#reverse harem

You wake up every morning feeling… better. But it doesn’t make sense. Because during the day, you feel sick. Nauseous. Lightheaded.

Your skin prickles like you’re wearing clothes that don’t belong to you. Sometimes you forget where you are mid-thought. Your body feels too heavy for this life.

But at night?

You sleep deeply. Without nightmares. Without fear.

It started the day you ran from them.

And you don’t understand it. You’ve done nothing different. No medicine works during the day. But when the sun sets… Your body calms. Your breathing evens out. You feel—safe.

You tell yourself it’s just exhaustion. You don’t know that each night, one of them watches over you.

Sometimes it’s Mystery, curled up outside your window, nose pressed to the glass like a loyal animal waiting to be let inside. He never scratches. Just listens for your breathing to steady—then smiles softly in the dark.

Sometimes it’s Romance, leaving rose petals beneath your balcony, humming one of the songs he swore he wrote just for you. The same one you’ve caught yourself humming without realizing.

Sometimes it’s Jinu—who, when your fever spikes, slips silently into your room just to stand near you until the bond calms. He never moves. Never speaks. Just watches you with reverence and restraint, fists clenched tight to keep himself from reaching for you.

And sometimes—only sometimes—it’s Baby. Not close. Just nearby. Leaning against the wall across the street. Eyes glowing faintly under his hood. Unmoving.

Watching.

They never touch you. Only witness. Only ache.

Your light. Their everything.

They hate to feel your suffering during the day—a consequence of the bond forming without proximity. But they hope that this pain you carry is what drives you toward them.

Because every night, you sleep because they’re there. And you don’t even know it.

You wake up on a Wednesday, feeling well rested—though you know that won’t last long. It never does. You sit on your counter, chewing breakfast slowly, staring off at nothing. Your eyes drift to the shelf.

Romance’s book.

It’s been sitting there for days. Untouched. Daring.

You don’t want to admit you’re curious. But your hand moves anyway. “How did he even know I wanted to read this?” You mutter around a mouthful of bread.

You waddle to the couch and crack it open. Your heart’s not ready, but you flip through the pages. And then—

You freeze.

A passage, underlined in neat black ink:

“Love that spans lifetimes is never gentle. It devours slowly.”

Your breath catches.

The creeping feeling in your chest tightens. Longing. Yearning. You don’t even know for what.

Nope.

You slam the book shut.

Not today.

You work overtime at the café the next few days, thinking you’ll outrun whatever this is. But the nights remain the same. Each one of them leaves something. A new sketchbook on your doorstep, the paper thick and expensive, with a note from Mystery:

“For when you draw us again.”

You haven’t seen him. But your heart races every time you hear footsteps outside. You swear you hear purring through the window once, but shake it off.

The day after, you come home late, too tired to even stand. You drop your bag. Your stomach growls. But your apartment smells like miso and spice. Your favorite ramen sits warm on the stove. No signs of forced entry. No windows broken. Your locks were fine. You tell yourself you must’ve made it before and forgot. You try not to look at the empty bowl already set out for you.

After that, it becomes a pattern.

Groceries show up on your doorstep. Snacks you forgot you liked. Drinks you told no one about. Sometimes a sticky note:

“Don’t skip meals, brat.” (You know it’s from Abby. You roll your eyes… and smile.)

They don’t push. But they never leave.

Letters. Tickets. Handwritten invitations. Concerts. Fanmeets. Award shows. You never go. But you read them all.

The private session ticket with your name in looping calligraphy stays on your desk. You’ve moved it twelve times. You’ve never thrown it away.

Then, on Friday of the next week, comes a final envelope.

No ticket.

No flower.

Just a single sheet of paper, torn at the edges. The ink slightly smudged like someone had been holding it for too long before sealing it. You unfold it slowly.

‘You don’t have to believe us.Just let us prove it.’—J

You sit back on your couch. Everything aches. You’re tired. Dizzy. Burning with fever in the afternoon, freezing by night. It’s getting harder to deny what’s happening. You keep telling yourself it’s a prank. A stunt. A delusion.

They’re famous. Rich. Beautiful. They have no reason to want you.

You met them once.

But the bond doesn’t care about logic. The bond wants what it wants. And as you stare at that letter in your trembling hands… You start to wonder if maybe—just maybe— you want them too.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

By Sunday, you’re fed up from feeling so sick and decide to go and buy new medicines. You’re pale. Shivering. Oblivious to the way demons on the street stop in their tracks when they see you.

One begins to follow you.

From the shadows, Rumi, Zoey, and Mira spot it.

“Target marked,” Zoey whispers.

“No incident,” Rumi replies. “Quiet takedown.”

They move in—silent, lethal. Weapons at the ready.

But then the demon sees your face.

It freezes.

Eyes wide. It backs away, trembling, then flees like it’s seen a god. You never notice. You’re inside buying Tylenol.

The girls stare after you.

“What the hell?” Rumi questions, watching as the other demons in the area back off and run somewhere else.

“That’s… not normal,” Mira mutters.

“Is it her?” Zoey questions, watching your sick form drop a vitamin jelly and curse pathetically. Pity erupts in her chest. “She seems pretty normal to me…”

“Something’s off.” Rumi states, analyzing you. You seemed like a very normal person. No markings whatsoever. Why did they flee? “Maybe we should look into it a bit more..?”

