Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In. Hold. Out. Hold.

Min-Ji sits with the back of her hands tucked under her thighs. One leg bounces anxiously as she looks out the 42nd floor window of the corporate building. The waning light of early October shines over Seoul, but heat seeping through the glass and her white button up blouse promises that the ghost of summer hasn't left them quite yet. Cars inch along the road in her periphery, standing out amidst the slowly growing splashes of red, yellow and brown leafed trees, but her focus is distant. Staring at nothing rather than anything at all. 

She’s abundantly aware of the looks of disapproval the receptionist gives her every minute or so, though. 

She's always been called a fidget. Bad mannered. But she, fidget she may be, sailed through the group interview. Excelled despite other people having stronger educational backgrounds than herself. And now she is at the final round, where the other most qualified candidate is in this for the money and the fame. Smarmy. Self-serving. Her reasons are also, technically, self-serving. But it’s different. She’s not greedy like Jae-Wook.

Being a road manager is a demanding job. It requires complete dedication and availability. She’d have to move Seoul, and on tours, she’d be required to travel with the idol group. There is always something going on. While that might be a lot for some people, Min-Ji likes that sort of chaos and constant motion. The quiet makes her uncomfortable. And, most importantly, it means she can finally escape them. 

Even the acknowledgement of them jacks up her blood pressure. 

In. Hold. Out. Hold.

Min-Ji does actually give a damn about the job, of course. Jae-Wook just wants all the perks that come with it and none of the work. He thinks he’s slick, surreptitiously asking questions mostly about the benefits of the job and barely about the particulars of the work, but he’s not. Min-Ji saw right through it.

She doesn’t think she could survive the shame of losing this job to someone like Jae-Wook.

“Min-Ji?” 

Her head snaps towards the conference room door. Leaning out of the threshold is a short man with a round face and kind looking eyes. His attire is… unconventional, compared to what she expected. He wears a blazer in a shade of deep plum over the most recent Huntr/x shirt design: a pale pink t-shirt with Huntr/x logo depicted as one continuous, bubblegum pink ribbon. In white text over it, it reads “Pink Run: November 2021.”

“Come on in!”

Min-Ji smiles back — the practiced one, the gentle one, the one that doesn't scream look at me but also doesn’t make her seem like a wallflower — and gets up from her seat. Her hands reach down to smooth out any wrinkles in her skirt, and she uses the motion to also discreetly wipe away the sweat from her clammy palms.

“Bobby, right?” she asks, bowing. “Thank you for making time to speak with me.”

“That's me!” He bows in return, hand out held to shake. 

Thank god she wiped her hands. 

“Eun-Kyung spoke really highly of you,” he continues, smiling brightly. When she takes his hand, his grip is gentle, but not loose. Warm. Present. “And that’s no small compliment. For a junior manager, Eun-Kyung is… particular.”

Which just means type A. Neurotic. Organized. A kindred spirit. 

“That’s very kind of her,” Min-Ji replies, carefully side-stepping the praise without declining it. When she shakes his hand in return, her grip is firm, but not aggressive. Solid. A shake that she hopes screams you can rely on me and without feeling like rigor mortis.

His smile spreads wider, giving her a hearty shake in return. “Kind? No no, that means you’re special. Come on, let’s get this show on the road!”

Good. Probably didn’t feel like rigor mortis.

In. Hold. Out. Hold.

Min-Ji walks into the room with Bobby right behind her, her black pumps clicking crisply against the white marble floors.

The conference room, much like the waiting area, is west facing. Bathed in the golden afternoon light, the space almost feels cozy in spite of the room’s cool cold palette. The pale blue walls behind her and to her left hold the only exits — granted that the door on the left isn't a closet — and the remaining two walls ahead and on her right are made entirely out of floor to ceiling windows. A dark purple sectional with cool toned gray and pink throw pillows forms an L in the far right corner, sitting on top of a plush but tidy, dark gray carpet. 

A long glass table extends outward to the window directly across from her. On either side of the table are several individuals.

To her right is Eun-Kyung, five years her senior, who offers her an encouraging smile. Her long dark hair is tied in a loose braid that drapes over her shoulder. There’s another woman seated beside her, with a harsh but stylish bob cut. Both of them dressed like Bobby — one part casual, one part professional. 

Seated across from them are several men and women who look to be Bobby’s age — mid thirties, because yes, she did do her homework and studied up even before the first interview — dressed in sharp, neutral colored business attire wearing polite, close lipped smiles. Board members or other management, probably.

And then her eyes snap over to the figures at the other end of the table. 

Huntr/x. In the flesh. 

Min-Ji makes a conscious effort to not look absolutely gobsmacked that they even attended her interview.

Her childhood room had been covered with drawings she'd made of them in crayon and colored pencil (before her parents took them all down). She spent so many afternoons after school dancing and jumping around her room to their voices on the radio, feet careful to hit the floor gently enough to not draw attention, but hard enough to actually feel the music and the vibration down to her bones. And on days where dancing wasn't possible, where staying still was better than moving, even then, Min-Ji would tap her fingertips against the floorboards in time to whatever song of theirs happened to be on loop in her head that day. 

As Min-Ji wasn't already anxious enough. 

Mira has her boots up on the painfully pristine table, staring boredly at nothing. A fellow expert in staring into the middle distance. Her hair drapes over the back of her chair, a shiny waterfall of pink. She looks dressed in relatively normal attire — at least, normal for Mira. Punky. Mismatched. Casual. A black cropped top with jeans that are split perfectly down the middle in color, dyed orange on her left and red on her right. Distressed in all the right places for aesthetic without compromising integrity and function.

Rumi sits in the middle of the trio, elegant and attentive. Her lavender hair is immaculately braided, adorned with a chunky, cream colored headband made of braided fabric. Her chiffon blouse is a deep cobalt blue, her tapered sleeves not quite full length, but too long to be considered three-quarter sleeves. Custom, without a doubt. It's paired with a set of cream colored, wide legged trousers that match her headband. Her posture is rigid, but her smile is genuine. 

To Min-Ji’s surprise, Zoey is dressed the most casually. Not casual enough to be unprofessional — idols get passes — but certainly less formal than everyone besides Mira. Dressed in long beige cargo pants and an oversized, neon blue sweater crop top. Simple, but clean. She waves at Min-Ji, bright eyed and grinning.

The woman beside Zoey makes Min-Ji freeze.

Celine. From the Sunlight Sisters. The creator of Huntr/x. The label owner. 

Are they trying to send her to an early grave?

Where Min-Ji expects to find warmth in the woman's eyes — the kind she's seen on TV and magazine covers featuring her and the other Sunlight Sisters — she finds only a cold, detached neutrality. Her gaze is sharp. Calculating. Like if she looked at Min-Ji long enough, she could see all the way down to her soul.

Min-Ji lets out a shaky exhale before bowing deeply to the room.

Murmured greetings are exchanged. Bobby sits, so too does Min-Ji.

The interview begins.

By comparison, the group interview was more stressful for her. Answering questions about herself is easy. She can practice that. Trying to prove her answers are better than other people’s, and said people seem more qualified? Much much harder. It requires a level of being present that doesn’t play right with the anxious thrum that's always in her veins. 

This is, fortunately, just question after question. Most expected, some unexpected, but all of them are easy enough to answer. Her responses are automatic and poised. She uses just enough body language to convey excitement, like an actor on a stage, while still feeling safely on script.

When they ask about her lack of industry experience, she redirects them toward her volunteer work in her town. Theater work, festival coordination, parades — Min-Ji’s had her fingers in more pies than any of her competition, and from a much younger age. While they were hanging out at convenience stores after school to get banana milk, Min-Ji worked. 

She really hopes it's enough. 

“When can you start?”

The question cuts across the conference room. It's the only contribution Celine has made the entire time.

The anxious thrum turns into outright panic. 

Does that mean she's hired? Or is this a test? If it's not a test, is this a sort of first come first serve situation, where she needs to beat out Jae-Wook? She could say she'll start tomorrow. What little professional attire she has is already with her, and there isn't anything back with her parents that she needs. If she needs to sleep in the office until she sorts housing out to get the job, she'll do it.

But what if that's not good enough? 

Her hands clench in her lap. What if he also said tomorrow? He has experience in the industry that she doesn't. Proof that he can do the job. She's coming into this here fresh out of uni. Her diploma is still in the mail.

Min-Ji can't afford to lose. So she'll do what she must.

“Today,” she says with confidence.

Is she ready? Fuck no. Her plan was to go back to her hotel, sit in the shower until the post interview anxiety shakes went away, and relax. Learning the ins and outs of her new maybe-job was not on her agenda.

But she doesn't care. She needs to get this job, and she'll never forgive herself if she blows it. 

Celine's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. Not quite shocked, not quite impressed, but not unfazed. She then glances over to Bobby, who then glances over expectantly to the Huntr/x trio.

“She's fine,” Mira says flatly, though not unkindly.

Rumi grins at Min-Ji. “She's got my vote.”

And then Zoey abruptly shoots to her feet, rolling chair shooting out behind her and colliding with the window with a loud, wince inducing thud.

“Hired!” she cheers. Then, realizing she's not the final vote, looks to Bobby. “At least, I think she should be,” she amends as retrieves her chair and sinks back down into it. “I like her way more than the other guy.”

Bobby looks to Celine, who gives a decisive, albeit curt, nod, and then to the rest of the table. A look passes between all of them.

Bobby stands without rocketing his chair into the window.

“Then it's settled. Welcome to team Huntr/x!

The sound of her 5:40 am alarm doesn't even have a chance to blare before Min-Ji shuts it off.

She presses against her eyes with the heels of her hands, trying to will the exhaustion from under-sleeping out of them. Her thoughts had been too loud. Too excited. But she'll manage.

Her bedside lamp clicks on, washing her loft in soft, warm light.

The space has been a staging area for everything Min-Ji will need. Stacks of clothes and boxes, sitting on her bench alcove. Her pastel green suitcases lined up on the floor next to it, not quite full, but close. The outlier — the suitcase she'd seen at the mall last year with cute cat art — stands against the far wall, already fully packed with sleep and lounge clothes and toiletries. 

Min-Ji hopes it's enough. She's checked her packing list against what she has in her luggage and her and the girls itinerary three times, but she's wondering if she should check a fourth time. Just in case.

When Bobby and the girls announced they had finalized the details for their anniversary six months after she was hired, she’d been ecstatic. And she’s spent the last six months fussing over every detail they gave her. Bobby and the other managers had taken care of the majority of it — venue bookings, flights, car usage, signings. Large scale stuff that she didn't have enough training for yet. Her job had been to get hotels and restaurant venues for the girls after the show, as well as organizing a couple after parties. Catering included.

Min-Ji has gone all out on all fronts to spoil the members of Huntr/x while still staying well within the budget allotted. It's probably only possible because the girls are extremely and indiscriminately food motivated — well. Two thirds of the group are indiscriminate. Though in Zoey's defense, she's right: fresh fruit should always be crunchy. Never squishy. Anything that isn't crispy inherently either needs to be served frozen or used as an ingredient in a dessert or smoothie. Squishy fruit in baked goods doesn't count. It's different, and Min-Ji will happily die on that hill with Zoey.

So with the exception of Zoey's correct take on fruit texture, she didn't have a whole lot of hassle getting food figured out.

The anxious thrum spikes with excitement. 

In 24 hours, they're all gonna be on a plane headed for Hong Kong.

Min-Ji throws her quilt off as if it has offended her before heading down from her loft to the bathroom.

Her small, one bed one bath apartment straddles the line between cozy and cluttered. The walls are a warm cream color that helps keep her southeast facing apartment feeling bright until sunset. Pillows and blankets are everywhere, in neutral tones and pastels for soft pops of color. Her decoration is simple. Minimal. Because the last time she couldn't see a single surface in her apartment, she crashed out so hard she made herself sick, and she's really not looking for a repeat experience.

Now she has Designated Negative Space. Non-negotiable. 

On the wall above her couch and the giant teddy Mira won at a carnival are Polaroids hung up with string, clothes pins, and garlands of fairy lights. The pictures are all from within the last year exclusively. Of her coworkers. Of the girls. All from her life as Min-Ji, junior road manager for Huntr/x, rather than the burden, Jeong.

Jeong can stay in the past and out of sight where she belongs.

Readying for the day has become a multitasking endeavor that she’s mastered: showering, brushing her teeth, looking at the news, and checking her email all the same time. She finds she can't stay on schedule if she doesn't (and by on schedule she means early). When she started almost a year ago, it took forty-five minutes to get it all done. Now she can do it in ten. Five minutes if it's an absolute emergency, but she can't make any promises about her being civil.

As she's brush/shower/reading, she frowns slightly at her inbox. Mostly empty. With a wet fingertip, she refreshes the page. Still mostly empty.

