealed, your patterns should disappear.” She had said, scratching at her chin.

“But what is in for you, then?” He desperately wanted to believe someone was ready to help him, but he could not trust the heir of the ruler of the Underworld that easily. 

“Listen, the Underworld is strong as long as Higher demons are making it that way.” Jinu had felt a pang of jealousy at Rumi’s resolve.

“By convincing Celine that I need them for an attack against the Hunters, they’ll leave the Underworld weaker.” She explained, making sure Jinu had a clear idea of the plan.

“That will be your best chance to seal the Honmoon with your voices: I’ll go back to the Underworld, where the old Queen will be isolated then, easier to overthrow.”

“And what about the other demons?” Jinu felt as if he was missing something.

“Once the Higher demons are out of the games and Celine overthrown, the amount of souls that naturally pass through the Underworld will be enough. I’ll be able to divide them equally, and no pointless murder will ever be necessary.” Rumi’s golden irises had shone bright in the sunset, and Jinu had wanted to trust her.

He sighs as the beat of the song they’ve been working on draws him back to the present. 

A leap of faith, he told himself.

A delicious smell spreads through the living room, and Jinu stretches his legs before walking to the kitchen. Romance is so absorbed into his cooking that he doesn’t even notice him leaning on the counter: his warm brown eyes meet Jinu’s, and a small smile forms on his lips.

“I am making your favourite.” He says, and Jinu fights the urgent need to hug his best friend. These are the moments he truly feels he doesn’t deserve his love.

“So our fans are onto something when they say we are like a married couple,” Jinu says, amusement colouring his voice. Romance scoffs and pushes him to the side to reach the spice track.

“They have no idea, truly.” He says, then, a small dimple appearing on his cheek as he smiles.

“I smell tteokbokki?” Baby’s voice reaches the kitchen before his light blue hair appears through the door: he walks to the counter, crowding the cook’s space. 

Jinu giggles as his face emerges from behind Romance’s pink locks.

“Yes, go and take a seat, you menace.” He clips back, trying to pry his hands away from the steaming food.

Baby pulls his tongue out as he sits on the nearest chair: shortly after, Abby and Mystery appear as well, quietly setting the table before finding their own seats.

Domestic silence fills the shared space, and Jinu finds it easier to breathe. 

He gathers the empty plates, ready to hand them to Romance so he can stuff them with their dinner, but a flash of violet halts his movement: it’s the Honmoon.

When he lifts his eyes from the plates, he meets Romance’s worried gaze: it’s a big rip, which means a lot of demons.

A chair scraping on the floor draws his attention to the table: Mystery and Baby are already standing and moving towards the armory, in a flurry of grey and light blue hair.

Abby hasn’t risen from his seat yet, and he looks over the steaming pot with a crooked smile.

“I guess we’ll have to make do with a late dinner today.”

This is bad.

That’s all Jinu can think about as he slices through another demon.

His back hits a hard, warm surface: Abby is mirroring his own position, and Jinu realizes in horror that his friend is bleeding. As if reading his thoughts, Abby locks his eyes onto Jinu’s.

“It’s just a scratch, focus on the fight.” He utters behind clenched teeth.

Jinu struggles to dissipate the building anxiety threatening to fill his lungs and tries to let his body follow the flow of battle.

Slice, duck, cut, stab. 

An arrow halts the movements of a nearing demon right before it strikes, and Jinu’s gaze lifts to find Romance’s steady figure, carefully balanced on the edge of a building. He nods in gratitude, and his friend winks before jumping to another roof.

“That one is mine!” He would recognize Baby’s laugh even from miles, and as he turns to his right, he can see the Maknae lunging for a gigantic demon. Fear threatens to overwhelm his senses as the younger hunter disappears under the huge beast, but quick daggers appear to aid Baby’s attack: shortly after, Mystery’s slender body jumps on the demon, stabbing it on its head.

“Definitely mine.” Mystery yells, a rare smile spreading on his features as Baby emerges with an offended scowl.

“Cheater.” Abby giggles as he spears through a water demon.

Jinu tries to join his laugh, but anxiety won’t let him breathe properly: there are too many demons, and they’re strong. They keep appearing, one after the other, and soon enough, they won’t be able to fight them off.

He hears a pained grunt and twists his head so quickly he’s afraid it might snap: Mystery is hugging his midsection, and blood is seeping through his fingers.