“We can run a background check.” Mira suggests. “Though it’ll just be for precaution. We shouldn’t- ZOEY?”

The rapper of the group was slowly walking towards you with the intent of engaging in conversation. 

The fluorescent lights above hum louder than usual.

Your head is pounding. Your limbs feel like lead. Every movement takes just a little more effort than it should.

You shuffle toward the over-the-counter shelf, fingers grazing through boxes of headache meds and nausea tablets. You’ve been here too many times this week.

“You okay? You look like the flu’s winning.”

The voice is light, teasing, warm.

You glance sideways and nearly drop your medicines again. Cool. Effortlessly pretty. The kind of girl who belongs on your feed—not in front of you, talking like you’re friends.

You know her face. You’ve seen her before. Not in person. But in clips. In edits. She’s Zoey—one of the girls from Huntrix.

“Sorry,” she says, flashing an easy grin. “Didn’t mean to startle you. You looked like I did last week when I thought I had the plague but it was just anxiety and kombucha withdrawals.”

You nod stiffly. Your throat is dry. “Yeah. I’ve just… been off…sorry, you’re Zoey, right? As in from Huntrix?”

She giggles nervously. “Yeah, I just need to grab a few things too.” She steps closer to the shelves. Casually, like she’s just browsing. “Cold stuff’s over there, but if it’s more like… migraines or vertigo? These work way faster.” She taps a pack of fast-acting tablets and hands them to you.

You take them without thinking, a little starstruck. “Thanks.”

She studies you—not overtly. But it’s there. Her eyes linger too long on your face. “No problem! I hope you feel better! Uh... I, sorry I didn’t get your name-”

“Y/N” you nodded with a nervous smile. 

“Great to meet you, Y/N! Maybe when you feel better we could hang out sometime. Get your instagram?”

You stammered, mouth gaping then closing. What was with all these pop stars approaching you as of late? “Uh, yeah, sure…” You said blinking. You were too sick for this. Why did you have to meet one of the most famous people in the country now when you looked this shitty? And she wanted your instagram? Is this real life?

You told her your instagram handle and she smiled. “Awesome! Well, I hope you feel better.” she started to walk away and you raised an eyebrow. “Uh… weren’t you supposed to get something?” 

Zoey turned red and laughed nervously. “Oh- right! Silly me. My memory is so bad. Thanks for reminding me!” 

You nodded, still a bit shocked at this whole encounter and went to pay for your medicine. 

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The next day, You see a clip on TikTok. It was the Saja Boys at a fanmeet. Laughing with the Huntrix girls, though the girls seemed less enthusiastic. You scroll through more of your feed and stop when you see an image.

It was Jinu and Rumi playing footsies.

You feel a pang in your heart and scroll on.

Zoey playfully hitting Mystery and his little pout after that.

Romance and Abby fanart with Mira.

"Miromabby is real!"

"Zoestery supremacy."

"Rujinu playing footsies? They’re the cutest!"

Your stomach drops.

You turn your phone off. Then on. Then off again.

“They’re not mine,” you whisper to convince yourself. “They were never mine.” You feel yourself getting weaker. A sinking feeling in your gut. It’s unexplainable. You were the one avoiding all of the boys and their madness. Why would something like this upset you? You were the one rejecting their invites.

And then something just breaks.

The next weekend, your coworkers drag you out. They mean well. You look like you haven’t slept in days, and so when one of the girls invited you to come out with them after work on a Saturday, you accept. 

They take you to a club. Loud music. Glittering lights. Free drinks. You tell yourself you deserve it.

But deep down, you feel wrong. Like you’re doing something unforgivable.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The boys are in their studio, practicing choreo for an upcoming show when Mystery jolts upright mid-step. His head whips toward the door. His pupils dilate. And then—

He growls. Low. Deep. Animal.

They freeze.

Romance is the first to stop moving, lips parting as he slowly lowers his mic. Abby drops into a ready stance like he’s about to charge into something. “What? What is it? What is she feeling now?”

He’s been on edge for days. Every time Mystery whimpers about your nausea or fever, he paces like a caged beast. Every time your scent spikes with sadness, he throws something across the room. It’s taken both Jinu and Baby to restrain him—twice this week alone. Once when Mystery said you slipped in the shower. Another when your heart rate flatlined in fear while walking home alone. He hasn’t stopped shaking since.

“Tell me,” Abby grits. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Mystery’s hands twitch. “She’s not alone.”

Romance is already unlocking his phone, screen flipping up to your page—he checks it a hundred times a day. Sometimes a thousand. He breathes in sharply.

“She posted. Or—no, someone tagged her.”

A nightclub. Low lighting. Your smile—nervous. Shy. And then—other men.

Hands brushing your waist. A stranger whispering in your ear. Your head tilting back in a laugh that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

The phone screen burns in Romance’s hand. His smirk dies. “Is that her?” he asks. But he already knows the answer.

Abby doesn’t bother replying. He rips the phone from Romance’s grip and snarls, muscles tensing beneath his shirt as he glares at the video. “Who the fuck are those guys?” he growls, loud enough to shake the chandelier above. “Why is he touching her? Why is she letting—”

A teacup shatters.

Baby hadn’t moved. But his hand had clenched just enough to crush the porcelain in his grip. He stands at the edge of the room, statue-still. His pupils blown wide, pitch black. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. His breathing is slow—too slow—as he watches the clip loop.