…weird. Usually she's got at least twenty unread emails by this time (5:53 am), and she has maybe two or three right now. Tops. 

Of all times she should be slammed with emails, it's today. It's the day before a multi-month long tour with a lot of moving parts. And most people don't understand how to effectively herd cats. Or how to not be a cat that needs to be herded.

She'll have to get in touch with IT when they get in at 8.

Once she's dressed and ready for the day — black pencil skirt, white blouse, light makeup as always — she throws on the most comfortable but professional shoes she's got, slings her work bag over her shoulder, grabs the bags of travel snacks she got for the girls, and heads out into the hall and straight for the elevator.

Thank god they let her stay in an apartment two floors down from Huntr/x's penthouse. She doesn't think her heart could handle the Seoul morning commute. 

As the elevator ascends, Min-Ji opens her agenda, where she expects to find her morning tasks, neatly organized in numbered, color-coded blocks.

She sees nothing. 

She goes stiff. Checks yesterday’s. And the day before. Both of them are there, but not today's.

Panic makes her throat go tight.

Is… Is this it? Are they firing her? Did she mess something up that bad that they're pulling her the day before the tour? She couldn’t have. She always triple checks things. Quadruple on days where she doesn't trust her judgment. But what if she did get something wrong? What if this is the one time she's messed up, and it is so cataclysmic that she gets fired for it?

The elevator dings, and Min-Ji, running through about thirty hypothetical scenarios in which she gets fired and how to handle it with grace and not cry, walks out into the still dark apartment without looking up.

And then the kitchen lights turn on, flash-banging her.

“SURPRISE!!!”

A chorus of voices rings out, making her startle so hard she drops the bags of snacks onto the floor.

Standing around the kitchen counter are her girls with a box of doughnuts sitting between them. Still in their pajamas. With party hats on.

Min-Ji freezes.

…This has to be the most fucked up way to treat someone getting fired she's ever seen.

For a moment she simply stands there, deer in the headlights, waiting for the axe to fall. She jolts as her phone softly chimes with the specific ringer she set for Bobby’s messages. 

She looks down.

‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’

She's immediately perplexed. On her agenda, it just says September 9th— and then she remembers, with no shortage of embarrassment, that her birthday is, in fact, September 9th. 

Her eyes flick back up. Zoey is doing surprisingly energetic jazz hands for 6 am, while Mira makes a tired but festive sound on a pink colored party horn. Rumi opens the box of doughnuts on the counter, beaming brightly.

Kkwabaegi and yakgwa. Her favorites.

“So we will be taking you to brunch later, but we got you these to hold you over!” Zoey says, sliding around the corner of the counter in a pair of fuzzy turtle socks, eyes sparkling.

“And we're going to have to confiscate your phone,” Mira says dryly, smiling. “You’re taking a mandatory day off. Bobby’s covering for you, and you’re going to be spending the day with us.”

Min-Ji swears she hears a fax dial-up noise somewhere.

She's not getting fired. And she's spending the day with them? On mandatory break?

…Is she getting kidnapped? Because this sounds a lot like she’s being kidnapped.

Then it clicks. 

The girls don’t have anything scheduled for today. They asked for her to clear it for them two weeks ago, citing they wanted some interrupted couch time. Which is fair. They’re going to be constantly on the move for months. They deserve the rest.

Did they plan this—? No. That’s conceited of her to think. It's just coincidental timing. They probably would’ve asked for this day off beforehand anyway, birthday or not.

Rumi snags Min-Ji's attention as she goes to retrieve a plate from the cabinet.

“We’re going to be taking you to that cat cafe you pointed out a while ago at 2:00, and we've got a reservation at 5:30 at Margaux. Bobby even got Cheongdam-dong Street cleared for us so we can do some shopping. Get some new dresses for dinner,” she says, eyes bright with excitement.

“We would’ve planned more had Bobby told us earlier, but next year—”

Nothing else Rumi says processes.

Oh.

Oh. 

The girls got her doughnuts for her birthday. Scheduled their entire day around her. Knowing damn well Min-Ji’s birthday is the day before they started traveling for the tour across Asia, and they decided to dedicate that day to her. 

Min-Ji knows her girls are a kind group. Generous and loving. They adore their fans and treat their staff well, and she’s had more fun in her life working with them than she's ever had in her life. There’s no one she’d rather work for. But she… she's only a junior manager. One that hasn’t even made it to the year mark yet. And they’re treating her like one of their own anyway.

Like family.

Min-Ji sinks to the floor, bawling. 

She hears a loud clatter — the plate landing on the countertop, probably — and three sets of feet running over. Rumi is a blurry silhouette in front of, sitting on her knees to be eye height with her.

“Ji-Ji—! Are you okay?” Rumi's warm hands cup her face, and her voice is shrill with alarm.

And it just makes her cry that much more. 

Her parents always liked to remind her that she side tracked their life when they had her. How she’d ruined their futures for them, how the responsibility she inflicted upon them clipped their wings. Anything that brought their attention to that fact, or just her in general, was… it was just better to just not celebrate it all. No birthday meant no birthday fight (usually). 

So she stopped telling people. Stopped accepting gifts. When asked, unless it’s for paperwork, her policy is to just lie. Say her birthday was two months ago. Anything other than the truth.

This can’t be real. This has to be a complete break from reality. She’s probably crying on their kitchen floor, imagining this entire situation up for herself. Because things like this don’t happen to Min-Ji. To Jeong. 

But Rumi’s thumbs are wiping her tears away. She doesn’t think she could even imagine that sensation, even if she’s gone crazy. And Min-Ji’s arms are wrapped around herself, trying to fold in on herself and hide, so it can’t be her own hands.

This is real. 

When she doesn’t answer — because she can’t answer, there's too much emotion roiling within her, choking her — there's a second where none of the girls speak.

Then, she is wrapped in warmth from all sides. Surrounded by the smell of soap, green-tea face serum, and peach lotion.

“We didn't mean to—!”

“What did we—?!”

“Take deep breaths—!”

Min-Ji inhales jaggedly. 

She’s usually good at compartmentalizing. She’s supposed to be. It’s her job to handle things. Not break down into hysterics in front of her coworkers, much less her employers. But something in Min-Ji, just... gave.

It takes a minute or two of trying to shove down the anguish that managed to claw its way out back into the box she’d locked it in. But she does it. Mostly. Enough to at least be able to attempt to speak.

“I—” Her voice cracks immediately, and she flinches at the sound, waiting for pain that doesn’t come. 

The girls scoot in closer.

Min-Ji tries to breathe, shaking like a leaf in the middle of them. 

She needs to speak. Just enough to apologize properly. Then she can remove herself. Go into her apartment and lock the door and not come out until she’s put herself back together again, and see if there’s anything here left to salvage.

She opens her mouth to speak again.

“I— I’m sor—”

“Don't you dare.” Mira’s firm words come from her left. She feels Mira rest her cheek on top of her head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

She’s dimly aware of movement on her right side. Zoey comes into view, holding out a box of tissues to her. Her eyes brim with unshed tears of her own.

“Tha—” Min-Ji’s gratitude is cut off by a hiccuping sob.

“We didn't—” Zoey starts to say before abruptly aborting the sentence entirely. Instead, she takes a tissue and begins to gently dab Min-Ji’s cheeks as Rumi’s hands leave.

“‘S fine,” Min-Ji rasps. Zoey offers her another tissue, and she takes it, blowing her nose. 

“This looks like the opposite of fine, Ji-Ji,” Mira says flatly.

“What happened…?” Rumi’s eyes are wide. Concerned

Min-Ji lets out a broken laugh.

“‘It’s— it’s so stupid—” 

“No it’s not,” Rumi says fiercely. “You’re hurting. That’s not stupid.”

“What’s wrong, Ji-Ji?” Zoey asks, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

She swallows. 

When Min-Ji speaks again, it’s a whisper. Barely there. 

“I just… Don’t do birthdays. Anymore.” 

It doesn’t explain much. But that’s— She can’t. 

A pause. Then,

“When did you stop?” Zoey ventures.

Even in Min-Ji’s distressed state, she can hear the question within the question: why did you stop?

“A long… time ago,” she murmurs. She offers nothing else.

The hug is starting to feel like it’s crushing her. But it’s a good kind of crushing. It’s stable. Safe.

“...do you want to celebrate your birthday?” Rumi asks gently. “We don't have to if it upsets you.”

Min-Ji doesn’t know what to do with that question. She sits with it for a moment. Evaluating.

She doesn’t need to not celebrate it anymore; she’s never going back there. This is her life now, so... it can't hurt her anymore.

Min-Ji nods. Tentative. Cautious.

She thinks she’d like that.

Rumi grins at her. Her cheeks are wet.

“We’re going to make it the best damn birthday you’ve ever had. And we’ll do the same thing next year, and the year after that. Even if you go traitor and work somewhere else.” Mira’s voice is choked.

“Whatever you want to do today is on us. Even if that’s just sitting in a park,” Rumi adds encouragingly. “We’ll do it. With you.”

Silence. And then,

“Would a party hat make you feel better? Ooo, or a tiara! You are the birthday girl, after all,” Zoey hums.

Min-Ji lets a watery laugh.

“...It might.”

“And cut! I think that’s enough for today.”

Thank. Fucking. God.

The instrumental for Golden stops. The girls’ shoulders drop simultaneously in relief, their sparkling sequin jackets stark against the green screen behind them. Rumi has flyways sticking to her face, Mira looks like she’s going to beat the shit out of the director (likely with the slate, because she got very snippy about it earlier), and Zoey has zoned out entirely under the bright lights of the set.

 In the three years she’s been with them, she’s never seen them this wiped.

“I’ll see you all back here on Monday at 9 am. Have a good weekend!”

The crew, who packed most of their things two hours earlier (when they were supposed to be finished shooting), scatters. The director isn’t far behind them, no doubt rushing to be home before midnight. The girls haven’t moved, catching their breath from a grueling day of filming. 

It’s gonna be a quiet drive home tonight.

Min-Ji walks over to them, a tumbler for each of them full of cold coconut water mixed with an electrolyte solution in her arms. Color coded as always.

“Thanks Ji-Ji,” Rumi says, taking hers and almost downing the whole thing in one go. Mira lets out a low sound of agreement as twists the cap off hers. 

Zoey blinks, staring at the teal tumbler in front of her.

“I’m gonna pass for now… Worried I’ll puke otherwise.”

Min-Ji frowns.

“You’re extremely dehydrated,” Min-Ji gently points out. “You should drink.”

“I’ll hydrate once we’re on the way home.”

“Zoey,” Min-Ji chides. “Remember Hong-Kong? We had to have you on an IV between shows.”

Zoey tries to scowl at her. It might’ve actually approached the realm of intimidating if it weren’t for the green tinge to her face.

“Remember NYC? I barely got two sips in before I blew chunks all over backstage. And the green room, on that really nice carpet.” 

“You were coming down with the flu,” Min-Ji fires back, nose crinkled at the memory of cleaning said chunks up. And the cost of the replacement carpet. “It would’ve happened either way.”

“You don’t know that!” she sputters indignantly.

Min-Ji delicately arches an eyebrow at her. “Don’t I? I distinctly remember being the one to brave the projectile vomit to take care of you.”

There’s a quiet ooo from Rumi.

“Careful Zoey. She's giving you the mom face,” Mira teases, wiping her lips with the back of her forearm. Rumi stands beside her, lips pressed together like she’s trying not to laugh.

Zoey groans. 

“Can’t I just drink after I get changed?”

“You can—”

“Don’t you dare start with that—!”

“—but as your momager—”

Rumi starts cackling. Mira joins in.

“—I’m telling you that you should sit your butt down and hydrate. I promise that if you start vomiting, I’ll hold your hair back and carry you bridal style to the van. And you can order me around all weekend. Deal?”

Realizing resistance is futile, or perhaps feeling too tired to bother anymore, the fight visibly leaves Zoey.

“I’m really regretting giving you that nickname,” Zoey mumbles, holding her hand out for her tumbler. “Fine. Gimme.”

Min-Ji flashes Zoey her most winning smile as she hands it over.

The cackling simmers down to giggling. Zoey shoots Mira and Rumi a glare as they turn the corner to go to the dressing rooms. She hears the double doors open, then close.

Min-Ji grabs the folding chair that made her butt go numb by hour six brings it to Zoey.

“Sit here. Small sips. I’ll go get your stuff while you’re doing that.”

“You’re so bossy,” Zoey whines, but she flops into the chair as she's told.

“But you love me anyway~” Min-Ji says over her shoulder as she turns, dragging out the a.

Zoey sticks her tongue out at her.

