#ploytrix

You awoke softly, the smell of coffee pulling you from sleep. Your body felt heavy, the events of last night having wrung you out and left you feeling tired and sore for the day to come. Memories flooded your mind— the water, the kidnapping, the odd questions led by the Saja boys and the distant voice that seemed to always hover.

A tired sigh slipped past your lips. Blanket and pillow warm from your body heat, yet felt cold, like something was missing. Trixie was still by your side, her matted fur comfortably scratching at your arms as you stretched out. Instinctively reaching for the warm body next to yours.

You felt for Ruen’s long, soft hair and larger physique, but instead you were met with the cold empty sheets instead.

Slowly you sat up, eyes still heavy from sleep and tears last night and glanced around the room. He wasn’t in the bed with you, in fact he didn’t seem to be in the room period.

For a moment you laid still, sitting in the silence as you waited for Ruen to magically appear before you.

But he didn’t. And the longer you sat there the longer the silence seemed to stretch, and your chest seemed to feel tighter. Almost like you were being crushed between the feeling of being alone and yet being watched at the same time.

Ruen never left without telling you. None of them did. The three of them had a way of orbiting you, constantly at your side or at the very least in your peripheral. And after least night, you’d had expected Ruen to stay by your side the whole night, morning and possibly for the rest of your life.

And now without him, his touch, his words and eyes— the bed felt cavernous.

Your breath caught. The panic wasn’t sharp, more like a slow burn that was gradually creeping up your chest. He wouldn’t just leave you, would he?

He would.

No.

No, something must have happened to him.

You can go and search for the others and they’ll know where he is, and where he’s gone.

Because he wouldn’t leave you.

Not Ruen. Not the boy who stayed by your side since the day you’ve met. Not the man that held you every time you’ve felt down and whispered soothing words to you when you needed it.

He would never do that to you.

And yet he’s not here.

Is he?

Your finger tightened in the sheets, that voice curling through her thoughts like smoke she couldn’t help but breathe in. Maybe he had finally grown tired of you. Maybe he realized after yesterday that you just slowed them down. That you were a burden for them to carry. Your heart hammered in your chest as you scanned the room again, as if you had magically over looked him. Like he was just hiding in the corner like some weird darkling.

But there was still no one.

Just the silence.

Just that weird voice in the back of your head.

Until—

The door creaked open.

And Ruen stepped inside. He was dressed sharp in black, styled and polished for the day, he looked like he’d stepped out of an American spy’s movie. The instant your eyes met his, the tension in your body gave way. Shoulders slumping as if you’d been tense for the entire night.

Ruen sent you a soft smile once he saw you still laid in his bed. Your pretty hair all tangle from the night and eyes sticky from sleep.

His brows furrowed, reading the dispersed panic that was slowly fading from your face. “Are you alright?” He asked, your name flowing softly from his lips.

You didn’t answer right away. You just pulled the covers closer towards your body, wrapping yourself in the warm blankets and easing the last of your worry’s as you swam in Ruens beautiful gaze. It would have been ridiculous to have told him that you were panicking because you thought he’d have left you.

What a silly thought.

So you didn’t answer him, instead you redirected the conversation to something new. “Where are going?” Nodding down at his dark turtleneck and trousers.

He came to your side, taking long strides to met you. “We’ve got an interview this morning. Promotion for our new song.” His tone was calm but edged with something firmer, like he was bracing himself for you to push back. Like how you forced yourself into coming with to the game show with them yesterday. “It won’t take long. An hour—maybe two—tops.”

You pulled at the sheets, twisting them as you thought over what he’d just said. “And you want me to stay here?” You asked already knowing the answer.

“Yes.” His eyes locked with yours, firm and final. “Stay inside. Don’t open the door. Don’t step outside, not even for a second.” His voice dropped, low enough to make your skin prickle. “If the saja boys catch you alone, again…” Ruen didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.

You nodded your head. “I’ll stay.”

Relief flickered across his features, so quick you almost missed it. He leaned in, his lips meeting your temple with a calming warmth. “Good. Eat the breakfast Miran made for you. And—“ He hesitated, leaning back so that he could look you in the eyes before saying it: “I love you.”