He’s memorizing the men’s faces. So he knows who to kill first.

Mystery lets out a sound—not human. It rips from his throat like a guttural whine and a growl, high-pitched and wet. His claws are out, twitching. 

“She’s letting strangers touch her,” Baby says softly. But it’s not soft. It’s dangerous.

Romance’s voice is velvet-wrapped venom. He’s smiling again, but the smile is hollow—like a cracked mask. “She’s trying to forget us,” he murmurs. “Trying to pretend she doesn’t belong to us.” His voice dips. “It won’t work.”

There’s a snap. A shift. Something ancient uncoils in the room. The temperature drops. Power hums in the air like static before a storm.

And then—they move. No plan. No hesitation. No words. Just instinct. Baby’s already calling Jinu. The leader’s in a meeting—still gathering intelligence on Rumi, on the Hunters, on the fragile balance between war and reunion.

The phone rings once. “Yes?” Jinu’s voice is curt, sharp with authority.

“She’s at the club,” Baby says calmly.

Jinu doesn’t respond at first. There’s the sound of footsteps. A tiger’s whine. Then Baby adds, like a bullet to the heart:

“Men are touching her.”

The phone crackles. Not with sound, but with energy. Dark, feral, electric. Baby can feel the shift through the line. Something old stirs. Something broken. Then—

Jinu’s voice returns. But it’s not Jinu.

It’s the voice of the thing that crawled to Gwi Ma 400 years ago, begging to bring you back. It’s older. Colder. Hungrier.

“Where is she?”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

You're tipsy. Laughing. Warm. The club pulses like a heartbeat beneath your skin—bass thudding through your ribs, lights smearing color over your vision. You haven’t felt this loose in ages. Not since university. Not since before the dreams started. Before the headaches. Before the boys.

Your coworkers sway around you, drunk and shouting. One of them pours you another shot. You take it. You let it burn. It’s easier to blame the sick feeling in your chest on the alcohol now. Easier than admitting that you’ve been haunted.

You don’t notice the guy your friends brought getting too close. Not at first. He presses against your back under the excuse of helping you keep balance. His hand slides to your waist. You laugh it off. You don’t want to make a scene.

Another drink. Another dizzy smile. Another moment where you forget who you are. “Come on,” he says, too close to your ear. “Let me walk you home.”

You nod. You shouldn’t have.

He throws his jacket over your shoulders like it’s a favor. Wraps an arm around you. Guides you through the club’s glowing mouth into the alley beside it.

The world tilts sideways. Your pulse buzzes against your skull. And then—you round the corner.

And they're there.

Five shadows cut from the dark like carved obsidian. They don’t speak. They don’t have to. Your breath hitches in your throat. The bond snaps into place like a noose and for the first time all night—you can breathe. The ache behind your eyes disappears. Your limbs go steady. Your nausea evaporates. And even in your drunken haze, you know it’s because of them.

The boys who haunt your dreams. The demons who ruin your peace. The monsters who feel like home.

Abby moves first. He doesn’t speak to you. His full, furious attention is on the man still touching you. “Touch her again,” Abby growls, voice low and venomous, “and I’ll shatter every bone in your body.”

Romance steps into view, golden eyes gleaming like firelight. He tsks, slow and mocking. “Naughty girl,” he murmurs, eyes trailing down your body like he’s savoring the view of you in your dress. “Out here, letting strangers paw at what isn’t theirs.”

His gaze lingers on your thighs. The hem of your dress. Your dazed expression. You see the muscle in his jaw twitch. “She forgot us,” he says with a small, cruel smile. “So she let herself be touched.”

Romance leans in with a sickly sweet smile aimed at the guy by your side. “She’s not yours to protect,” he whispers. “So if you would so kindly… fuck off.”

The guy squares his shoulders. “Who the hell do you think—” His voice dies the moment his eyes land on the figure behind them all.

Baby.

Still. Silent. Watching. His pupils are blown wide, pitch black. Shadows crawl up his arms like smoke.

The guy’s bravado crumples. “Hey, hey—I didn’t know she was spoken for…” He stumbles back. Your balance wavers. 

Mystery darts forward, catching you in his arms like you were made to fit there. He buries his nose in your neck with a shaky inhale. Like it's the only thing in the entire world that could calm him down. You don’t push him away.

“Y/N? You know these guys?” your friend calls weakly.

“Uh huh,” you mumble. Your voice is slurred, but you don’t miss how Romance is staring—burning holes through your clothes. Your spine prickles. He rakes his eyes over you slowly, like memorizing every inch. You remember the way he said you belonged to him. And for a second, you want to.

Abby moves closer again, jaw tense. His eyes flick from your dazed expression to the guy who dared to touch you earlier. He sees red.

“Take care of him,” Baby says, the words barely audible—but they’re a death sentence. Abby cracks his knuckles.

“With pleasure.”

“Don’t look, baby,” Mystery whispers into your ear. You shiver. His voice is soft, but it carries heat. Danger. Something low coils in your stomach, and lower still. His hands tighten around your waist and you melt. You don’t even notice the scream behind you.

“You came,” you slur, eyes glossy. “I… feel better now…”

“Is that so, princess?” Romance frowns, stepping closer. He tilts your chin with two fingers. The bond flares. A moan slips from his throat before he can stop it. His eyes fall lower—to the swell of your chest in that too-short dress.