As she heads for the dressing room Min-Ji pulls up her checklist of belongings, scrolling all the way down to the bottom where Zoey is. (She can't help but feel bad for sorting alphabetically. Sometimes she does reverse alphabetical so Zoey gets to be first every now and again. Not that she knows Min-Ji even does that, but it’s the thought that counts.)

Min-Ji pushes the double door open.

It’s only her and Mira in the hallway. Rumi’s dressing room door is already shut. She can see Mira tiredly scrolling through her TikTok feed, seemingly in no rush to get to her and Zoey’s dressing room. 

The door clicks closed behind her.

The lights flicker.

Min-Ji scowls, squinting up at the fluorescent ceiling lights as if they have offended her. Which, for all intents and purposes, they have, simply by existing at all. The cold bright light is evil, and no one can tell her otherwise. As she puts her hand just above her brow to shield her eyes, because the last thing she needs on the drive home is a migraine, she notices the lights flicker again. Stronger this time.

If Mira has noticed, she doesn’t show it. Likely not. She’s not weird about lights like Min-Ji is. But something makes the hairs on Min-Ji’s neck stand. The anxious hum in her veins feels like it buzzes in time with the flickering. Dread twists in her stomach.

Something’s wrong.

As she opens her mouth to call to Mira — though she’s not even sure what she’ll say, because she doubts “bad vibes” is a valid reason to sound the alarm — a dark, writhing mass of shadow pulls itself out of the wall.

A long, spindly arm with claws the size of small steak knives reaches out to swipe at Mira.

Min-Ji’s feet move before she’s even processed that she’s witnessing something ripped straight out of a horror movie. Her hands hit Mira’s back, shoving her forward and away. Mira stumbles, looking back angrily with a look that promises tired pop idol wrath, only for her face to immediately go white.

“Fuck, Ji-Ji—!”

And the claws rake down Min-Ji’s back instead.

The momentum of the swing and the instinct to curl in on herself pitches her forward, and Min-Ji lets out a yelp as her knees hit the concrete hard, wrists jolting as her hands shoot out to stop herself from toppling even further forward. Warmth begins to pool where she was struck.

And then pain hits.

Min-Ji curls up on herself as she screams. The pain is blinding, burning. Screaming makes it worse, but she can't stop. Caught in a vicious cycle of agony. 

Two sets of footsteps run towards her. Mira’s from in front and another from behind. Probably Rumi. Not like she can do anything about it anyway if it’s the shadow; Min-Ji already folded with one strike.

There’s a scuffle around her. Yelling. Every moment feels slow. She’s not sure how much time passes — minutes, hours, days — before she realizes the left side of her body is cold. That she’s fully laying on the concrete now, tucked in tight on herself like a torn up piece of shrimp.

The back of her shirt is wet. So is the floor around her.

It goes quiet, save for two sets of panting.

And then all hell breaks loose.

“Oh my god—” Rumi.

Someone runs towards her, landing in a slides that sounds like it'll hurt later.

“Fucking hell Ji-Ji what the FUCK—”

The double doors burst open at the end of the hall behind with a crash.

“What happened?!” Zoey yells.

“Ji-Ji, I need you to look at me if you can hear me! Min-Ji!”

She jolts at the sound of Mira using her full name. Tries to open her eyes, teeth gritted as she tries to breathe and not just scream. The best she can manage is a squint.

Mira is in front of her, face ashen. And on the floor by her feet, some sort of… is that a gokdo?

Huh. That wasn't on the props list. She would know, because checked that thing five times last night in a panic.

“Call an ambulance—” Zoey begins, only to get immediately cut off.

“We can’t. We have no way to explain this,” Mira hisses.

“But she’s not— she can’t heal like we do Mira!”

“Do you want to explain to the medics how our manager got attacked by a bear in a filming studio? Because that’s what it looks like—”

Rumi’s blurred silhouette comes into view.

“Celine. We go to Celine.”

A distant part of her wonders how Celine, label owner and ice queen extraordinaire, factors into this at all.

“This… it’s bad.” Mira hisses. “Will she even make it there?”

“Mira, call Celine and drive. Zoey, help me get her to the van and stop the bleeding. Now.”

Arms wiggle their way under her body. She’s lifted up, an arm under her knees and back, pulling a keening noise from between her teeth. Every step she’s carried jostles her. Beat after beat of flaring and receding agony, like some sort of demented bass reverberating through her.

And then, nothing.

Min-Ji observes only brief flashes of sensation after that. The sound of a plastic box being ripped opened. Paper tearing, followed by pungent smell of alcohol. Shouting. Firm pressure on her back that makes her cry out. Light shining through her eyelids in consistent, repeated intervals, like a slow strobe. 

At some point, there’s a swerving feeling. Then, braking. Strong enough to pull her out of the haze. Momentum pulls her body harshly in one direction. Something latches onto her and pulls her the other.

Min-Ji’s eyes flutter open.

She sees the underside of Rumi’s face. She’s yelling something, moving to lean over her and looking pissed as all hell. As she’s bent over her, Min-Ji catches a glimpse of Rumi’s bare stomach beneath her hoodie. Jagged lines of purple span over her skin. There’s no symmetry anywhere, but every line feels intentional. Like calligraphy, but harsher. Min-Ji has never seen any tattoos like them before. 

They suit her.

She finds herself poking Rumi weakly on the stomach. Tracing one of her marks. 

Rumi’s head snaps down to her, eyes wide. Terrified.

“When…?” Min-Ji barely manages to whisper, trying to ask her when she got them done. 

The pain pulls her back under again before she can get an answer.

The next time she opens her eyes again, they’re gummy from tears and sleep. But once her vision settles she realizes she’s not at home. Or at the girl’s place. Or a hospital.

Clay plaster walls. A mattress beneath her, on the floor. Warm, yellow light fills the otherwise dark room from a paper lamp situated on a writing desk near a window. For a single, terrifying moment, she’s back with her family. Out in the country, far away from the noisy safety of Seoul. Like she’s a child all over again, and her life with Huntr/x was just a dream.

Panic sends her shooting up into a sitting position.

And then she feels it.

Pain in the form of burning lines on her back rip the air from her lungs.

On her right, someone startles.

“Easy Ji-Ji! Easy. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Rumi. She’s on her knees beside her, hands held out like Min-Ji is a wild animal. When she doesn't flinch, Rumi gently pushes on the front of her shoulders with one hand, and the other hand supports the uninjured portion of her lower back to help lower Min-Ji back down.

Rumi looks haggard. She’s still wearing the hoodie she remembers seeing — before. Wherever she was. The van, probably. Her braid has frizzed up and pieces that were already coming loose during the shooting have fallen out entirely. Deep bruise-like circles sit beneath her worried eyes.

“We’re at Celine’s. Mira and Zoey are asleep in the other room.”

Min-Ji hisses as her back hits the mattress, eyes squeezing shut.

Celine’s. She remembers Rumi saying that. Through the haze of pain, she remembers that they couldn’t bring her to a hospital. 

Why?

“Is… Is Celine secretly a doctor, or something?” 

A pause.

“...or something,” Rumi mumbles.

Min-Ji cracks one eye open.

She’s seen a rainbow of emotion from the girls over her tenure. To the point where she really thought she’d seen it all. True, unadulterated dread is not something she's seen before on them.

“...so,” Min-Ji starts. Her eyes close again. “I think I can safely assume I didn’t hallucinate a shadow melting out of a wall to attack Mira, right?” At Rumi’s pause, she lets out a small laugh. “Otherwise I’m going to be very confused as to how I got hurt and why I haven't been admitted to a psych ward.”

“...no. You didn’t. Hallucinate, I mean.”

Min-Ji simply nods.

There’s a rustle as Rumi shifts next to her.

“It’s… complicated. Better if we discuss it when everyone else is up. You probably have a lot of questions.”

Min-Ji lets out a sarcastic hum. Then, opening her eyes as she turns her head towards Rumi, she broaches, “...your tattoos. How long have you had those?”

Rumi flinches. Something about the movement makes something ache deep in her chest.

“They’re not— Whatever you do, do not tell anyone. Not even Mira or Zoey. Please.”

Min-Ji’s brow furrows in confusion. “But Mira also has—”

“Promise me, Ji-Ji.”

Min-Ji remembers the look of terror on Rumi's face in the car. A terror she has felt herself, many times.

“I won’t talk to anyone about your very cool tattoos that you should’ve totally told your momager about earlier.” Min-Ji smirks, attempting to bring some levity.

Rumi stares at her like she’s grown another head but offers no further comment. 

“...Mira’s okay, right?"

Another pause. Then,

“Yeah. She's okay.” Rumi’s voice is choked.

Min-Ji reaches out to comfort her. Which pulls on what feel like freshly threaded stitches in her back, and she hisses through gritted teeth.

“Stop! No! Put that hand back,” Rumi scolds. She gently guides Min-Ji’s hand back to her side. “Arms legs and hands inside the non-existent bed rails.”

Min-Ji huffs. “But you’re distressed—”

“Of course I am! You nearly died Ji-Ji!”

Rumi stares at her with a dumbstruck face. And it’s only now that Min-Ji notices that she looks more than just haggard. The tip of her nose is red, and her eyelids are puffy.

“Why the hell did you push Mira out of the way?”

Min-Ji frowns at her.

“What, was I supposed to let her get swiped? Hell no—!”

“So your solution was to throw yourself in front of her instead?!”

Anger. Concern. Both put her on the defensive, and she scowls at Rumi.

“Yes! Obviously!”

“She would’ve been fine!”

“If I nearly died, what makes you think she wouldn’t?” Min-Ji snaps. 

That is not a reality Min-Ji will ever allow to exist — losing any one of them. Because the world knows and loves them. Because she knows and loves them. They’re inspirations. Forces of nature. Legends. Min-Ji is simply a footnote. 

Footnotes don’t change the world.

“What about you?!”

Min-Ji shrugs, and winces at the action. 

“I’ve lived through worse.”

Rumi’s eyes shine in the low-lamplight, tears welling.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it doesn’t matter.” Rumi’s tone is vicious. Devastated.

Unsure what to do with that particular comment and unwilling to unpack how that makes her feel, Min-Ji glances away.

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” Rumi sighs, squeezing her hand. “You might… get it more. Then.”

When Min-Ji finally musters the courage to look at her again, Rumi’s cheeks are wet with fresh tears. A lump forms in her throat at the sight.

So Min-Ji does what she does best: try to play it off.

“...thanks. For not letting me, y'know. Die,” she says mildly.

Rumi’s jaw drops. 

“You do realize that if we were even five minutes slower you wouldn’t have made it, right? And you’re treating it like— like a normal Tuesday?!”

“Today is Friday,” Min-Ji states matter of factly. 

Rumi shoots her a glare that could make hell freeze over.

“Saturday now, actually—”

“Still not Tuesday.”

Rumi yanks her hand back, scrubbing it down her blotchy face. Min-Ji can identify the exact moment Rumi contemplates murder — when her mouth tightens and her eyes narrow.

Min-Ji knows she’s pushing it. But she just doesn’t know what to do with any of this. This is too heavy. Too emotional. Too vulnerable. 

“Like I said, Rumi. I’ve lived through worse. I’ll be fine.”

“What the hell could possibly be worse than this? You’re — you’re normal!”

A lot of things, actually. None of which she’s willing to voice. And normal wouldn't be the word she uses to describe herself — because had this been any earlier in her career, she would’ve handled getting her back carved up better. The years away from her parents have made her soft. Lowered her pain tolerance. That's not normal.

Min-Ji turns her face away.

“Stop worrying so much. Enough of the budget already goes towards the skin-care for all of you, and I don’t want to be the one to tell Bobby that we need to bump it up.”

There’s a deeply displeased sound that comes from Rumi’s throat.

“You— Fine. Yell if you need something. Zoey will be switching out with me at 4.”

Rumi turns her body away from Min-Ji, arms folded over her chest. Seething.

Min-Ji smiles softly at her, knowing Rumi can’t see it.

“Seriously though. Thank you.”

Silence hangs between them. As if Rumi’s debating whether to deign her with a response.

“You’re gonna be in so much trouble in the morning,” Rumi settles on, grumbling.

Her smile spreads wider.

Sleep claims her again not long after that.

Min-Ji is, in fact, in trouble come morning. Just not the kind she expected.

Zoey’s been on and off weeping since barrelled through the door this morning. Rumi keeps shooting her dirty looks, and even then, there’s still worry in her eyes. And Mira? She hasn’t let go of her hand since dawn. 

Frankly, Min-ji isn’t sure if she even has that hand anymore. It went numb a while ago.

Celine stands at the foot of the twin bed, clad in a sweatshirt, joggers, and slippers, regarding her with wariness.

“We can’t talk about this to outside parties,” she says, obviously aimed at the girls and not at Min-Ji.