Your throat tightened, “…I love you, too.”

Miran then appeared in the doorway next, breaking the soft moment between you and Ruen. His shirt was half-buttoned, and sleeves pulled up around his forearms. He flashed you a quick smile. “Don’t let him get in your pretty head. It’s just a quick interview, we should be back by lunchtime. Stay put, alright?” He then blew you a quick kiss before making his way towards the elevator. “Love you.”

Zio slipped by soon after, tugging on a sharp blazer as he peeked into the bedroom. He didn’t say much— which was surprising as is— but he did give you a bright smile as his eyes lingered on you fondly for a moment. “We’ll be back soon. Love you.” And then he disappeared, his voice echoing through the halls as he trailed after his fellow pinkette member.

Ruen let out a soft sigh, his hand brushing your own as he reluctantly turned to follow after the others. “I promise that we will be back soon.” He slowly pulled his hand from yours. “Just stay inside… please.”

“Okay.”

He smiled at you, his eyes tracing every inch of your face. He then quickly leaned back down towards you, placing another kiss to the top of your head. “Okay.” He said rather quickly, his ears turning a light shade of pink. “Goodbye.”

You waved at him, watching as he disappeared completely from sight. One by one, they had left, their voices ringing through the halls before the elevator finally shut.

The silence that followed was deafening.

You pulled your knees up towards your chest,wrapping your arms around them. Listening to the stillness of the apartment. They would only be gone an hour. Two, at most. You told yourself that it was nothing. That they would be fine.

That you would be fine.

But the quiet pressed against you like a weight, and no matter how tight you hugged yourself, it didn’t shake the feeling that something— or someone— was already waiting for the moment you were truly alone.

Or maybe you were just so used to the boys being around. And having been loved so loudly, so relentlessly, that the quiet without them feels unbearable.

At first, you told yourself that you liked the quiet. That it was nice, even, to have the place all to yourself after days of constant noise and affection. But as the hours slipped by, the quiet began to grow teeth. Sinking deep into both your mind and body.

You started to hear the hum of the refrigerator, the faint ticking of the clock, the hollow echo of your own breath— and beneath it all something else scratched at your brain. A pulse. That same whisper that had haunted you for the past two days.

You shifted on the couch, patience thinning with every passing minute as the hours dragged by. They’d said they would only be gone for an hour— two at most— but lunchtime had come and gone, and still, no sign of them. The faint scent of breakfast they’d made lingered in the air, now cold and distant, a quiet reminder of their absence. You stared toward the door, wondering where they could be at this hour and why the silence felt so heavy without them.

They’ll be back soon, you told yourself for what felt like the hundredth time this afternoon. You weren’t angry at them. Not really. It wasn’t like them to vanish without a word, and you knew they probably had a reason for their absence.

Still, they would have at least texted you that they were going to be a bit late.

You glanced around the spacious living room, trying to find something to occupy your mind before you inevitably lose it. You could read for a while; but none of the books on the shelf piqued your interest. Maybe you could go down to the studio and try to work on your music? No. You weren’t feeling it, mind too wrapped around the Sajas and your own boys to try and write anything new.

A groan passed your lips, fingers coming up to rub at your tired eyes. You didn’t realize how loud the boys were until now. How they would just so effortlessly insert themselves into what you were doing that you didn’t feel how weird it was with them gone.

And yet, you’ve never felt like they were missing before today.

You’ve always found ways to entertain yourself when they were off being idols and you would relish in the quiet atmosphere for a few hours without them. So why is it now that everything feels so off?

It could be that you simply missed them. Missing the way Zio would always offer you his snacks before he even sat down even though he was hungry from the long day. Missed how Miran would hum to their latest songs, trying to find ways for you to dance with him for his choreography inspiration. And you even missed Ruen and how he always liked to hold you, to feel your body against his. Touching whatever you allowed with a wide smile on his face.

And maybe you did miss them, and you were just realizing that, or maybe why you were pent up from everything was because you were afraid to be alone with yourself.

Alone with that voice.

After the boys had left it seemed to crawl out of hiding, nagging at you when you would try to relax. It also brought back your headache; not as violent as the one during the Saja boys' debut but it still hurt.