“Shit.” He barely hears Abby over the thundering beating of his heart: they’re too far, and Baby is cornered by five different demons, and where is Romance? 

“Cover me!” He shouts, hoping the archer will hear his command as he starts running toward Mystery’s hunched form: his back is to the wall, and he’s holding one of his daggers with the hand not covering his wound.

Jinu runs, arrows clearing his path, but Mystery is too far, and there are too many demons, and Jinu is too small, and… the demon threatening to strike Mystery down falls dead right before him.

Jinu slows, surprise halting his movements: what is happening? He turns to Romance, only to meet a confused scowl.

“You’re welcome, darling.” Is that…Rumi? 

Jinu can feel his eyes widening as he takes in the sight before him: Rumi stands in front of him, sword still dripping with the demon’s black blood.

“What the hell?” Abby must have been running after him, as his voice is closer than Jinu expected.

“I’d leave the decorum to later, what do you think?” A lower, sharper voice emerges from the shadow, and Jinu immediately recognizes Mira, Rumi’s general.

“I agree, let’s clear the air a bit first!” A bright tone accompanies flying daggers, plunging themselves into the bodies of demons crawling towards Mystery, who hasn’t dared to move yet. Zoey winks at Mystery, who only scowls more.

Rumi meets Jinu’s eyes and smiles.

“Are you ready, hunter?” She says, raising her sword: Jinu manages to pry his gaze away from the demon’s golden irises. 

He finds his friends’ stares, a thousand questions charging the air between them, but there’s no time for words, as more and more demons keep crawling to them.

The fighting continues, their tired movements aided by Rumi, Mira, and Zoey: Is this truly happening? Are demons and hunters fighting together to reach a bigger, shared goal? 

A small, tiny part of Jinu’s soul brightens with the thought of having the possibility to share the weight of responsibility with someone else as he fights back-to-back with Rumi.

When the last demon falls, a heavy silence surrounds the two groups: Jinu knows the Saja boys flank him on both sides, weapons drawn and ready. They don’t know if the battle is over yet. Before him, Rumi lowers her sword, quickly followed by Zoey and Mira’s weapons.

The demon takes a step forward, her purple braid dancing in the light breeze.

Jinu swallows his doubts and takes a step forward, his soul pushing him to take a leap of faith.

Their hands meet, and rough fingers intertwine with each other: Jinu can feel a warm, calming feeling settling on his chest. It is happening; they are together now.

Then, Rumi’s other hand reaches to his shoulder, and Jinu’s brow slightly narrows in confusion: is she hugging him?

The demon’s hand settles on his right shoulder, right above a small tear in his thin sweater.

She smiles at him, golden eyes crinkling at the sides.

He tries to match with a smile of his own, even though the tense and confused energy coming from the other hunters unsettles him.

The sound of fabric ripping reaches his ears right before a cacophony of gasps.

Jinu looks down at his now naked arm: his patterns are bright, a mixture of violent and pink.

He blinks once, twice: he feels numb, as if he is observing the body of someone else.

His fingers twitch with discomfort, and he turns, instinctively searching for Romance’s warm brown eyes.

When he does, his gaze meets the point of the hunter’s arrow.

Chapter Text

Rumi tightens her fingers around the Jinu’s ripped sleeve as she takes in the scene before her: the Saja Boys are as still as statues, their eyes fixed on their leader’s arm, his patterns faintly glowing in the dark. 

Her gaze crawls to Jinu’s features: he faces the arrow pointed at his head with incredulous eyes, his thoughts clearly still struggling to catch up with what has just happened.

Guilt chews Rumi’s stomach.

“I…I can explain.” The hunter’s voice is quiet, barely reaching her ears.

“Can you? I can’t wait.” Her eyes snap to the tallest hunter, pointing his spear towards Jinu’s chest.

“I’m…You were never supposed to know. I was going to fix this!” Desperation cracks Jinu’s voice, and Rumi can’t help but feel bad for him: she would be devastated if she ever lost Zoey and Mira. 

“Were you working with them this whole time?” The youngest of the hunters has a deep, raspy voice, but his eyes betray his pain. 

Jinu extends his right hand towards him, as he wishes to hug him: a dagger stabs the ground right next to his foot, and he freezes.

“Not another step, Jinu.” This time, it is the hunter with purplish hair talking: he steps in front of the youngest, hiding him from view.

From where she stands, Rumi can see Jinu’s body tensing, his breath quickening.