“So your solution is what— just don’t worry about it?! No big deal?!” Mira spits. “There’s no putting that cat back in the bag, Celine.”

Zoey crawls up onto the other side of the bed next to Min-Ji, resting her head on her shoulder.

“Ji-Ji’s good with stress! She’s probably the only one on the team that can handle it.” Min-Ji side-eyes Zoey for that bit of indirect shade thrown at the rest of the staff. She smiles sheepishly. “What? It’s true. Don’t get me wrong, Bobby and Eun-Kyung are too, but this… it would probably break their brains.”

Wait—

“Considering she’s treated her near death like it was nothing,” Rumi says, looking at Min-Ji with a pointed look, “I think she’ll be fine—”

“Nononono,” Min-Ji cuts in. “We are not going to just gloss over that little detail about management. No one else knows about the weird shadow thing?!” Min-Ji exclaims.

Zoey lets out an awkward laugh.

“They don't need to know,” Celine says cooly.

Min-Ji squints at Celine with silent disapproval.

“Before any talks happen, I need her to sign an NDA.”

Rumi’s jaw drops. “Are you serious right now?”

Zoey lifts her head from Min-Ji’s shoulder. "We have an NDA for hunter stuff?”

“What she’s about learn are generations worth of secrets—”

“She nearly died!” Mira shouts. Celine’s gaze shoots to her. “I think she deserves to know why. No strings attached.”

The lump in her throat from earlier this morning returns.

Celine sighs.

“Fine.”

And that day, Min-Ji learns that the myths she’d grown up with were anything but. 

The family doctor — skilled, and definitely paid to Not Ask Questions — stops in later that morning to take a look at her. Change the bandages. He comments at least five times that she’s very lucky to be alive before saying she’s clear to go back to Seoul with the girls tomorrow. 

Thank god this happened on a weekend. Min-Ji shudders to think what a train wreck this would’ve been otherwise.

The girls are sprawled around her on the floor, eating bowls of bibimap that Zoey whipped up with Celine.

After taking a large bite, savoring the warmth of the rice, Min-Ji continues the inquisition she started after Celine left the room earlier this morning.

“So do you choose the weapon? Or does it choose you? And if they choose you, are they sentient?”

“No, yes, no,” Mira says around a mouthful of rice.

“Where do they go when you don’t need them?”

“Back into the Honmoon,” Zoey replies. “We just call on it when we need to fight and send it away to put it back. It’s pretty much instantaneous.”

None of that makes an iota of sense to her, but if she asks about the particulars, this will take hours. Only essential information. For now.

“So it’s both a barrier and a storage unit?”

“We wish,” Rumi says. “If it were, we could’ve loaded it up with wards forever ago.”

“And snacks,” Zoey adds. Mira grunts in agreement.

“How have you flown under the radar this long? Especially with the staff?”

“Trade secrets,” Mira replies, taking another bite from her bowl.

“Hey Mira?” Min-Ji says sweetly. 

Mira looks over. 

“I’m in the trade now. So explain.”

“Yeah but if I do, you won’t be grumpy anymore, and you’re the cutest when you’re grumpy,” Mira smirks.

Min-Ji feels heat rise to her cheeks. Is it anger? Embarrassment? Both?

Both. She’ll go with that. 

“Excuse me?”

“She’s right though,” Rumi chimes in, smug. 

Min-Ji’s eyes flick over to Zoey, looking for any kind of backup.

“...We call it your GrouchJi mode.” At Min-Ji’s aghast expression, she says “You puff out your cheeks! How is that not cute?!”

“I do not,” Min-Ji grumbles, putting an aggressively large amount of rice into her mouth. 

“Yes you do! Just like this.” Zoey puffs out her cheeks — not a lot. Just a little.

“But seriously, how do you cover it up?” Min-Ji says, cheeks warm as she tries to put the conversation back on track. “I can’t imagine there’s no collateral damage at all if you're parkouring all over the place fighting demons. How does that not show up in the budget? Or the spreadsheets?”

Mira answers. “Bobby doesn't handle the budget. Celine handles that.”

“And he’s never once brought that up?”

“You hadn’t until today,” Mira points out.

“Because I’m a junior manager. He’s the head manager!”

“We’re really good at re-directing him,” Zoey says, as if the three — sorry, four now — of them in the room aren’t in on the biggest conspiracy Min-Ji has heard to date.

“But what about other people? Fans? No one's noticed?” Min-Ji asks.

“You’d be surprised how many people accept the explanation of special effects and stage magic,” Rumi replies.

“To be fair, I’ve seen some crazy things at magic shows,” Zoey adds. “It’s not that far-fetched.”

Min-Ji rubs her temples.

“So you’re a pop group that keeps the Underworld and the demons in it from coming up here? With your voices?”

“Yep!” They answer simultaneously.

“Just you three?”

Rumi makes a so-so motion.

“There are other hunters out there that can reinforce the barrier as well in other regions. But we’re the primary ones, since the Honmoon is strongest here.”

Min-Ji taps a chopstick against her lip in thought. “So what happens if someone catches a demon on camera? Or you guys fighting them?”

“SFX and choreography,” Zoey answers. “Like a flash mob, but. Not.”

Min-Ji’s mouth tugs into a frown. 

“Okay, but that can only get you so far. What if there’s no way to explain it away? That’s why you didn’t bring me to the hospital last night, right?”

Zoey winces. Mira looks gutted, and Rumi’s expression is suspiciously neutral.

“...we’ve never had to worry about that before,” Rumi answers.

Min-Ji face-palms so hard her brain vibrates in her skull.

“But hey! We have you now!” Zoey says cheerfully. “So it’ll be that much easier to keep it a secret!”

Min-Ji feels a headache coming on. A headache shaped like New Responsibilities.

“So what do I tell the others, then? ‘Sorry, I have to step out of this meeting because Huntr/x got into a streetfight with demons’?” Min-Ji asks dryly. “That I’m a one person supernatural PR team?”

“We could say you got a promotion.”

Min-Ji looks to Mira, who has finally looked up from her bowl. 

“Celine could make a separate role for you. Like head PR lady, or something. And we can hire another junior manager or an assistant to cover whatever you can't get to. And you’ll get a raise, of course,” she says. “That is, assuming you want to stay after…”

Mira gestures up and down at Min-Ji, who blinks in confusion.

“Why would I not stay?”

Mira gives her an unamused look. “Oh I don’t know — maybe the fact we’ve only been lying to you the entire time you’ve been with us, and you nearly got killed because of it?”

Min-Ji fails to see the logic here. Sure, they lied, but it was necessary. And it sounds like her dying to a demon could just happen in the wild anyway.

Min-Ji makes a rolling gesture with her hand. “And…?”

Mira pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Oh my god Rumi you weren’t kidding.”

“See?! I told you!” Rumi gestures with both arms. “She’s so— so casual about it!”

“Right here, but don’t mind me,” Min-Ji points out.

“I can’t believe we have a momager with no self-preservation instincts,” Zoey murmurs with wide eyes, sharing a look with Rumi and Mira.

“Hey!”

“But it’s true!”

“We’re gonna have to fix that,” Mira says, swirling her chopsticks around in her rice.

There’s a beat.

…she really hopes they don’t mean that she has to become a hunter. She did track in high school, sure, and she was the fastest on the team. But she’s willowy. Strength isn’t her forte.

“This isn’t like a ‘you have to become one of us’ situation because I'm in the loop now, right?”

“Oh absolutely not,” Mira says firmly. “You’d be a liability.”

…Okay ow.

The hurt must show on her face, because immediately Mira raises both hands placatingly.

“No offense of course!”

“You can’t just tack on ‘no offense’ at the end Mira!” Min-Ji exclaims.

“I know, I just—” Mira sputters, cheeks slightly pink “You have to be hand-picked. And that’s like, the very tip of the iceberg. We just need to teach you what to look out for.”

Quieter, she adds, “...we don’t want to see you get hurt like that again.”

Min-Ji freezes mid-chew.

All three of them glance away, guilty. 

Can't have that.

Min-Ji reaches out, resting her fingertips on Mira’s arm. Mira looks up at her, eyes solemn.

“...so no training montage. Got it.” She smiles wryly.

“Ji-ji!” Rumi exclaims.

Min-Ji immediately raises both hands up in the air, indignant — and then her face scrunches in pain, eyes screwing shut.

“What? Just saying I get it!” Min-Ji lets her arms drop, forcing her eyes open, fully intending to glare at them.

All three of her girls are crying.

“Don’t do that again—!”

“You’re our momager you can’t—!”

“We love you—!”

It’s a chorus of sobbing and speaking at the same time.

Something twinges painfully in her chest.

Min-Ji didn’t realize that she… meant that much. By the third birthday kidnapping she got the message that they were friends, absolutely, but people always have favorites among colleagues. She didn’t think it was that deep.

In hindsight, it’s obvious that it is. Stupidly, painfully obvious.

Her eyes start to sting.

“I’m sor—”

“NO!” they all shout in unison. 

She begins to hold her hands up, mindful to not raise her shoulders this time. The action is aborted almost immediately as a blur of black, pink, and lavender dog-pile onto her and hug her.

Min-Ji joins in the crying not long after that.

Still reeling from last night’s events, the girls decide they’re all going to camp out in Min-Ji's room for the night.

She doesn’t complain. Even if cuddling in a big puddle is foreign to her. It’s… claustrophobic. But in a nice way.

The girls get up one by one to go take a shower in the morning. Min-Ji can’t help but watch with jealous eyes. It’s going to be sponge baths for her while she heals — a couple weeks, most likely — and she’s not looking forward to the feeling of being half-clean.

Zoey takes pity on her and brings her warm, wet face towel in consolation. It smells strongly of lavender.

Around 9 am, Celine knocks on the door frame.

“Can I talk to Min-Ji for a moment?”

The other three girls look at Celine owlishly. None of them move.

Celine holds up a paper.

Ah. Right. The NDA. She doubts there are hunter lawyers and judges out there that could uphold any punishment for a breach in contract, and no normal court would even see it as valid in the first place, much less be able to enforce anything listed, so this feels a bit silly. And redundant. She’s no one from nowhere; nobody would believe her.

“Alone, please.”

The girls then look at one another. Some sort of silent communication passes between them, and then they get up.

“I’ll make breakfast!” Zoey leads the other girls out.

The moment they leave, Celine closes the door. Locks it.

Her heart rate instantly spikes.

Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck.

“Thank you for what you tried to do for Mira,” Celine says, taking a seat at the end. Her tone is gentler than she expected. Min-Ji opens her mouth to speak, and Celine holds a hand up to stop her.

Ah yes. The “shut up” hand. Her mother’s favorite hand gesture. She knows it well.

Celine holds the NDA out to her and — is that a quill and ink pot? Min-Ji stares at paper for a moment before taking it, wondering just what she’s getting herself into.

The moment it touches her fingertips, she feels her arm hairs stand on end. A faint static shock courses through her.

There’s no logo or corporate entity listed. No date. No names. The Hangul is written vertically like it’s taken straight from the Joseon era, minus the fact that the paper isn’t ancient. As she looks closer, she realizes this is handwritten. 

Min-Ji glances at Celine’s hands. There’s ink on her finger tips. 

There’s no exclusion clauses. No methods of arbitration. It simply states that if she speaks of anything that is said in this room with the incorrect parties (which are not defined or specified even remotely), it will “be known and punished.”

Min-Ji stares at Celine. Celine simply stares back, flicking her eyes down to the paper and back up to her. Expectant.

Min-Ji dips the quill into the ink. As she lifts it back up, she notices the faint scent of mugwort.

There’s no line to sign. 

The idea of putting her name with no anchor onto this thing bothers her. If she’s signing paperwork, there has to be a designated space for it. It’s not meant to be an autograph, after all.

So Min-Ji draws a line for herself. The quill scratches against the paper as she puts her legal name on it, handwriting neat.

The ink from her signature bleeds outward. Blooming.

And then the entire paper begins to glow with an icy blue light.

Min-Ji startles, dropping the paper as if it has burned her. And maybe she was right to, because it lights up like flash paper, but if flash paper produced bluish-white fire instead of… normal colored fire. The paper consumes itself. No ashes fall, and the smell of burnt mugwort hangs in the air.

Celine’s shoulders relax a fraction. “Rumi mentioned that you saw her patterns.”

So she’s not going to explain that at all. Great.

“Patterns?”

“The markings you saw. We call them patterns. The mark of Gwi-Ma,” Celine begins, tone serious. “And as you’ve learned, hunters have a duty to kill demons. Which means anything with those patterns.”

The blood drains from Min-Ji’s face.

“But Rumi—”

The shut-up hand is held up in front of her face. Annoyance flares up inside Min-Ji.