“Did you wear this for them?” He asks through gritted teeth. “For all those men to see you like this?”

His jaw tenses. His hands twitch. Mystery’s fingers dig into your hips and you gasp. It’s too much. You whimper. And it breaks something in all of them.

Romance yanks his hand back like he’s been burned, turning away with a curse. Marks rise on his skin, glowing faintly. You don’t even notice.

But then—

Jinu steps from the shadows. His gaze is ice. Piercing. Regal. He spares no glance for the man Abby dragged away. Only you.

“You’re drunk,” he says flatly.

You flinch.

“You’re reckless.”

Tears prick at your eyes. You know you shouldn’t have gone out. You know you shouldn’t feel better just because they’re here. But you do. Jinu’s hand reaches for your jaw, and you go still. The moment his fingers graze your skin, the bond explodes between you. You can’t breathe.

He leans down until your noses almost touch.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “So reckless. So breakable.”

Jinu trails his nose on the side of your neck causing a shiver to erupt down your spine.

“If you’d stopped pretending this wasn’t real, you’d be spread across my lap, begging us to forgive you.”

You suck in a breath. Every nerve in your body screams. You squeeze your thighs together. This is wrong. This is insane. You should be running.

But you’re not.

You’re melting.

He lets go. You nearly fall forward—but he catches you. Of course he does.

They don’t ask.

They don’t wait.

They take you home.

Theirs.

────────── ⚘ ──────────

From the rooftop nearby, Mira watches the scene unfold.

The way the boys surround you.

The way you lean into them like they’re the only thing keeping you alive.

And then—

They vanish in smoke. With you.

She presses a finger to her earpiece. “She’s not normal,” she whispers. “And she’s gone with them.”

────────── ⚘ ──────────

The sheets are silk under your touch. A splitting headache forms and you groan, last night’s party flooding back like a cruel wave. You decide you’re never drinking again.

Your eyes open—and your stomach twists. The ceiling isn’t yours. You bolt upright, heart pounding. And they’re there.

All five of them. Beautiful. Dangerous. Familiar in a way that makes your soul ache. They’re watching you. Some with concern. Some with reverence. Some like they want to devour you.

“Where am I?” you breathe. Your voice shakes. “Why am I here?”

You look around wildly, mind racing. You remember the latter events of the night. Romance’s gaze. Mystery’s breath on your ear. Abby’s voice like thunder. Baby’s black eyes. Jinu’s warning...

“You took me,” you gasp. “You took me.”

Abby steps forward first—hands raised like you’re a spooked animal. “You were in danger.”

“I was out with my friends,” you argue.

Mystery whispers from where he kneels near the door. “You’re always in danger when you’re not with us.” His voice is soft, but it cuts like glass.

Romance kneels beside the bed next. Too graceful. Too close. “Let us explain.”

You scramble back, trembling. “No. No more dreams. No more tricks.” Your hands press to your temples. “I’m not yours.”

You say it like you need to believe it. Like it’s the only thing keeping you sane.

Baby finally speaks from the shadows. “Then why do you feel safer here than you’ve felt in your entire life?”

His voice is emotionless. Clinical. But something about it makes your skin erupt in chills. You freeze. Because he’s right. And that terrifies you.

Abby sits at the edge of the bed, watching you like a kicked dog. “You must be tired. How about a bath first, hmm?” His voice is too gentle for someone so strong.

You flinch. He notices.  And it kills him.

“I should go home—”

“Please, stay,” Mystery pleads. His voice is almost a whimper. You look at him and feel your heartbeat falter. Then Jinu approaches. Deliberate. Measured. The pull in your chest pulses harder.

“We would never hurt you,” he says, voice steady. “Please allow us to explain.”

You glance around. Five sets of eyes. Each one begging for the same thing. Not obedience. Not fear. A chance.

You sigh. “Fine. But I need a bath first.”

They release a breath like they’d been underwater for hours. Romance smiles. “Thank you, baby.”

So there you were, sitting on the edge of a couch that costs more than your rent. Hair damp and in clothes way too big for you. Based on the scent, you hate how you could tell they were Jinu’s. Unbeknown to you, the guys had drawn sticks to decide who’s clothes you would wear after your shower. 

Velvet cushions. Mahogany floors. Tall windows draped in gauzy silk that sways with no wind. You don’t know where you are.

But it smells like them. Like rain on stone, smoke, citrus, old paper, and heat.

You’re in their apartment.

And they’re all still here.

Watching.

Waiting.

Like wolves circling their starved mate—but trying to look civilized about it.

Abby comes up from behind you, handing you a glass of water and two painkillers. “For your pretty little head. It must be pounding right now” 

You noticed his extra caution and nervousness and it broke your heart a little bit even if it shouldn’t. You take the medicine. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, princess.” 

The room is bathed in silence after you take your medicine. Five pairs of eyes staring at you with longing and another emotion you were too afraid to acknowledge. Fondness? 

Love?

You shake your head at the thought. 

All of them couldn’t believe you were here. In their clothes sitting on their couch in their apartment. It was almost too good to be true. They had to be careful. They couldn’t afford to have you run like last time. 

Because they knew they wouldn’t just let you go now. Now that you’re here in their clutches. They’d make you stay.

Romance is the first to speak. “You’ve been dreaming of us.”

It isn’t a guess.

You swallow. Hard. “How do you know that?”