It honestly felt like someone was playing tic-tac-toe on the base of your skull with a hot iron.

You took a few pills to try and ease the pain that ebbed— okay you actually took a lot of pills but that doesn’t necessarily matter.

You waited for the full haze of relief to come, staring at the ceiling like it might swallow you whole. But it didn’t come. The ache didn’t fade, it continued to pulse; deep and rhythmic like your skull was beating against itself.

Every throb carried that same sickly hum, the faint whisper in the back of your mind pressing closer.

You pressed the heel of your hand to your forehead, taking slow breaths through your nose. “Stop,” you muttered, as if it would help. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take one more pill.

You tried standing, pacing the living room, doing anything to keep from hearing everything. The wind against the windows, the creak of a door hinge. The soft ring in your ears that filled the space where laughter should’ve been.

You caught yourself thinking about the boys again, how they would so easily fill the silence. And now? There was just you. And the quiet.

The pain throbbed again, this time a little harder.

You lasted another ten minutes before the walls started to feel too close. Every sound from the apartment was clawing at your nerves. It was like being trapped inside your own head, and the longer you sat there, the louder it became.

“Just, stop.” You muttered, half to yourself half to it. But the quiet didn’t listen. It never did.

A glance toward the clock made your chest tighten. They’d been gone for hours now. Five? Six? You’d stopped counting after lunch, convincing yourself that the ticking wasn’t mocking you.

You needed out. Fresh air, fresh noise; anything that wasn’t this suffocating silence.

Your eyes flicked toward the door. The boys had told you to stay inside, to lock the doors, to wait. They’d said it so carefully, so seriously, that it almost felt like a promise. But the longer you stared at the door, the less you cared about promises.

You grabbed your jacket, stuffed your keys into your pocket, and slipped on your shoes.

Just a quick trip, you told yourself. You weren’t running away. You just needed to breathe.

The bathhouse wasn’t far — and maybe if you were lucky, you could soak the headache out of your skull and forget how the apartment still felt like it was watching you.

You sank deeper into the warm water, letting the heat seep into your tired muscles. Fingers traced idle patterns along the surface, the soft ripple of the bath a comforting rhythm.

The water lapped gently against your skin, glowing faintly from the lights above. For the first time all day, your shoulders sank beneath the surface, muscles uncoiling in the heat.

It was quiet here— peaceful quiet, not like the kind that clawed at you in the apartment. The faint splash of water, the whisper of the wind outside the thin walls. It all melted together into something steady, something you could finally breathe through.

You leaned your head back against the edge of the bath, eyes fluttering shut. The heat pulsed through your veins, dulling the ache behind your eyes, and for a moment, you let yourself drift.

The quiet was almost hypnotic, the water lapping gently against the sides of the tub. For a brief second, the world felt distant — no Saja boys, no demons, no pressure — just warmth and the faint scent of steam and lavender. Your chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the tension in your shoulders softened.

“Y’know,” a familiar voice drawled, rich with amusement, “not a lot of people return to the scene of the crime…”

You yelped, splashing upright, water sloshing over the rim as you spun toward the sound.

Romance leaned lazily against the doorframe, a towel slung low around his hips, hair styled in that perfected heart shape of his. Steam curled around his ankles,

“… but I guess you’re not like most people are you, sweetheart?” He finished, voice smooth and playful.

You sank deep into the water, hiding your nude body beneath the soft ripples. “What are you doing here?” You managed to ask, back pressed against the wall as he began to wander towards you.

Romance tilted his head, his grin softening into a fond smile. “Thought I’d try this whole spa thing,” he said easily. “They talk about it like it’s heaven on earth, and, well…” His tone dropped, the edge of his laugh curling around it. “I’ve spent so long down stairs. I figured I’d see what all the hype was about.”

And in one fluid motion, he loosened the towel from his waist and stepped into the water across from you. You averted your eyes, refusing to make contact with it.

You scooted back instinctively, the wall digging into you as romance settled into the water.