“It was Mi-Yeong’s last wish that I protect her legacy.” Celine’s face is solemn. “I have raised Rumi as a hunter. She’s… an exception.”

Min-Ji has to suppress a scowl at the way Celine words it. As if Rumi is a burden. Or broken. Or both. 

The silence hangs heavy between them. Tense. She shifts in discomfort. 

“The golden Honmoon you guys talked about. What happens to Rumi when they make it? Wouldn’t it pull her down, too?” Min-Ji eventually asks.

“No,” Celine insists vehemently, shaking her head. “She’s been chosen as a hunter. The Honmoon won’t turn on its chosen.”

Min-Ji’s brow furrows.

“How does it know? Is the barrier sentient?”

“It just knows.”

Min-Ji blinks in frustration at the non-answer.

“...And you just know that it just knows…?” she ventures.

“Yes,” Celine says flatly, raising the shut-up hand for the third time. 

Min-Ji has to shove the impulse down to smack that hand away. Hard.

“Once the girls turn the Honmoon golden, Rumi’s patterns will disappear. But until that time, she needs to keep them hidden.”

“Why?”

Celine looks at her with cool disdain. Like she’s slow.

“Because they are demon markings,” Celine says. As if that alone is supposed to explain everything.

“If the concern is public reception, we can always say they are tattoos,” Min-Ji offers. “And tattoo removal is not unheard of. Easy to explain when the Honmoon goes gold.”

Celine’s eyes narrow at her.

“Hunters don’t show their vulnerabilities. They hide them, lest they be used against them.”

How are her patterns a weakness? They're just birthmarks. 

“Does she…  does she not like them, or—?”

“You are to keep this between you, me, and Rumi,” Celine cuts in, voice frigid. “You will make sure her patterns are never seen, by any means necessary. The ward will tell me if you speak of them to anyone other than myself and Rumi.”

A ward. She put a fucking ward on her. And didn’t bother to mention that little detail until after the fact.

It is at this moment Min-Ji decides that she hates this woman. Her lying, her manipulating, her lack of regard for other people. On paper, she sounds exactly like her own mother. 

Rumi’s flinch — her heart hurts in understanding.

“Crystal.”

Chapter Text

“A demon boy band?”

“Yes.”

Baby stares at the jeosung saja standing before him — Jinu, one of Gwi-Ma’s favored  — with suspicion.

Baby really doesn’t get much company in the wastes at all (as intended). The lack of cover is typically a deterrent — no trees, very few boulders. Flatlands that feel like they spread endlessly, dry and desolate and irritatingly windy, before finally meeting the tall fuck-off mountain range to the north. Burrowing is the only way to be incognito out here. That, Baby’s has learned over his decades of isolation, is a skill in itself.

So Baby’s not pleased Jinu was able to just find him.

“I'm surprised someone who’s been rotting down here for this long knows what boy bands even are,” Baby retorts.

Jinu's golden eyes narrow. “I know enough.”

Oh does he now?

“So what's your plan to get people to not ask questions about a boy band that they've never heard of with members that are undocumented and have no connection to any relatives in South Korea?” 

To his credit, Jinu doesn't look surprised by this question. 

“We have a contact topside. He can get us documents with basically no questions asked. Like we always existed.”

“Do you know what a mall is?” Baby asks sweetly.

Silence.

Baby lets out a harsh laugh, leaning back on the small boulder that marks the entrance to his home. “You’re not gonna pass up there.”

Jinu’s studies him for a moment, expression shifting. Like he’s deciding on changing tactics.

“Gwi-Ma dragged you down here in the 90’s right?” he asks softly. Too softly.

Glass shattering. Throat burning. Blood filling his nose, his lungs—

“Think you got me confused for someone else,” he says, feigning looking at his claws. Like Jinu hadn’t just stuck one his own into that festering fucking wound.

“Jelly seems pretty sure. Said you’re a genius when it comes to lyrics, too.”

Fucking Jelly. Baby is going to wring that water demon’s neck out later for spilling.

Jinu smiles at him, condescending.

“How do you think I was able to find you?”

Baby’s jaw works. “Died in ‘97. And?”

“That makes you the closest one to current day culture than any of the other… musically inclined demons I’ve talked to. And I’ve talked to quite a few at this point.”

“And?”

“And you were actually topside when idol culture began. Or so Jelly’s told me,” Jinu says.

Baby side eyes him.

“I don’t do charity cases.”

“Luckily for you, you won’t be.”

“If the payment is a pat on the head and some promise of good will, you can fuck off.”

Jinu laughs, looking entirely untroubled by this response.

“How about a boon from Gwi-Ma?”

Well. That’s certainly a way to get a demon’s attention.

His relationship to the overgrown campfire known as Gwi-Ma is… adversarial. More than most demons are. Baby stays away expressly because if he doesn't, he will lash out. And Gwi-Ma’s patience is thin at best.

On the other hand, though… taking the overworld is no small feat. If there was ever a time to get a favor with no strings attached, he’s willing to bet this would be it. Especially with how desperate he’s heard Gwi-Ma’s been.

“Did you get to keep yours?” Baby asks.

Jinu squints at him.

Baby huffs. “Your name, hyung.”

Something that might be pain flashes in his eyes. There and gone in an instant.

“...that was my name as a mortal, yes,” Jinu says.

Baby tilts his head at Jinu.

“Has Gwi-Ma ever given someone their name back?”

Understanding softens Jinu’s expression. “Nope. But if we pull this off, I bet he'd be willing to let you be the first. He’d probably even let you ask for something else.”

Baby drums his claws on the stone beneath him, each one clicking rhythmically against the basalt. 

“What’s in it for you?”

And like that, Jinu’s guard is up.

“A removal of leverage.”

“That’s vague.”

“Does it really matter that much to you?” Jinu asks, voice terse.

Baby shrugs at him. “Just wanna know who I’m getting stuck with.”

The idea of getting this awful ass moniker kindles the tiniest spark of hope in him since he’s been down here. And being one of the demons to overpower the hunters and get Gwi-Ma topside would put him towards the top of the foodchain real fucking quick, too. That in of itself isn’t unappealing.

“Fuck it. I got nothing better to do.”

Watching paint peel would be a better use of Baby’s time than this. 

Explaining the nuances of modern celebrity culture to a bunch of dinosaurs is a mind numbing endeavor that requires so. Much. Repetition. Mystery is even older than Jinu, old enough to not remember anymore (how he’s even functional, Baby has no idea), and Abby’s got a good two and a half centuries on him. On more than one occasion, the three of them have driven him to rip his hair out in frustration. 

The only one that has even a remote understanding of the modern world, it turns out, a demon named Romance. Fast learner, tolerable to talk to. Died in the 80’s, from what he’s gathered through context clues — anything after ‘89 is lost on the guy. But Romance very quickly becomes Baby’s only bastion of sanity anyway. Mostly because he never has to worry about Romance understanding anything he’s saying, be it from vocals to choreography to (relatively) modern culture norms. The worst he's had to deal with is Romance shamelessly flirting with Abby. And the fact Abby responds in kind.

It gets really annoying during choreo.

What solidifies their friendship, though, is when they end up having to explain to their elderly members that women wear pants now.

“Is she trying to be a man?” Abby asks, looking perplexed.

Baby’s double takes.

“What?”

Abby points to one of the magazines Jelly brought with a  picture of Huntr/x on it — specifically, at Mira, who’s sporting a pair of black distressed jeans.

“She’s wearing pants.” Abby says, staring at Baby like he’s stupid. 

“And that has to do with being a man, how…?” Baby glances at Romance, searching for a sign he’s being fucked with, but he looks just as confused. 

Mystery, Jinu, and Abby all look at each other. 

“I’ve seen women wear them before topside,” Jinu offers. “But I assume there’s some sort of double meaning. Mira is supposed to be the rebellious one, after all.”

Baby blinks once. Twice. His brain actually stalls, like it’s trying to buffer. Pants. They’re confused about pants. He’s almost annoyed at himself for being surprised anymore. 

Romance has a hand over his mouth, his eyes crinkled in amusement.

“These are ripped,” Mystery observes, claw tracing over the tears at Mira’s knees. “Is she meant to be representing farmhands? Laborers, maybe?”

Fucking kill me.

There’s a sound of muffled wheezing. The hand over Romance’s mouth is now clamped like a vice, and his skin is flushed into a deeper than normal gray. His body trembles with (almost) quiet laughter.

“No, that’s not—” Baby starts only to be interrupted by Abby.

“She’s not just rebellious, she’s supposed to be the provocative one right? It must be like bedroom clothing. Wearing what she should be saving for her husband to the public instead. As a statement,” he says with absolute authority. 

Baby’s lips press together into a firm line. Nope. Watching these old ass demons debate the meaning of pants in modern society is not funny. Not at all.

But his eyes still drift back to Romance, who now has his elbow braced against his thigh. His body is full on shaking now. Baby tries to give him a stern look that says “stop right the fuck now,” because if Romance doesn’t stop, Baby’s composure is gonna crack.

Then, a snort slips out of Romance. Baby’s lips immediately betray him to tug into a barely repressed smile.

God damn it Romance!

And it’s that little smile that does Romance in. 

Romance falls over onto his side, rolling on the ground, cackling like a madman. Jinu, Mystery, and Abby all watch Romance with wide eyes.

“What’s so funny about pants?” Jinu’s voice is horribly earnest. So much so that that is what finally breaks Baby.

Baby falls to the ground, joining Romance, laughing so hard his stomach hurts and tears start forming. Romance is actively crying while rolling in the dirt, so breathless that his laughter makes him sound like a tea kettle. Which just makes Baby laugh harder.

He hears footsteps approach him, but he's laughing too haes to care. A sharp pain in his ribs follows. Baby looks up to see Abby standing over him, brow furrowed. 

“Can one of you just answer the fucking question?”

Romances nods, tears streaming down his face.

“Everything,” Romance wheezes, before letting out a strangled yelp as Abby’s foot collides with his ribs, too. They'll have matching bruises later.

Baby sits up, wiping his eyes with his hands.

“Women wearing pants is normal,” Baby says, voice wavering with laughter. “It’s not a gender thing or a class thing anymore. Everyone wears them.”

Jinu and Abby glance away. Mystery just gawks at him as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“...they got rid of hanboks?” he asks, sounding almost despondent.

Romance starts laughing again. Baby joins him.

It’s the first time he’s truly smiled since Gwi-Ma dragged him down to the Underworld.

The world when Baby left it last and the one he's stepped into is both the same and different all at once. 

Technology has improved massively. Towering skyscrapers. Screens the size of trucks, in high resolution. Sleeker cars. There’s traditional elements in some of the architecture, but it’s far more of a blend of chrome than it was when he left this world. 

The best advancement though? Portable phones are small now. Powerful. Instead of just communicating by voice, there’s text. Games. The internet (which required so much PR and computer literacy training it made his mind numb, but the memes are worth it). They are also horrifically delicate. They learned that lesson when Mystery got startled by the chime of him getting a text from Baby and he dropped his phone on the sidewalk, shattering the screen. Considering the ease with which Jae-Wook, their vapid manager, replaced said phone, it's also safe to say the economy has bounced back since the crash in 1997. 

The same can’t be said of modern fashion trends. 

Baby tugs at the blue dress shirt beneath the disgrace of a sweater Jinu has forced him to wear. He pops the collar up as they walk — something to harshen the vibe and spare what shred of dignity he has remaining, becausd one ripped knee won’t be enough to make him look jjang again, especially when they are all sporting one.

His rebellion lasts all of 3 seconds. He feels Romance move, and Baby tries to dodge the blur of pink in his periphery and duck out of the way, but Romance, anticipating this resistance after months of constant close proximity, easily avoids Baby's hands swatting at him. He folds the collar back over and disengages without a hair out of place.

Baby shoots him a dirty look. Romance just smirks.

“We look ridiculous,” Baby gripes for the third time that morning.

Mystery —who got the shortest stick and is wearing that abomination that should've stayed in the 80s where it belongs (with Romance)— leans forward on the other end of their lineup and grimaces at Baby sympathetically. At least his mouth does. He can't see behind the lavender fringe to determine if his eyes do too.

Well. At least he's not Mystery. Small victories.

“Doesn't matter,” Jinu says from behind him with thinly veiled irritation. “Get used to it.”

Baby rolls his eyes. Big leader-talk from the guy who needed instructions on how a microwave works earlier this morning. Again.

“Nope. Don’t think I will.” Baby fishes a lollipop out of his pocket and tosses the wrapper over his shoulder in Jinu's vague direction. Artificial grape flavor spreads on his tongue as he rolls the candy with his tongue.

That’s what Jinu gets for making him the maknae. Baby could’ve gone counter-culture with the role, but no, Jinu insisted upon a more traditional aegyo persona because he was too scared of taking a risk. Fucking coward.