Mystery, curled up on a cushion across from you, answers in a low murmur. “Because we feel it when you do.”

You flinch. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Jinu steps forward slowly, crouching down like he’s afraid you’ll bolt. “The bond is active again.”

You cock your head to the side like a puppy. It was the cutest thing they’d ever seen. 

Baby’s fists tighten, resisting the urge to pounce on you.

Jinu speaks. “Your soul remembers. But your mind doesn’t. That’s why you feel sick during the day. Why you sleep like you’ve finally come home.”

He doesn’t touch you—but he gestures to the sketchbook on their coffee table. “You’ve been drawing us, haven’t you?”

You glance down. The sketchbook you didn’t bring with you. The one Mystery must have brought you. The pages are full of lines you don’t remember making. Faces. Threads. A burning palace. A blood moon. And five boys who all look like them.

“These don’t mean anything,” you say quietly. But your voice shakes.

Abby leans against the far wall, arms crossed. “You feel cold during the day. Like you’re not in your own skin.”

You nod slowly. “And you’ve been dizzy. Unsteady. Like something inside you is pulling.”

More nods. “That’s the bond, too.”

Romance sits down across from you, not too close. For once, he looks serious. “You don’t have to believe everything right now. But you feel it. Don’t you?”

“The thread. Between us.”

You try to speak.

Nothing comes out.

You stand up abruptly, putting the coffee table between you and all of them. They all flinch like they’re ready to catch you if you run. “I don’t know what’s happening to me. I’m having dreams that don’t feel like mine. I’m drawing with a hand that doesn’t feel like mine. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Baby’s voice cuts in—calm and sharp. “You’re not losing your mind.”

“You’re remembering what was taken from you.”

You turn to Jinu, eyes wet with frustration. “Then explain it. Really explain it. No more riddles.”

Jinu takes a breath like it hurts to speak the words. The others go quiet. You feel the room shift—heavier. Like the bond itself is listening.

“You died.”

His voice is low. Steady. But grief hums under every syllable. “Four hundred years ago. You died. And it was my fault.”

He doesn’t blink. “I sold my soul to Gwi Ma for fame. I thought I wanted luxury, adoration—immortality. I got it. But then I met you.”

“You were just a girl. Bright. Human. Good. You saw me for what I was—a demon. And you stayed anyway.”

Your eyebrows raised at the mention of demon, but listened on, letting him finish.

“But I was selfish. And you paid the price. When you died, I begged Gwi Ma- the demon king to bring you back. He said no.”

His fists clench on his knees. And you began to think maybe he was crazy. A demon king? Really?

“So I made a deal. If I could bind other demons to your soul—build a tether strong enough to pull you back across lifetimes—he’d let you be reborn.”

He looks at you now. Really looks.

“And I did. I found them. Each one of us—Abby, Romance, Mystery, Baby—we lived lives tied to you. Not all at once. Not always together.”

“In every lifetime, you met one of us. You fell in love. You died. Again and again.”

Your breath catches in your throat and fear grips you. I died? Multiple times? Are they crazy? Every rational thought within you told you to reject this explanation. This Fairytale and yet…

When you looked into each of their eyes they were sincere. Jinu’s eyes holding so much truth so much anguish. Either they were psychos who believed their lies or…

It was all the truth. And that terrified you.

“You’ve lived dozens of lives, and in every one, your soul was trying to return to the pact.”

“Now… we’re all here. Together. Finally.”

“And your soul remembers.”

You sit frozen. The blood drains from your face. Your voice comes out broken: “So… I’m not me.”

Jinu’s expression shatters. He moves toward you slowly—like you’ll flee again. “You are you. You’re this lifetime’s version of her. But you’re more than this moment. You’re all the love, all the pain, all the choices you made to find your way back to us.”

Questions began swimming in your mind. Demons? They were demons? There was a Demon king, this Gwi Ma… it was all so crazy. Too crazy. Maybe too crazy to be a lie… How else would you explain this tether to them, this bond. How you’ve been feeling. The dreams, the sketches, the visions. It lines up with this story. 

Mystery whispers from the corner, cutting through your thoughts. “We missed you every time.”

There was a pain in his gaze, and you looked around to see that same pain reflected in everyone’s eyes. 

You needed more details. More explanations. Them not being human made sense, that was clear to you. But everything else, just seemed so bizarre to be true. Demons were real? You had been reincarnated? And they had loved you throughout those lifetimes? Their souls were tied to yours? 

Well, that last bit had you believing, because at least that last bit you actually felt.

It was all too crazy and you sighed, rubbing your temples. You didn’t want to believe them but somehow you just did. Like it all made sense. And deep down you knew it was the truth. 

You let the silence stretch. Something hot stings behind your eyes. “So what now?... You expect me to just—fall in love with you all?”

Baby answers this time. Voice low. Final. “No.”

“We expect you to remember that you already did.”

Your head is pounding. Not in a normal way. It feels like something is unraveling behind your eyes—memories that don’t belong to you pressing against the inside of your skull like water through cracked glass.

You close your eyes. The room spins. You hear a voice. Soft. Familiar.

“Don’t push her,” Jinu murmurs to the others. “She’s at the edge.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. You want to argue. Scream. Say it’s all ridiculous. Say you don’t believe in past lives or demons or fate.