“Ro…” He tries again, this time talking to the pink-haired hunter. The one still with an arrow pointed at Jinu’s head.

“How could you?” Rumi can see how much this is costing the archer: his brown eyes are filled with tears. She wonders if he would truly murder his leader without a second thought. 

“It’s still me. I’m Jinu, nothing changes that.” Even though she can see his face, Rumi hears tears in Jinu’s voice.

“You are a DEMON!” The archer yells, voice cracking on the last word. Rumi winces.

“It changes everything.” He continues, then, his arms trembling.

Jinu flinches and takes a step back.

A godko, quickly followed by a tall body, separates Jinu from the archer.

The tallest hunter stares at Jinu with blazing eyes, and Rumi has to move out of the half-demon’s way as he stumbles back. 

Silence grows thick between the two groups: on one side, Rumi is flanked by Mira and Zoey, growing anxious and impatient; on the other, the Saja Boys are struggling to create a defensive formation, but something is missing. 

Their missing piece stands right in the middle, but he is moving further away from all of them, eyes glassy and wide, chest stuttering with every breath. 

Rumi feels her own fingers twitching with the need to reach out, but a strong hold on her arm keeps her still: she turns her head, meeting Mira’s scowl.

“Now it’s a good moment to disappear, Rumi.” Her second in command whispers, and she slowly nods, taking small steps back: the shadows welcome them in a dark hug, allowing them to vanish.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers into the night.

“My girls! Congratulations!” Celine’s cheer echoes on the throne room’s wall, surrounding the three demons.

“I told you we had a plan.” Rumi's words travel through clenched teeth.

“Yes, yes. I still don’t have their heads, but I believe they’ll murder each other eventually.” The Queen lazily sits on the throne, right hand dancing through the air.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, anyway.” She mutters then, setting her ruby colored eyes onto Rumi’s golden ones. She ignores her, grounding her patience in Zoey’s familiar touch on her back.

“The Honmoon is crumbling. Soon enough, all the demons will be free to feast on souls.” Mira’s voice comes from her right, and she silently thanks her resolve.

Celine’s eyes snap to the general, and Rumi barely holds herself back from putting her body in the space between them.

“Ah, yes. Of course, higher demons will need to come first. We still need rules.” The Queen observes, scratching her chin with long claws.

Rumi wishes she had no affection left for her godmother, so her murderous instinct could not be stopped by her heart. Which, apparently, truly is too soft.

“Feel free to celebrate, girls. You are the reason why demons will finally get what they deserve.” Celine says, allowing her eyes to wander on each one of them.

“Yes, thank you.” Zoey’s hand moves from Rumi’s back to her arm, and she lets her advisor pull her away from the throne room. Behind them, Mira’s heels click on the stone floor.

They enter Rumi’s room, and the door shuts quickly behind her general. Zoey pivots on herself and faces her, lips straightened in a thin line.

“Okay, time to talk, Rumi.” She says then, her emerald eyes glowing in the dark room. 

A sigh signals to her that Mira is moving away from the door: fingers snap, and candles burn to life. 

“We had a plan: work with the hunters to take down Celine. And even though I was not the biggest fan of Mr. Abs and the dramatic archer, I don’t understand what made you decide to change everything at the last minute.” Mira says, her long hair creating a halo of pink around her lithe figure.

“It was a good plan, Rumi. Weakening the higher demons with their help, taking down Celine…it would have allowed us to control the Honmoon.” Zoey’s brow is narrowed, a clear sign of an attempt to read her thoughts. Rumi is glad she has no such ability.

“I know it wouldn’t have been easy, but we could have managed to hold the balance between the two realms.” Mira continues, head tilted to the side.

Rumi feels she might burst any minute.

“Yes. It is possible. You know this as much as we do: demons and hunters can live in peace, maintaining balance thanks to the Honmoon.” Zoey nods: her tone still holds a spark of hope.

“You are the one who convinced us to work with that Jinu. Why would you betray his trust like that?” Mira’s ruby stare pierces through Rumi’s walls, and she can’t help but let out a deep sigh.

“You know we would follow you anywhere, Rumi. But we need to know what is going on.” Zoey’s soft hands find hers, and Rumi sniffles as she sits on her bed, surrounded by her best friends.

“She knew. She knew everything.” She mumbles, memories of two weeks ago resurfacing.

“After I explained to Jinu what we wanted to do, I felt over the moon.” Rumi runs her hands through her hair, purple locks getting free from her tight braid. 