Jinu lets out a smug huff. “For the one complaining about being the brat, you’re playing it well.”

“Careful, hyung. Bed’s not that far from mine.” 

“He’s on the opposite end of the condo,” Romance points out. “And our doors lock.”

“You say that like it’s far enough to save him.”

The drag of Jinu’s foot against his heel peels Baby’s shoe off halfway, causing him to stumble. How fucking cute. Baby spins with a snarl, ready to wipe the no-doubt smug look on Jinu’s face with his knuckles, but Abby’s palm locks around his fist before it can properly fly.

“Chill out, Baby.”

Baby yanks his hand out of Abby's grip — or rather, Abby lets him do it. 

“He fucking started it,” Baby grouses, rolling his shoulders out.

“Do I need to finish it? Because I will,” Jinu says, smirking.

This motherfucker—

“I don't think a fist fight is going to help us gain popularity,” Romance hums mildly, shooting Baby a sharp look that screams for him to stop.

“Sure it will. Even negative press is good press, right?” Abby says, as if he didn’t just break up said fist fight. 

“Only when you already have a reputation,” Romance replies. 

Baby rolls his eyes. “It would help me—”

Mystery voice cuts through their bickering, stern.

“Hunters ahead.”

And like that, they all fall into character. Baby lets his expression go placid, as if he’s bored (which requires no effort, because he’s already there). The four of them turn into the alleyway, Jinu following not far behind.

Baby's not sure what exactly he was expecting when he rounded that corner. But it certainly wasn't a conga line.

At the front is a petite woman in wide legged jeans, a white blouse, and an oversized cardigan. She’s staring ahead at his group through a large set of glasses with a deadpan expression and dark bags beneath her eyes. Her hair is layered in a long bob, giving her a sort of fluffy appearance. Like a little Pomeranian.

Behind her frame peaks the outline of some sort of box, held by a woman in a reddish colored hoodie pulled tight too tight over her face. Behind her, a petite woman with microbangs that he recognizes belong to Zoey (ganji, honestly), an oversized floral print jacket (meh), and a yellow bucket hat (really?).

And at the very back is Mira from Huntr/x. Just in a baseball cap and glasses.

Mira and Zoey immediately begin eye-fucking Abby, completely distracted and embarrassingly flustered. In the corner of his eye, he can see Abby give an exaggerated stretch, flexing hard enough to pop one of the buttons off his shirt (Jae-Wook’s gonna have a meltdown later) and preening at the attention. The woman with the box, Rumi, he can only assume, has the decency to call them out, only to falter as she looks past Baby’s shoulder at Jinu and ogles him. 

These are supposed to be the hunters with a chokehold up here? Gwi-Ma is seriously losing to a bunch of girls too busy leering to see the demons within arms-length of them? No wonder he didn’t question Jinu’s plan as much as Baby expected. The fucker must be truly desperate.

His eyes return to the girl in the front — Fluffy, he’s decided to call her — only to find hers sweeping across the alleyway, flicking to store fronts and offshooting alleyways. Like she's looking for exits. Interest flickers in him, and he takes a moment to really look at her. She moves to the five of them next, gaze slicing across them, quick and deliberate. 

Then, their eyes meet. But instead of flitting away immediately, her attention snags on him. Laser focused.

For a beat, they just stare at one another. All but physically circling eachother. Her eyes narrow. Her posture straightens, shoulders squared. She’s clocked him clocking her, and oh, she does not look pleased. A slow smirk tugs at Baby’s lips.

She's correctly identified him as a threat. Unlike the actual hunters behind her. 

The soft glow of something beneath her chin draws his attention away, making him end their little staring contest. Encircling her neck is a blue line no thicker than a guitar string. Like someone wrapped a strand of the Honmoon around her throat like a glow stick. Or a garrote.

Baby is new to the Underworld, but he’s not new enough to not know a ward when he sees one. Even a weird looking one like that. She must be staff if she’s collared like that. Maybe a PA.

Not quite a Pomeranian after all, but a Sapsaree, he muses. The irony of it almost makes him laugh out loud. 

All four women are distracted enough to not see Jinu’s shoulder check incoming. The box goes flying, as does Rumi. Fluffy tries to catch her, a moment too slow (his fault, and he smirks at that), but Rumi slips through her fingers. The box lands, spilling what looks like juice pouches out onto the street.

Jinu pauses, turning to her, holding a hand out, only to pull it back the moment Rumi reaches for it. 

He wipes his shoulder off. Like he got something gross on it.

“Watch yourself.”

Rumi gapes at him. Mira’s expression is downright murderous, and Zoey appears affronted but confused. It should really be their next photocard. The indignation? Priceless.

Fluffy, though, is still deadpan. She kneels down and begins to pick up the pouches. Her voice is quiet as her face turns up towards Jinu.

“You’re someone’s son? Aish. What a waste of a legacy.”

Baby’s smirk widens into a razor sharp grin.

She turns back to picking up the pouches. Doesn’t even wait to see if the jab lands. Like she can’t be bothered. 

Oh, Fluffy’s got teeth! 

His eyes snap to Jinu. And oh, does that jab land. Jinu’s hands flex and his jaw tightens. Baby expects a comeback from the king of petty, but Jinu doesn’t answer. He just turns and continues walking, surreptitiously slipping one of the pouches that slid too far from the box into his front pocket.

If Baby had known jokes about his mother would rattle him that hard, he would’ve been making them a lot sooner. He files that information away for later.

The other Saja Boys turn to leave, following Jinu. But Baby’s gaze lingers on Fluffy, eyes glittering with curiosity and smug glee. Her eyes meet his, and he can see the faintest uptick in her shoulders in response.

He can’t help but hope she sticks around. She’s the only interesting person topside so far. 

“Watch my— Watch yourself!” Rumi fires back eloquently as her fellow hunters help her to her feet. 

He's about to tell her to leave the comebacks to her little assistant when a hand wraps around his bicep, yanking him backwards and around the corner. Baby turns to see Romance raising an eyebrow in question. 

“She’s funny,” is all Baby says, falling into step with him. 

“Hey, I'm all for flirting, but we’ve got fans to win over.”

“I didn’t even talk to her,” Baby says flatly.

Romance shoots him a knowing look. 

“But you wanted to.” 

Baby shoves him. Not hard — just enough to make him stumble.

The group walks along the thoroughfare, over towards where they see Jae-Wook talking with staff as they set the stage. His expression is frantic  his hair has far too much gel in it, and Baby can smell his cologne from fifteen feet away. 

Baby rolls his eyes. 

They don’t need any of this. Not really. But Hyeolgi being explained away as “special effects” won’t last very long. So they were forced to hire a bunch of pets as cover.

“There you are!” He puts a hand to his chest in relief. “You’re on in ten, and the makeup team—”

“We’ll be fine,” Jinu soothes. “We came prepared.”

That’s one of the things their Hyeolgi is approved for, at least: getting Jae-Wook off their asses. If it wasn’t, Baby would’ve just sent himself back down to the Underworld and said this wasn’t worth it. Jelly is far better company.

Jae-Wook, the moron, doesn’t question it. He lets out a deep exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath for an absurdly long time. “Good, good. And you’ve got the smoke bomb things you all worked out, right?”

“Taken care of!” Abby says, holding up their “smoke bomb” for him to see. It’s just a plaster tube that they hastily made early this morning. Jae-Wook eyes it, frowning in distaste. Like it’s cheap looking. Then, he perks right back up.

“Great! Let’s get you guys mic’d up!”

Baby watches people walk up and down the strip as the staff get them set up. Many are glued to their phone screens, leaning their faces towards them like they want to get sucked into the damn thing. Others stand off to the side, shopping bags in hand, looking towards the stage as if waiting, and Baby can’t help but shoot a smug smile in Jinu's direction. 

Flyers will always be relevant, hyung. 

As their lightning-round sound check finishes, they all get into position. Jae-Wook gives them their countdown, and when it hits one, Abby makes an exaggerated motion as he throws the “smoke bomb” onto the ground. Romance conjures up the illusion of pink smoke coming out of the remains of the plaster.

And the music plays.

The choreography was the collective brain child of the group. A balance of modern trends, punchy and easy to replicate. After months of drilling just this one song, the five of them are a well oiled machine. No thought required. Just muscle memory.

His eyes scan the crowd. No doubt this is going to pull Huntr/x’s attention. As intended, of course. But Baby can’t help but find that he secretly hopes Fluffy follows them. See what her reaction to the song is. Considering she was unflappable before, he thinks she’s unlikely to be moved. Which is almost better than if she went crazy for it, in his mind.

As they build to the chorus, his eyes catch a flash of pink — Mira. And between her and Rumi? Fluffy.

Their eyes meet. His lead-in to the chorus hits.

“You’re my little soda pop~” he sings right at her, voice sickly sweet.

She arches an eyebrow at him, unimpressed as the rest of the crowd (and even Zoey) starts dancing in time to the beat. And if that doesn’t just put a grin on his face.

Baby keeps track of her throughout the performance. He can’t be bothered to care about anyone else in the crowd — he doesn’t need to look at them directly to know they’re going wild. At one point he catches her shoulders bopping, despite the deadpan look on her face, only to be stopped as Mira pushes down on them to make them stop. Mira’s face is disapproving, but her hands linger even after Min-Ji’s shoulders have stopped. His eyes narrow.

The four of them talk. In the time it takes to complete a turn, the hunters suddenly look murderous, and Min-Ji, breaking from her unaffected front, looks at them with confusion.

So the hunters finally figured it out, and Fluffy is like any other topsider. Oblivious to the demons in front of her.

Baby’s not sure if he’s pleased or disappointed by this.

The moment his verse comes up, though, her attention returns to him. Something softens in her features. Not impressed but… surprised. Like she wasn’t expecting what she heard, and she’s not mad about it. 

She’s got excellent taste, at least.

As they progress into the bridge, the hydraulics for the stage — fashioned to look like the top of a soda can — hiss to life. 

Huntr/x looks stunned. Angrily so. But Fluffy? She’s not even looking at him or any of the other Saja Boys now. She’s looking… down? Yes, down, towards the bottom of the stage. Calculating. The only way he knows she’s listening still is that her shoulders have started bopping again ever so slightly in spite of Mira’s filthy mitts on her.

…is she seriously more interested in the stage than the performers on it? Strange. Curious, but strange.

They strike their end poses, and the song comes to a close. Jinu announces that Play Games With Us is hosting them tonight, acting all humble and kind. (Baby knows he’s neither of these things.) Baby leans against Mystery as he yammers on, a hand on his chin; he needs something to make him look cool right before the horrible exit pose Jinu made for him. But as the announcement ends, Baby strikes it, making a half heart with one hand and pressing it to the fullness of his cheek. He immediately reconsiders his life choices as the crowd goes wild for it.

The pink exit smoke doesn’t cover him nearly fast enough for his liking.

As they use the cover to exit the stage, Jae-Wook's grin is wide. Baby can practically see won signs stamped into his eyes. 

“You’re already going viral!” He holds up his phone, scrolling through TikTok before jumping to Instagram. 

Baby doesn’t listen to anything else he says. He’s too busy tracking the pink streak he knows is Mira through the throng of people in an attempt to locate Fluffy. But the petite woman is swallowed up by the crowd, nowhere to be seen.

The moment Min-Ji and the girls arrive back home, chaos descends upon the penthouse. Clothing options being thrown between rooms. Yelling from across the condo. Zoey in a terrifying Hannibal Lector looking sheet mask.

Which means that Min-Ji has a rare, uninterrupted couple of hours to try and catch up on the absolute PR mess she has on her hands. 

Min-Ji sits on the floor of the living room, wedged behind the corner chaise between the windows and a silk plant. Surrounded by her laptop, both work phones, and the comforting smell of dakgalbi and rice noodles, she plans to conquer a good chunk of the rescheduling required to maintain Rumi's cover. She already got some of it done while in the lobby of “Healer” Han’s (because if she went with them in the room she would’ve lost her shit at the very obvious conman, and she did not want to hurt Zoey's feelings), but with so many months between now and the Idol Awards… there’s a lot that needs to get moved around and a lot of ruffled feathers that need to be smoothed. 

And then there’s Celine.

Just like that, the smell of her food is suddenly nauseating.

While she originally never planned to say anything about Rumi’s voice, Celine was persistent. Has been ever since the night she nearly died a year ago, but especially so after they cancelled the live performance of Golden last night. Min-Ji was pressed for details until she, eventually cornered, told Celine about the marks spreading. How they seem to be strangling Rumi.