But your heart won’t let you. And neither will the thread quietly tugging behind your ribs. You don’t realize you’ve sunk back onto the couch until Mystery is gently placing a pillow behind your head, his touch featherlight. He doesn’t speak. Just hums something low and wordless as your eyes flutter shut.

Your head still hurts, but less. The weight of everything presses down—and still, for the first time in days, you don’t feel alone.

Romance crouches nearby, hands on his knees, watching you through his lashes. “We’re not asking you to love us today.”

“We’re asking for a chance.”

Abby, his arms crossed, finally uncrosses them. “A chance to take care of you. Like we were supposed to.”

You open your eyes. The ceiling above you glows faintly with soft reflected light. There’s no sound but their breathing. And your own heartbeat.

“Just… a chance?” you whisper.

Jinu kneels beside the couch again. “That’s all.”

“And if I don’t remember?”

He smiles—small. Sad.

“Then we’ll give you a thousand new reasons to love us again.”

You don’t say yes.

But you don’t say no.

You close your eyes.

And this time, when the bond pulses gently at the base of your spine like a heartbeat that doesn’t belong to you…

You let it.

TO BE CONTINUED ───────── ༺🜃༻ ─────────

Author's note: Wahhh I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it! Things are picking up now and the ball is rolling. I sprinkled in a little bit of naughtiness there just to hint on eventual spice down the line... eventually, when it feels right! But let me know if you guys liked this one, reblog, comment, and like if you wish too! <3 Love y'allWilla x.

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Jinu’s lips ghosted over yours like a promise, like a storm just barely restrained. The air between you was molten—your heart beating so loud you swore he could hear it. You gasped when you felt the soft give of the mattress beneath your back, the way he laid you down like you were made of glass. But his hands trembled. Not from hesitation—but from control. From the sheer force of his need battling the reverence he held for you.

His thumb brushed your cheek, then your bottom lip—slow, as if memorizing its shape. “Are you sure?” he whispered, voice cracked with restraint. “Tell me now, baby… because if I go any further, I won’t be able to stop.”

Your body answered before your mouth could. Your fingers curled in his shirt, tugging him closer as your breath fanned over his mouth. “I want this,” you whispered, voice unsteady but certain. “You. I want you, Jinu”

Something shifted in his eyes.

The golden glow flared behind his lashes—his pupils narrowing, a low growl vibrating in his throat before he swallowed it down. His demon stirred, licking at the edges of his control, but Jinu never let go of his gentleness. He leaned in again, his voice huskier this time, raw with longing.

“Where do you want me baby?” he murmured, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “Tell me where… how you want me.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The ache pulsed low in your belly, sharp and consuming. Words failed you, your lashes fluttering as your thighs squeezed together in desperate anticipation. All you could do was look at him and that was enough.

Because Jinu knew.

He groaned softly, the sound low and reverent, and you didn’t know who moved first but suddenly, your mouths collided. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was heat and hunger. His hands slid down to your waist, yanking you flush against him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between your bodies.

You whimpered into him, fingers threading up into his dark hair and pulling—harder, the harder he kissed you. And he loved it. He moaned into your mouth, and the sound made your knees weak, even from where you lay beneath him.

His hands swept down your spine and gripped your ass with a groan, lifting your hips into his like he needed to fuse you together. You felt him—all of him—hot and hard and barely held back, pressing into you through his sweatpants.

“God, baby,” he growled against your mouth. “You’re gonna drive me insane…”

He kissed down your neck, his lips open and worshipful, tongue brushing sensitive skin with every pass. His teeth scraped gently along your throat before he soothed the sting with a kiss. 

And when your breath hitched, when your hips rolled up against him instinctively, he hissed through his teeth, his forehead pressing to yours.

“Say it again,” he whispered raggedly. “Say you want me. I need to hear you.”

“I need you,” you whispered, raw and trembling. “Please, Jinu. I need you.”

He groaned against your mouth, full of desperation and reverence, like your words unraveled whatever fragile thread of control he had left.

“I’ll give you everything, baby,” he breathed, his voice shaking as he kissed you again but slower this time, deeper. “Everything.”

Jinu slid down on your body with devastating focus, his hands trailing worshipfully down your sides. The mattress dipped beneath his weight, your thighs trembling as they opened for him. And when his mouth reached the inside of your thigh, he stilled, pressing his face against your skin like he needed to ground himself. You felt him shudder.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice cracked with restraint. His nose brushed the edge of your inner thigh, his breath warm and ragged. “You smell so good, baby.”

The first lick dragged from bottom to top, slow and purposeful, making your back arch off the bed. The second was firmer—hotter—his tongue curling right where you needed it most.

Your gasp turned into a whimper. “Oh my god… yes, Jinu.”

“Mmm,” he hummed against you, the sound low and rough, like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. “That’s it, baby. You taste so fucking good.”

You reached for him blindly, fingers diving into his soft hair, anchoring yourself to the only thing that felt real—him. A soft tug was all it took—your silent plea for more—and he answered with a growl that rumbled through your core.

You barely noticed the faint rip of fabric as your panties were torn clean away, the sound swallowed by your pulse and his breath. You felt the curve of his smirk pressed to your thigh before you saw it. And then there was only him. His mouth. His tongue. The desperate, almost reverent sounds he made into your skin like he was starving.

“Please,” you breathed, voice breaking. “Please don’t stop. Don’t stop…”

He didn’t. He groaned like your begging only made him hungrier and he slid his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer, holding you down like he needed to feel every tremble, every gasp.