Romance watched you with an amusing glint in his eyes. “What’s the matter?” he teased softly, lowering himself into the water until only his shoulders and the faint shimmer of a smirk were visible. “You act like you’ve never shared a bath before.”

You glared, though your pulse gave you away. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Probably not,” he agreed, leaning back against the edge of the tub like he owned the place. “But then again, neither should you.” His gaze flicked over you, sharp for just a second before it softened again — lazy, half-lidded, playful. “Besides, you ran off before we could finish our conversation.”

“What conversation?”

“The one about you,” he said simply, the teasing in his tone thinning into something quieter. “And what you are.”

“I didn’t run away,” you argued, arms crossing over your chest as you caught his eyes wandering a bit lower. “You ran off right after you through me in the men’s bathwater with a water demon.”

Romance raised his hands in mock surrender, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“In our defense,” he drawled, “we didn’t know he was going to do that.” His grin widened, sharp but easy. “Abby’s all muscle and no brain. He acts first and thinks about it maybe a week later.”

He shifted a little closer in the water, ripples brushing against your skin. “If it makes you feel better,” he added, eyes flicking up to meet yours again, “I did tell him it was a bad idea.”

You arched a brow. “Before or after he threw me?”

Romance’s smirk deepened. “Does it matter?”

You huffed, sinking a little deeper into the steaming water, hoping the ripples would swallow your irritation or maybe your embarrassment. Romance didn’t seem to notice either. He draped one arm along the edge of the tub behind you, relaxed but close enough that the air between you felt charged.

Romance hummed, eyes flicking around the room before settling back on you. “You really are something else,” he said finally, tone light but edged with disbelief. “Most people would’ve burned this place to the ground before stepping foot in it again.”

You glanced at him, unimpressed. “Guess I’m not most people.”

“That much is obvious.” His grin returned, lazy and crooked, but his gaze lingered longer than it should’ve — not predatory, just searching. “You’ve got that look; like your mind’s miles away, even when you’re trapped right in front of me.”

You frowned. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Romance tilted his head, his voice lowering to a murmur that brushed against your ear. “It’s a curiosity.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence heavy except for the faint sound of the bath water lapping against porcelain. His gaze lingered, not on your body, but on your face, the tension around your mouth, the way your hands fidgeted under the surface.

“Tell me, pretty hunter,” he said finally, tone playful but threaded with something deeper, darker. “Ever feel like there’s something in your head that doesn’t belong to you? A whisper you can’t quite catch?”

You turned to look at him, startled, but Romance just smiled wider, all dimples and danger. “Just curious,” he added lightly. “You don’t seem like the type to scare easy.”

He leaned closer, voice dropping again, softer this time. “And I like that about you.”

“Tell me something,” he said after a beat, voice dipping lower, the steam curling around him like smoke. “You ever actually try to use it?”

You didn’t meet his eyes, “What do you think?”

He smiled faintly, like you’d just confirmed everything he wanted to hear. “I think you’ve tried. I think you’ve been chasing it without even realizing it.” His gaze traced the way your fingers tightened around the edge of the tub. “The thing inside you — that little spark everyone’s whispering about. You can feel it, can’t you? The way it hums under your skin.”

“Sure you don’t,” he said easily, leaning back against the edge of the tub. “Humor me, then. You’ve never tried to force it out? A fight, maybe? Adrenaline’s good for pulling power to the surface. Or maybe you went the other route: meditation, peace, incense, all that boring crap.” His grin widened. “Or séances— those are always fun. You ever sit in the dark and call to whatever’s sleeping inside you?”

You turned away, pulse quickening. “That’s not how it works.”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming faintly red beneath the haze. “No?” A pause. “Then maybe you just haven’t tried the right trigger yet.” His voice dropped, soft and dangerous. “Sometimes it takes something… bigger. Life or death.”

The words landed heavy, curling in your chest like smoke. You weren’t sure if it was a warning or a promise. And you weren’t sure which one scared you more.

“Life or death?” you echoed, trying to sound dismissive, but it came out softer than you intended.

Romance leaned back against the tile, his voice low, smooth, almost too calm for what he was saying, though he didn’t seem to care. “Mm. It’s usually how these things work, sweetheart. Pressure cracks something open. Fear, pain, survival — all that primal stuff that makes your blood sing.”