Thus began a very long call where Celine blamed and berated Min-Ji until almost three in the morning. For not being effective enough to help Huntr/x turn the Honmoon golden. As if the last year of increased concerts, radio shows, and game show appearances Min-Ji had secured meant nothing. As if all that work hadn’t turned the Honmoon almost golden a week ago. 

Like she was back home, still under the crushing, resentful thumb of her guardians. Always never enough.

Min-Ji hadn’t been able to sleep after that. It took her two hours to pull herself back together, and at that point, an hour of sleep would just make things worse. So she’s been running on sugary americanos since five in the morning, and after the surprise debut of the Saja Boys, pure unadulterated fear. Because of course something like this happens now, when Huntr/x is at its weakest after being so fucking close. 

She rubs her temples, fighting the same headache she’s had since they left “Healer” Hans and bumped into a group of literal demons.

They just can’t catch a fucking break.

It doesn’t help that every time she closes her eyes, Min-Ji sees blue ones staring back at her. Too keen, too observant. It makes the anxious thrum rise every time she thinks about the whole encounter.

So Min-Ji is just going to not think about it. (Compartmentalization — her beloved.)

She forces herself to nibble on at least her rice noodles as she goes through email correspondences. She’s giving everyone the reason she told (lied to)Bobby: that Rumi has a vocal polyp and needs to rest her voice. Huntr/x will still perform, with the stipulation that Rumi is limited to choreography only. Mira and Zoey will split Rumi’s vocal parts and adjust them for their ranges. Rumi will be using a whiteboard (that Min-Ji already picked up early this morning) to “speak” to people, alongside body language. The only compromise she was willing to make for Rumi was her ability to talk to the other girls; it’s allowed, but only at quiet volumes. 

The majority have responded positively, sending well wishes and get-well gifts. She’s already had to call in Eun-Kyung to manage the deliveries of said gifts, because if Min-Ji has to directly interact with anyone besides her girls while she is crashing from her current caffeine high, she’s going to have a full meltdown. And she doesn’t think she can contain it long enough to throw herself down the stairs to her apartment.

At least one problem will be solved by the end of the evening. While she deeply questions if killing the Saja Boys right outside a filming studio is wise, Min-Ji acknowledges that this is the one, and probably only, opportunity to deal with the demon boy band before they are too public to be touched. Even if it’s stressing her the fuck out.

She’s able to start picking at the dakgalbi before it goes completely cold. Up until Mira’s flawlessly made up face is suddenly leaning over the back of the chaise, directly above her, making her nearly choke on marinated chicken.

Min-Ji to let out a shriek.

“Shit.” Mira reaches out and rests a hand on the top of Min-Ji's head, smoothing her hair down. “Sorry, Ji-Ji... You okay?”

Min-Ji just looks up at her, chest heaving, face flushed, and lips pressed into a razor thin line. Mira’s expression softens.

“Tense kinda day, got it.” 

She just nods in response, grateful for her understanding.

Min-Ji’s relationships with each one of her girls are special, but hers with Mira’s is especially unique. Mira has always wordlessly understood her stress responses with minimal to no questioning. The most pushy she gets about it is asking who she needs to punch to make Min-Ji feel better, but otherwise, Mira’s company has always been a safe space. No faking being okay required.

It’s this very relationship that makes her complete inability to confide in Mira about Rumi’s situation all the more painful. On one hand, she knows that if Mira finds out, neither she nor Rumi will ever be forgiven. Their roots are too similar, their insecurities too kindred: good things are never true. And Min-Ji’s silence, ward or no ward, will crush Mira.

The hand ruffles her hair. “Well, we’re about to go destroy those demon boys, so we’ll have something to celebrate when we get back. We could grab bingsu on the way back.”

From down the hall, Rumi and Zoey respond with war cries. 

“No yelling, Rumi!” she and Mira shout back, almost simultaneously. An amused but tired look passes between them.

Mira’s leather arms suddenly dangle over the back of the chaise as well, clad in black leather and mesh, and she makes a grabby hands motion at Min-Ji.

“I’ll throw your leftovers in the fridge.” 

Min-Ji opens her mouth to object, only to be silenced by a perfectly manicured fingertip pressed against her lips.

“Nope. No arguing. You’re taking a mandatory fifteen. You look like you’re going to explode.” 

Mira’s tone leaves no room for negotiation. Her lunch is getting put away by Mira, one way or another, whether she likes it or not. So Min-Ji just sighs and nods.

Mira boops the tip of her nose with an affectionate smile before disappearing with her long cold lunch.

Min-Ji pulls her legs to her chest, resting her cheek on her knees as she stares listlessly out over Seoul as the pink and red light of sunset descends over it. Wishing she could fold in on herself and just disappear.

Guilt squirms unpleasantly in her stomach.

She hates this. Hates that she doesn’t know what the ward will do if she says anything, hates that Rumi has been lying to the others for years. Mira and Zoey are two of the most loving people Min-Ji has had the honor of working with. If anyone could understand, it’s them. But it’s also that same insecurity — that things are always too good to be true — that makes her understand why Rumi’s remained silent on it. So will continue to remain silent as well, even if it tears her up inside.

A chorus of her girls saying her nickname repeatedly like a bunch of baby chicks pulls her out from her downward spiral. Min-Ji lifts her head as Mira leans over the chaise again.

“Squad’s ready to go, unni. You ready?”

Min-Ji unfolds herself. Mira offers a hand to help her up, and she takes it.

“So if a demon shows up, will pepper spray still work on them? Or are they immune?” she asks as she shimmies her way out from behind the chaise. It’s a situation she’s not really had to worry about thus far, and she likely won’t have to worry about it while she’s hiding in the van, but… just in case.

Mira blinks at her owlishly. 

“Pepper spray—? Oh fuck no, we’re not bringing you along with just a pepper spray.” Mira glances back towards the hallway, then to Min-Ji. Then, she points to the chaise. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

And so Min-Ji is done as she’s told, twisting around to grab her belongings from the floor behind it. Work stops for no one — demons included. By the time she’s got everything tucked back into their designated homes in her bag and double checked, Mira returns. In her hands is a hot pink, chromatic baseball bat.

Min-Ji raises an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know you played baseball.”

“Because I don’t.” She holds it out for Min-Ji to take. “We had a huge issue with sasaengs right after we debuted. Bobby went nuts on security. Got us our permits for pepper spray, oh-shit-buttons, the works. And then he got these on the basically impossible but not zero chance the fuckers ever broke in here.”

Mira offers her a smirk. “Of course, you know we don’t need em. So I want you to have mine. That way you’ve always got me on standby to hit anyone who's pissed you off.”

Min-Ji just gawks at it for a moment, before taking it and mumbling, “I don’t play baseball either.”

Mira lets out a laugh.

“It’s basically just a club. Swing it. It’s not rocket science.”

Min-Ji holds it in an awkward grip, trying to get a feel for the weight of it. Mira immediately backs up.

“Not at me, Ji-Ji!”

“Sorry!”

Zoey walks into the living room, dressed in an all black leather and mesh piece that is similar to Mira’s.

She looks at the two of them. Down at the bat.

“Why do you have your Bobby Bat out?”

“Contingency planning. Now Min-Ji’s got a weapon if things get outta hand.”

Zoey lets out what sounds like a whine. “Aw, I should’ve thought of that! Teal looks so good on her.” 

Mira’s eyes flick up and down over Min-Ji, unreadable. Then, Mira flashes her a satisfied smirk on her face.

“Hot pink looks better.”

“Yeah but you’re biased!”

“And?”

Rumi appears at the end of the hall, hopping as she attempts to put on her platform boots. While standing. “Is that a Bobby Bat I’m seeing?”

“Yeah,” Zoey huffs.

Mira just winks at Min-Ji as the four of them pile into the elevator — all four of them ready to go to ward. Just different wars.

“Let’s go kill some demon boys!” Mira cheers.

Min-Ji is barely aware of the hum of the game show on her laptop as she clicks around with the trackpad, socked feet propped up on the center console. Her attention is focused on her personal phone, looking through website after website with any mention of traditional shamanism. It’s likely stuff Celine and the girls already know, but she doesn’t want to come to Celine empty handed at the end of today. There has to be information on this somewhere, right? So many obscure things in history are well documented. 

Most of what she finds on a cursory search are talismans of protection against demons (not helpful) and holistic healing methods (also not helpful). By the time she’s hit the fifth acupuncture website, Min-Ji shuts the screen on her personal phone off, frustration bubbling up.

She’s so screwed.

Min-Ji rubs her temples, trying to just breathe, when cheering from her laptop pulls her attention back towards the gameshow. 

They’ve got the Saja Boys doing the hot sauce challenge. For a bunch of demons, they seem to be handling Balduk sauce terribly. Seem being the key word. Mira and Rumi drilled it into her and Zoey earlier that there are no nice demons. That no matter what one might see, they’re always faking.

Min-Ji doesn’t know if she agrees with that. Things are rarely ever so black and white. But they’re hunters, and she’s not. 

Of all the Saja Boys, Baby is the only one completely unfazed by the challenge. He acts like he’s been asked to chug perrier and not 100k scoville hot sauce.

Her nose crinkles in distaste at the reminder of him. Something aegyo has always struck her as condescending, rather than cute. It’s so obviously a role he is playing rather than being genuine, too. The eyes that met her weren’t cute or innocent. They were calculating. And something in him recognized something in her.

Min-Ji shivers involuntarily.

Besides, who chooses a name like Baby anyway? Because that can’t be his real name, right? No self-respecting family would ever choose that sort of dishonor. It has to be a stage name.

As he wins the challenge, giving the most sarcastic “goo goo ga ga,” she’s ever heard, she pauses.

…is his whole persona meant to be ironic? Like a commentary on infantalization of idols? She shakes her head. No, he leans too far into it. 

She can practically hear Mira yelling that she needs to stop humanizing them. 

The host gives his normal outro line, and Min-Ji moves to pack up, only for both of them to be interrupted by Jinu.

“So why say goodbye when we have extra special guests coming up?”

Special guests? They’re almost out of run time, and this wasn’t meant to be a double feature episode. She checked three times so she could pencil in their bingsu outing into her calendar when they parked here. 

Unless… no. They wouldn't do that to her.

Right?

“Please welcome… Huntr/x!”

Oh fuck no. Nonononono. 

The camera pans up to her girls in the rafters, who look thoroughly caught off guard, but mercifully weaponless.

Min-Ji's head hits the center of the steering wheel, and she stays there, letting the sound of the horn going off obliterate her mind until she doesn't feel the need to scream anymore. 

At one point, she feels one of her phones buzzing against her thigh. Agency, since it's coming from her right pocket. Probably Bobby touching base wondering what the hell is going on. 

Min-Ji lets his message go unread for the time being. 

When she lifts her head again, ears ringing, she sees the two groups in a bow-off. The curtain falls as the Saja Boys fold perfectly in half, while her girls struggle with the constraints of their battle outfits.

That seems like an oversight. She’ll have to bring it up to the girls later after they discuss whatever the hell that was and how to handle the inevitable Dispatch article. 

She shuts her laptop closed with a click as the credits roll. A blur of pink runs out from the backstage doors, high-tailing it across the street. 

Jinu. Followed closely by Romance, Mystery, and Abby, who happens to be carrying Baby on his back. The Saja Boys run into the small bathhouse across the street — men’s side. Her girls follow them with a two second delay, sprinting across the street and charging through the doors after them, weapons in hand. As if they aren’t just going to get into a fight with another idol group in public, and somewhere where they're not supposed to be.

The anxious thrum in her veins suddenly surges into panic, throbbing painfully in her teeth. Everything in her screams in alarm, and before she realizes what she’s even doing, she’s hopped out of the van with Mira’s bat in hand, headed for the women’s side of the bathhouse in a dead sprint. With no shoes on.

This is stupid. Suicide. What the hell is she going to do? Min-Ji's crowning achievement in athletics is running. Marathons, track and field. That’s it. Even armed with Mira’s bat — because that is all she has, since her stupid ass left her pepper spray in the car — Min-Ji’s got nothing going for her. Five against one scrawny little woman who isn’t even a hunter.

But the thrum doesn’t let her stop. It just pushes her harder.

When she bursts through the door, the bathhouse is silent. Empty. 

There are signs of life. Totes and towels, scattered around. Like the bathhouse had been occupied moments before, and suddenly not. Like everyone got up and just left... 

She slows to stop. The herbal smelling steam turns her cheeks pink, but it does doing nothing to warm her.

This is eerie. Eerie and wrong and her mind screams at her to leave. To get out before she’s caught in the crossfire, or worse.

But the thrumming practically rattles her now. Every one of her nerves feels frayed, but awake. Alert. She begins to walk forward slowly, old habits kicking in. Stepping on the right or wrong floorboard at home was the difference between going to the bathroom in the middle of the night in peace or waking parents and them lashing out, so Jeong mastered the art of making herself unseen and unheard. Min-Ji's footsteps are silent against the wet tiles. Every movement controlled, every breath measured.