“God, you’re dripping,” he muttered, tongue moving in maddening circles. “You want more, baby? Want me to make you fall apart?”

You nodded, helpless, your legs trembling beneath his touch. “Yes…. Please…. I’m close….”

You didn’t know your name anymore. Just his.

“That's it,” he murmured, voice muffled against you. “You’re doing so good for me… so fucking good.” You cried out, legs trembling around his shoulders, your body tightening until the world went white behind your eyes. His voice was the only thing that kept you tethered, whispering praises like a mantra. “That’s it, baby. Come for me. Just like that. Let me feel it.”

When the high finally ebbed, you collapsed into the mattress, breathless and blinking through tears.

Jinu slowly rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stared at you with dark, reverent eyes.

You could barely breathe. Your limbs were trembling, your chest rising and falling with uneven gasps. But Jinu didn’t give you a second to retreat.

His hands skimmed up your sides, slow and reverent, until they found the hem of your dress. He paused.

“Can I?” he asked, voice rough with need, but still gentle—like he needed your permission more than anything.

You nodded, whispering, “Yes…”

That single word broke something in him. He sat back on his knees and pulled the dress up and over your head, his knuckles brushing your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When your bra came into view, he let out a quiet, guttural groan that vibrated straight down your spine.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached up to trace the curve of your breast through the lace. “So perfect.”

His fingers trembled slightly as they reached for the delicate lace covering your chest. He traced the curves reverently, his thumbs sweeping slowly over your nipples through the fabric, coaxing a soft, involuntary arch from your body. You let out a shaky breath, and he smiled dark and soft at the same time.

Then his lips were on you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue circled your nipple. He sucked gently through the lace, drawing a soft moan from your lips that made him growl low in his chest.

“Jinu…” you gasped, hips shifting beneath him.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “I know. I’ve got you.”

He reached behind you, unclasping your bra with practiced ease, and when it fell away, he stilled, drinking in the sight of you bare.The way his eyes roamed slowly across your body made you feel like you were being unraveled thread by thread, his silence louder than any words.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered.

Embarrassed under the heat of his stare, you instinctively moved your arms across your chest, trying to cover yourself. You couldn’t meet his eyes. But before you could retreat further, Jinu caught your wrists in his hands, firm but gentle.

​​“Don’t,” he murmured, voice soft but commanding. “Don’t hide from me.”

You swallowed, unable to meet his eyes.

He leaned in, brushing his nose along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. “You don’t have to be shy, baby. You’re beautiful.” His lips hovered over your ear. “And you’re mine.”

Your breath hitched.

His hands slid up your sides again, reverent and slow, until they cradled the curves of your breasts. “Don’t hide what’s mine, baby.”

His thumbs brushed over your nipples, coaxing a soft, involuntary moan from you. You arched slightly, breath hitching.

He leaned in, his mouth claiming one nipple while his hand massaged the other, his fingers rolling the sensitive peak between them with just enough pressure to make your legs twitch. His tongue circled slowly, dragging heat through your body in waves, and then he sucked, slow and deep drawing a startled cry from your lips.

Your fingers dove into his hair, holding on, grounding yourself.

Jinu groaned in response, mouth still full of you. “So soft,” he murmured against your skin. “So fucking sweet.”

His hand squeezed your other breast more firmly, kneading in rhythm with the strokes of his tongue. Then he switched, kissing a slow path across your chest before taking your other nipple between his lips, tongue flicking, mouth warm and relentless.

You whimpered, hips shifting beneath him, the ache building again, more intense this time. Your head tipped back against the pillows as he left gentle nips along the curve of your breast, trailing kisses up your sternum, over your collarbone, before sucking just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Jinu—”

“I want them to see,” he rasped. “Want them to know you’re taken.”

He pressed another hickey on the curve of your breast, then another near your collarbone. You were breathless, writhing beneath him, your hands cradling his head as he kissed and sucked and licked every inch he could reach, like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of your skin.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, I need….”

Your head lolled back against the pillow, mind floating, body arching into his mouth with a need that made you dizzy. He kept worshipping you with his lips, dragging his tongue in slow spirals, leaving tender hickeys over the softest parts of you like he was painting proof of his possession.

By the time he pulled back, your chest was flushed, glistening, covered in his mouth and his marks. You were breathless. His hands framed your waist, eyes dark and wild with reverence.

Then he stood. Slowly. His chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. And even with the distance between you, your body still burned where his hands had been.

“Jinu…” you whispered, reaching for him without realizing it. Your voice was small, cracked. “Please…”

His head dropped back for a second, exhaling sharply like your voice had wrecked him. He looked down at you—messy, bare, still trembling—and something about you in that moment must’ve undone him completely.

“I know, pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice low and thick. “I know.”

Your eyes followed him instinctively, your body still buzzing from the heat of his mouth, your skin marked by his reverence.

And then—your gaze dropped.

The bulge in his sweatpants was impossible to ignore now. Your breath hitched as you watched him curl his fingers into the waistband. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you exhaled shaky and wanting.

He undressed slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. Every inch he revealed made your chest tighten, not just from desire but from how vulnerable, how intimate, this moment felt.

You reached for him, your fingers brushing along the firm lines of his abdomen, desperate to feel closer but before you could move any further, Jinu caught your wrist and gently pushed you back into the sheets.