He looked at you with an almost lazy kind of fascination, but there was something sharp underneath it. “You can’t wake up something ancient by playing it safe. Maybe you’ve just never been close enough to dying.”

You frowned. “That’s a little grim, don’t you think?”

His grin returned, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Not grim. Honest.” He tilted his head, studying you like he could peel away every lie with a glance. “You’ve felt it, haven’t you? That rush when everything in you screams that this might be it. The edge between living and not. That’s when truth shows itself.”

You shifted, the water rippling around you. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“I have.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but the way he said it carried something darker. “I’ve seen people fall apart trying to control power like yours. Most don’t survive it.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours again, steady and too intense. “But you… you might. You’ve got this pull to you. Makes me want to see how far you’ll go before you break.”

You swallowed hard, pulse jumping. “You really think I’d let you test that?”

Romance chuckled under his breath, pushing away from the wall to stand. Water ran down his chest in lazy trails, as he climbed out of the bath. “I think you’d surprise me,” he said softly, almost to himself. “You already have.”

You immediately covered your eyes, instinctively shrinking back, trying to ignore the distinct sound of him standing. Water dripping, skin moving — and the vivid mental image that came with it. You’d fought demons before, but this? This required an entirely different kind of willpower.

He chuckled softly, the sound echoing lightly in the steam-filled room. “Relax,” he said, voice low. “I’m not going to make this harder than it already is.”

He reached for a towel from the nearby stack and held it up like a shield, turning away from you completely. His eyes stayed closed as he positioned it so you could slip out of the bath and wrap yourself without worry.

You hesitated for only a moment before sliding out, water dripping onto the tile, grateful for the barrier he’d made. Romance stayed turned, towel in hand, a quiet presence behind you; protective, teasing, and impossibly unnerving all at once.

You wrapped the towel tightly around yourself and gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” you said softly.

Romance simply nodded, still turned away from you, his towel held up just enough to give you privacy. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice calm, almost casual, though the warmth behind it lingered.

You lingered for a moment, feeling the awkward tension of the bath fade slightly, both of you aware of the closeness but not needing to speak further.

Romance carefully wrapped the towel fully around his waist, securing it as he stepped back to give you space. He moved toward the doorway with a slow, deliberate ease, glancing over his shoulder with that same unreadable grin.

“Life or death, sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice carrying that dangerous, teasing edge. “You’ll figure it out sooner or later. Guess I’m just hoping I get to watch.”

With that, he slipped out, leaving the door closed behind him. The warm steam swirled around you as silence settled in again, and you couldn’t tell if your pulse was from relief, frustration, or something far more complicated.

You left the bathhouse still feeling the heat of the water clinging to your skin or maybe that was just the echo of Romance’s words replaying in your head. Life or death, sweetheart. You couldn’t tell which part haunted you more: the theory itself or the fact that he’d said it naked and unbothered, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Your cheeks burned as you walked, the cool evening air doing little to calm the rush of embarrassment and confusion tangled in your chest. You kept telling yourself to stop thinking about it, to stop picturing the steam curling around his shoulders, the glint in his eyes when he’d said your name—

God! Stop thinking about that!

Every step home felt heavy, your thoughts looping in dizzy circles. What did he even mean by that? Life or death? That you could only summon your powers when you were about to die? That it wasn’t strength or skill, just… desperation?

You scoffed under your breath. “That’s stupid,” you muttered to no one, your voice bouncing faintly off the darkened street. “I don’t need to nearly die to be useful.”

But even as you said it, the doubt crawled up your throat. What if he was right? What if all the training, all the meditation, all the endless hours trying to feel something inside you were pointless? What if it really did come down to that single, terrible edge — the space between a heartbeat and its last?

You thought back to the fight at the bathhouse, the water burning your lungs, the demon’s claws dragging you under— That was nearly life or death. And yet nothing surged out of you besides all the water you had swallowed.

You shuddered, shaking the memory off. “No,” you whispered. “That was different. That was—”

Honest, his voice said in your head. Not grim. Honest.