As she passes by a bath towards the middle of the room, the hairs on her neck suddenly stand. It's familiar. Way too familiar.

Her body jolts, remembering its own near demise.

It costs her. 

From one of the pools on her right leaps the creature straight out of The Grudge. She dodges a moment too late. Its claws rake across her flank, shredding the skin along her ribs. A scream tears itself out from between her gritted teeth. 

More Grudges rise from the baths around her, their eyes dilated with hunger. Warmth trickles down her side.

She breaks into a hard sprint, wet fleet slapping against the floor. They nearly slide out from under her as she overshoots on her way to the door to the changing room, but she catches herself, pushing it open with the momentum. It hits the wall with a bang.

The changing room is empty, like the bathhouse proper. Towels and robes piled on the floor, like whoever had worn and carried them vanished into thin air. Her heart hammers as she runs, sliding around benches and lockers, jumping over left behind belongings as she’s headed for the lobby. Shrieks and the splashing of water follow behind her. Death nipping at her heels.

Min-Ji is trying really hard to not think about that.

As she bursts out into the hallway, a force from behind tackles her to the ground. She lets out a shriek as she hits the ground, pain arcing through her. She scrambles beneath it, twisting until she’s on her back instead of her stomach. 

One of the Grudges sits on her stomach, leaning down with snapping teeth. Min-Ji thrusts Mira's bat up and crosswise, nothing but pink chrome between her face and its gnashing teeth. And then it opens its mouth inhumanly wide. 

There's a tugging feeling in her chest. Like something is stuck inside her and it’s being drawn out. The pain already throbbing in her sight heightens, and black spots forming in her vision.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck NO—

The panicked hum hits a fever pitch. 

Min-Ji thrashes hard enough to dislodge it and get to her knees, before promptly swinging and catching the side of the demon’s face with the bat. It falls to the floor, disoriented. 

She doesn’t give it an opportunity to recover. 

With furious, reckless swings, she bashes the thing over the head. Again. And again. And again. She doesn’t stop until finally the creature dissolves into a fuschia, glittery smoke.

For a moment, she's just kneeling over it, chest heaving. Every fiber in her body vibrates like she's a tuning fork. Her hands shake with the force of it.

Holy shit. 

She catches abrupt movement in her periphery. Too fast for her to do anything about, she realizes in the millisecond she has to assess it.

Min-Ji is going to die. 

Something crashes into her, punching the air from her lungs as the ragged wounds in her side stretch too wide. She yelps and squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for biting or claws or ripping—

There's a feeling of being pulled in all directions at once. Cool night air. Nausea. When she opens her eyes, she's in a shadowed alleyway.

Her head spins. Min-Ji manages to get to her feet, albeit swaying, when a force pushes her back and into the concrete wall behind her. Something cold and metallic jams itself up under her chin, pressing against her throat with enough pressure to pin, but not to crush. 

The smell of incense, ozone, and burnt sugar fills her nose. As her vision clears, she sees teal hair. A too sharp smile. Blue eyes.

Mira's bat.

“If it isn’t the PA with the smart mouth,” Baby says, his voice a deep rumble against her already frayed nerves. He’s leaning against the bat lazily. Like it’s no effort to keep her trapped there.

“Manager,” she corrects, dropping as much venom into the word as she can. It only makes that smile spread wider.

“Ooo, high up on the food chain. So tell me, is Demons 101 a part of onboarding now?”

She shoves at his chest like she thinks it’ll move him. It doesn’t.

Shit shit shit shit.

Alright, new plan: stall. The girls will find her eventually. Probably.

Hopefully.

“Is Comedy 101 part of yours? Because it seems like you need remedial.”

His eyes glitter with malicious amusement.

“You wanna talk about comedy?” He presses the bat just enough to tilt her head back, smugness rising at the way she glares at him. “You trying to fight off that tiny little water demon. Now that was funny.”

Her eyes dip down to his sweater — a fuzzy monstrosity of light and hot pink stripes — and then back up to him. “Have you looked in a mirror recently?”

Baby’s eye twitches for just a fraction of a second. Then, he tips his head to the side, studying her.

“A baseball bat and a prayer? Was that seriously your grand plan?”

Min-Ji’s jaw tightens. “Worked well enough.”

He barks out a laugh, harsh and cruel.

“No, it didn’t. You would’ve been decapitated by the demon you didn’t see coming out of the water fountain if it weren’t for me. And it looks like you got sideswiped.” He leans closer, voice low and deliberate. “Seems like it’s your lucky day, manager-nim.”

Her eyes narrow.

“What, like to play with your food first?”

“Nah. Just curious why the little collared pet knows what’s really going on,” Baby says casually. “Didn’t take the hunters to be so open with their secrets.”

Celine would beg to differ.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He rolls his eyes.

“You a trainee or something? Because if you are, you suck.”

Min-Ji freezes.

“...what?”

He raises an eyebrow, unamused. He taps a single, purple nail against the bat. Tic.Tic. Tic. 

Somehow, it’s not even the implication that she sucks that gets her. It’s the implication she’d even have time to be one. 

“A manager who is also a trainee? Are you out of your fucking mind?!” she hisses, absolutely livid. “I work 18 hours days regularly, or more! I’m currently on— what time is it?”

“Eight.” 

“I’m on hour thirty-fucking-eight right now! I had to pencil in getting bingsu! Tell me, Saja Boy, when do you think I could possibly have time to have supernatural training to fight demons?!”

Baby stares at her, expression placid. It’s the most bored he’s looked the whole time. 

“Then why are you so obviously in the loop? They’ve really fallen far if they need a mortal’s help,” he scoffs.

The insult finds its mark this time. Min-Ji struggles again against the bat, kicking out at him. He sidesteps easily before pushing harder on the bat in retaliation, the pressure becoming bruising. 

Her lip curls into a snarl. Baby’s eyes fall to her mouth, as if he’s pleased with her response. But they snap immediately to the left corner. To the faint scar that she foolishly didn’t bother to cover up on this morning after Celine’s onslaught. She watches his eyes trace the thin, ragged white line, following its path until it disappears behind her lower lip.

His smug expression falters.

It’s one of her older scars. Inflicted by her mother’s hand. Her wedding ring had caught the corner of Jeong’s mouth, ripping the corner; Jeong’s teeth did the rest, biting down hard on the inside of her lip. The words that followed? Every won I bring in for you to be able to eat is a reminder of the future I lost because of you. And you dare to ask me for more? 

Jeong, age ten, had asked to go to a summer camp.

Instead of bringing her to a doctor, she was locked in her room with a first aid kit, an old towel, and some needle and thread. Her mother had told her that Jeong could fix it herself.

The memory makes her struggle harder. More desperate to escape, even if it means he'll crush her windpipe. Anything is better than remember, than being back there, than being Jeong—

Some emotion flickers across his face, there and gone so quickly that she can't discern what exactly it was.

“Got something to say?” she hisses, the hatefulness in her voice surprising even her. “I didn’t take demons to be the pitying type.”

The pressure from the bat on her throat, surprisingly, lightens.

“What’s the ward on you for?” Baby asks, his voice soft. Earnest sounding. His eyes flick down to her neck, and then back up to her.

Min-Ji blinks owlishly. 

…What?

And she almost asks him that. Why he knows that it’s there. How he can even see it when the girls have never commented on it. But then it occurs to her: is her confirming that she’s under a spiritual NDA count as breaking it? The paper said nothing about confirmation when she (stupidly) signed it. Just that speaking about Rumi’s patterns to anyone other than her or Celine would be “known and punished.” But everything about that whole situation was vague, beyond the barely veiled threats, so she’s not sure what to make of that.

If he can actually see it, well… she’s not really interested in trying her luck now.  Not answering is the only safe option she has. So her mouth clicks shut.

For a moment, neither of them speak. She expects him to get pushy about it. Angry. Get up in her face. But at her lack of answer, instead, Baby’s expression turns thoughtful. He studies her, eyes searching her face.

“It’s silence, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t dare nod. The last thing she needs is to be thrown into even hotter water with Celine when she’s already breathing down her neck over Rumi. All she can do is stare at him, face kept carefully neutral. Just in case something as simple as eye movement is enough to break it. Celine seems like the type to make it that way.

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh.

“And they call us evil.” Suddenly, he lets the bat drop, but doesn’t retreat. “Tell you what, manager-nim. This little interaction? That can stay between the two of us.” 

Min-Ji’s hand flies to her throat, rubbing. Her eyes narrow at him. “Can? Or will?”

Baby smiles, razor sharp. Like he’s pleased she caught on. “Can.”

Of course. Why wouldn’t a demon want something in exchange? There are no good demons.

“What do you want?” she rasps.

His eyes flicker from blue to gold for a moment. And when he speaks, it’s soft again, but not tender. No, he’s saying the words like he’s already won.

“A friend.”

She looks at him with blatant scorn and suspicion. “A friend?”

He shrugs lazily, smiling far too easily.

“Explain.”

His grin widens. “Can’t a guy just have a friend? Been a while since I’ve been topside.”

Oh please. She’s not that stupid. (Just the suicidal kind, apparently.)

“We both know you don’t need my help. So why?”

“Don’t I?” His voice is low, amused. “You’re in the know on everything Huntr/x. We’ve got our own managers, sure, and we knew the hunters would take the bait and come after us this evening. But in the future, it wouldn’t be bad to have a headsup. Know what they’re doing, where they’re going to be and when.”

Min-Ji levels a flat glare at him.

“Forget it.”

Baby flashes a fake pout at her. “You didn’t even hear what you’d get in exchange, Fluffy.” 

Her eyebrows draw together confused. Fluffy? Seeing the expression, he huffs, gesturing to her hair. 

“Your haircut is fluffy. Like a little Sapsaree. Got the whole evil spirit awareness and everything.”

Oh, he thinks he’s so fucking funny—

“You’ve got two options. A: I take your soul here and now. Or B: You get to walk away, and I don’t breathe a word of this to the rest of my group. You’ll be an anonymous contact. All you gotta do, Fluffy, is stay in touch with me and keep your mouth shut about it.”

“Not my name, jackass,” she hisses.

Baby leans forward, body caging her but also not quite touching her. Close enough that her skin tingles with phantom sensation. The smell of ozone and smoke floods her lungs, sweet and heady.

“Then what is it?”

Her heart jumps into her throat. Her muscles scream to fight. To bolt.

“What’s yours? I doubt it’s actually Baby.”

“I asked you first,” he hums, clearly aware of her deflection.

She presses her lips together in a thin, firm line. When she doesn’t respond, he clucks his tongue at her in disapproval.

“Friends should know each other’s names, shouldn’t they?”

Because it's either be friends with him or die. And that isn’t a choice.

Her glare sharpens.

“It’s Min-Ji.”

His eyes flash gold again, bright like coins in sunlight. An all too-pleased smile spreads on his lips.

“Min-Ji,” he says slowly, as if trying it out the feel of it on his tongue. He lets out a satisfied hum. “I got the last syllable right. Not bad.”

“And yours?” she growls, impatient with his theatrics.

“You already know mine.”

“Bullshit.”

His eye twitches again.

Ignoring her, he continues, “So what’ll it be, Min-Ji? A, or B?”

Fucking bastard.

“Alright, Baby. Let’s be friends.”

The moment the words leave her mouth, Baby’s smile becomes a grin. Foxlike. 

“Friends,” he murmurs back. Patterns like Rumi’s flicker across his suddenly blue-gray skin, flashing a deep, purple color.

There’s that tugging sensation in her chest again. For a moment, she snarls, thinking he’s just been toying with her this whole time, but relaxes (slightly) when she realizes her soul is not being torn from her body. Just being… strummed. Like she’s a string instrument. 

The anxious thrum responds. There’s a loud dissonance for a moment, before it settles out into something softer. Eerie.

Oh. Oh, she’s so fucking screwed.

As if reading her thoughts, Baby grins impossibly wider. He leans back slightly, sliding his phone out of his pocket. Before he can even offer, she snatches it from him, scowling as she types in her personal line. Because like hell is she letting him contact her on a work phone. When she's done, shoves it back at him.

The smugness radiating off him makes her think that maybe option A would’ve been much, much easier for her.

“Go down that way and to your left,” he says, tilting his head to her left, his right as he slides his phone back into his jeans. “Filming studio’s across the street.”

Min-Ji just gives him a curt nod, shuffling out from between his body and the wall.

“And a bit of advice? Since we're friends now.” Baby’s eyes flick down to her feet. “Put on some fucking shoes next time. You'll tear your feet up.”

Baby disappears into a puff of pink smoke, leaving her alone in the alley.