“I could not believe we finally had the final, missing piece: the demon hunter, who is also a demon. The proof that co-existing has always been possible.” She closes her eyes, wishing for the painful memories to let her be.

“We know, he is the key to balance. His existence was foreseen, after all.” Zoey comments, her right hand slowly caressing Rumi’s arm.

“The half-demon who would defeat the tyrant, and create a new Honmoon,” Mira mutters, crossing her legs on the soft mattress.

“A Honmoon of balance and harmony, so that both demons and humans could live in peace.” Rumi nods, repeating the words of the prophecy Zoey had told them about: this new Honmoon would only allow demons to pass through if the soul they craved was a dark one, and it would protect all the others. The perfect balance between the two words, helping each other. 

“Celine called me to the throne room two days ago.” Rumi sighs. opening her eyes and fixing them on the trembling flame of a candle.

“She started congratulating me for my brilliant management of the hunters. She said the Honmoon was weakening, and that was allowing more and more demons to feast on as many souls as they wished.” Her irises start burning, but she can’t take her eyes away from the fire.

“Then she said it wasn’t a surprise, given that the leader of the hunters was a demon himself.” Rumi sighs, her stomach twisting with the same anxiety that had paralyzed her during that conversation. 

“I feigned ignorance, pretending I knew nothing about it.” She draws invisible circles on her leg with a long claw.

“But Celine laughed and started clapping her hands. She illustrated my plan right before me.” Rumi turns, searching for her friends’ gazes: she meets mirrored, narrowed brows.

“She knew everything: of the prophecy, of Jinu. Of what we wanted to do.” She takes a deep breath. 

“Celine has always known. It is the reason why she insisted on having Jinu’s head. Because she knows what he can do.” Her hands find a loose strand of hair, and she starts pulling at it.

“How?” Mira’s quiet question hides layers of worry.

Rumi laughs, something cracked and hollow.

“He’s her grandson, technically.” She spits through gritted teeth.

“What the fuck.” Mira deadpans.

“And she wants him dead?? Wow, grandma of the year!” Zoey squirms.

“Does he know?” She asks then, and Rumi shakes her head.

“What a shitshow,” Mira observes, scratching her chin.

“So, let me get this straight.” She says then, moving onto the bed so she can face both Rumi and Zoey.

“She knows her grandson could create the perfect balance between the two realms, and yet she wants him dead.” Her general lists.

“My question is: why?” Ruby-colored eyes search into Rumi’s brain: before she can answer, Zoey's soft voice reaches her ears.

“A balanced realm doesn’t need a dyspotic ruler.” Rumi nods, confirming her observation.

“She would not be able to favour higher demons, because they would have to make do with the same number of souls as others.” She continues, then.

“And that would mean no undivided support from those pieces of shit.” Mira’s eyes widen in understanding.

“Yes. And she needs them to keep her claws on the crown.” Rumi sighs, abandoning her head between her hands.

A warm palm sets on her back, rubbing comforting circles.

“There is only one thing that doesn’t add up, though.” Zoey draws Rumi’s attention with her questioning tone.

“Okay, she knew about the plan. Why didn’t you come to us?” Her emerald eyes are scrunched in confusion, and Rumi wishes she could smooth the small wrinkle between Zoey’s eyebrows.

“Yes! We would have come up with something! Why didn’t you say anything?” Mira asks while her hand keeps rubbing Rumi’s back.

Rumi straightens her back, her gaze locking onto Mira and Zoey’s wide eyes.

“She was very persuasive.” She mutters, fingers twisting in the soft blanket.

“What did she do?” Mira asks, her tone harsh.

“She knows my weakness, Mira. She knew exactly what to threaten me with.”

Her comment is met with thick silence; then, Zoey’s head rests on her left shoulder.

“Talk to us, Rumi.” She softly pleads. 

She sighs and smooths the wrinkled blanket.

“She threatened to torture both of you.” She spits out the words as quickly as possible, fear filling her lungs as she repeats them.

A sharp inhale comes from Mira, while Zoey tightens her hold around Rumi’s hand.

Silence stretches between them, enveloping their crooked hug.

“We need to fix this.” Zoey’s soft murmur snaps Rumi out of her blessed detachment.

“I agree. She can’t get away with this.” Mira’s voice reminds Rumi how terrifying a general she can be.

“How?” She asks, eyes narrowed in confusion.

Zoey’s lips curve in a sly smile.

“I might have an idea.”