You flinched at how easily you could still hear him, low and smooth, like he was walking right beside you.

“God, get out of my head,” you mumbled, rubbing at your temple. Your headache had dulled but not disappeared. The streets were quiet, too quiet, and the silence pressed against your ears until you swore you could hear your own heartbeat.

You glanced around. Empty. Not a single car passed, not even a stray cat cutting through the alleyways. Just you, your thoughts, and that one damn sentence.

Life or death.

You were so caught up in it that you didn’t notice the shadow moving behind you.

Didn’t notice the low, throaty growl.

Didn’t even realize you were in danger until the pavement rushed up to meet you—

Your shoulder hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath right out of you. The world spun, a blur of streetlights and shadows, before the weight on top of you registered; cold hands, claws biting into your throat. A growl rumbled low and wet against your ear, thick with hunger.

You gasped, clawing at its wrist as it pressed you down. The demon’s breath was foul and hot, dripping against your skin as it leaned closer. Its eyes gleamed red, veins crawling like black ink beneath the surface of its skin.

You kicked hard, catching it in the ribs, and scrambled to your feet. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you reached for your weapons, but your Sais were gone, flung into the shadows when you fell.

The demon lunged again. You barely dodged, feeling the heat of its claws graze your arm. The burn was instant, sharp enough to make your eyes water. You stumbled backward, keeping your stance low like Celine always told you. But your muscles trembled; the adrenaline was running too fast, too hot.

When it charged, you twisted to the side and slammed your elbow into its snout. The sound was sickening. It reeled, shrieking, but it wasn’t enough. Its claws caught you across the stomach as it swung wildly, the pain slicing clean and deep. You fell to your knees, blood hot and slick under your palm.

“Get up,” you breathed, choking on the word. “Get up.”

But your body didn’t want to move. The world tilted, narrowing into flashes — your heartbeat, the gleam of its teeth, the way your blood pooled dark against the pavement. The demon loomed closer, chest heaving, eyes bright with hunger.

You reached for your Sais again, and somehow, one was in your hand. You didn’t remember grabbing it. You didn’t remember moving at all.

“Come on,” you whispered, lifting it weakly as the demon lunged again. You stabbed — once, twice — but the blade barely sank into its skin. It laughed, a horrible, wet sound that made your ears ring.

You could feel it then. The panic, the helplessness. The raw, cold edge of fear that sat right between living and dying.

Life or death, sweetheart.

The words slammed through your head like a command.

It lunged again, faster this time. Its claw slashed toward your face, sharp enough to tear. You flinched, barely deflecting it with your torearm, but the strength behind it sent a shock up your arm. Instinctively, you pressed your palm against its wrist as it came down, gripping tight.

Pain shot up your arm, white-hot, and a sizzling heat spread from your hand into the demon's flesh. It shrieked, an unearthly sound, thrashing as if burned from within.

Sparks of light flickered along its veins, crawling across its body, turning red and black to molten gold.

And then nothing.

You staggered back, trembling, tasting blood and ash in your mouth, staring at the empty street where it had stood. Your chest heaved, and for a long moment, the only sound was your own ragged breathing.

The air around you felt heavier, charged, like the world itself was holding its breath in the aftermath of what had just happened.

Not dead — gone. Like it had been swallowed whole by the air itself.

It was gone. Completely gone.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching your side, your heartbeat slamming against your ribs. The realization hit harder than the pain.

You stared at your trembling hands, the world ringing in your ears. Smoke curled off your fingertips. The blood still dripped, but the wound didn’t hurt anymore.

At least you didn't think it hurt.

The last thing you felt before darkness pulled you under was the faint, lingering warmth where the demon had been and the sound of your own heart, still beating.

Life or death.

Romance had been right.

It wasn’t training or focus or willpower. It was survival.

And tonight, you’d finally proved it.

A/a/n: Ok I just want to say, Romance was not trying to be creepy or anything like that when he went to the bathhouse. He just used the moment to trap her with him since she was vulnerable and wasn't going to flash him by trying to run. So here only did that so they could talk. And also I feel like I'm making her very pick me, but I promise I'm not, she is just not right in the head right now, and is low-key struggling mentally.

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