“No, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning over you, his voice like velvet and smoke. “You don’t need to come to me. I’m right here.”

You whimpered, breathless and aching beneath him. “Jinu… please…”

His eyes darkened, flicking over every inch of you as if memorizing the image of you spread out before him. “Please what baby?” he asked, voice thick.  “You want me to fill up your pretty little pussy?”

That low growl in his tone made your breath catch. Your back arched, your thighs spreading instinctively. “Yes,” you whispered, voice trembling with need. 

That broke whatever restraint he had left.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his hand sliding down your thigh, gripping it firmly as he nestled himself between your legs. His other hand braced beside your head, grounding you. “So eager… so wet. All for me.”

He guided his cock between your thighs, dragging the thick head slowly along your wet folds. Both of you gasped at the contact his breath catching, your back arching from the tease.

“Fuck…” he growled, barely holding on. You whimpered as the tip nudged against your entrance, slick and hot. “Jinu…”

He looked down, eyes hooded and feral, precum smearing against your skin as he slowly rocked his hips forward, letting the head slip just barely inside.

“Tell me,” he murmured, voice low and trembling with restraint. “Do you want me baby?” His eyes darkened. “Do you want all of us?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “I want all of you. I want you. Please…”

That was all he needed.

With a quiet curse, he pushed in, slow and deep. Your lips parted in a soft cry, the stretch making your thighs tremble. Jinu groaned low in his throat as he sank into you, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed.

“Shit… baby, you’re—” he breathed, voice strained. “So tight, so warm… every part of you, made for me.”

Your hands gripped his arms, your body curling around him as he bottomed out. A helpless moan escaped you as the pressure and fullness overwhelmed you.

Jinu stilled, breathing hard, letting you adjust to him. “You okay?” he whispered, brushing a kiss to your temple.

You nodded, eyes glossy. “Y-Yeah. Just… move. Please.”

His hips began to rock, slow at first, each stroke making you gasp as he dragged against your most sensitive spots. The rhythm built naturally, fluid and hypnotic, the friction sending waves of heat curling through your spine.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you, watching the way you unraveled beneath him, the way your breath caught, the way your body welcomed every thrust.

Jinu’s mouth found your throat, your shoulder, your lips, whispering praises in between. “You’re mine,” he breathed against your ear. “I’ll never let you go again.”

You moaned his name again, your nails digging into his back. “Harder,” you breathed. “Don’t stop please…”

The only sounds were your breathless moans, the soft creak of the bed, and the quiet slap of skin meeting skin. It felt like time was slowing, narrowing down to just the two of you.

A heat rolled off his skin—deeper, darker, more primal.

Your hands splayed across his back, and that’s when you saw it. His skin had begun to deepen in color, taking on a smooth violet hue, and glowing dark marks trailed up his sides, his shoulders, and now his cheekbones. His golden eyes gleamed with slitted pupils, feral but still full of love. His hands—no longer just hands—now tipped with sharp claws that sank into the bed beside your head, trembling with the effort to stay gentle.

But you weren’t afraid. You were in awe.

You reached up, brushing your fingertips along one glowing mark on his jaw. “I see you,” you breathed. “All of you. I love you.”

His whole body trembled at your touch.

“You have no idea what that does to me,” he growled, voice hoarse and reverent all at once.

He began to move, slow and deliberate at first, grinding deep enough to make your breath hitch. His strokes weren’t fast—they were consuming. His hips rolled into yours with a rhythm that bordered on desperate reverence, like he wanted to carve himself into your soul with every thrust. And he was—your body responded to him like a match to flame, your head tilting back, soft moans slipping from your lips as your fingers tightened around his arms.

“You feel so good,” he rasped, burying his face in your neck. “So fucking good… I can’t get enough of you.”

You whimpered beneath him, your legs wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer. Your body was already trembling, overwhelmed by the mix of physical pleasure and emotional weight—the bond between you and Jinu now glowing, alive, wrapping around both your hearts like chains made of light.

Then he said it.

“I love you,” he gasped against your skin, his thrusts faltering for just a moment. “I love you so fucking much.”

Your heart shattered and swelled all at once.

“We love you so much,” he added, voice thick and trembling as the connection flared brighter, the bond no longer just between the two of you. “You’re ours, baby. Forever.”

“Damn it,” Jinu growled, his voice breaking into something low and feral as the last thread of restraint snapped.

His body surged into yours, harder now, deeper, the rhythm relentless. Every thrust hit with purpose, striking that devastating spot inside you that made your spine bow off the mattress, made stars dance behind your eyes.

The sound of skin meeting skin echoed through the room, sharp and unfiltered, but all you could hear was him—his ragged breaths, his trembling groans, the soft curses spilling from his lips as he lost himself in the feel of you.

“You’re perfect,” he panted, the muscles in his arms flexing as he braced himself above you. One hand pressed flat against your lower belly, possessive and firm, making you feel every inch of him buried inside. “Look at you… taking me so well. So tight around me, baby. Like your body was made for this. Made for me.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Your mouth fell open, but only breathless gasps slipped out, your body trembling from the force of the pleasure winding tight inside you. You were spiraling, dizzy, drunk on him.

He dipped lower, his lips brushing your cheek before grazing your ear. “You love it, don’t you?” he whispered, voice wicked and reverent all at once. “You love how I fill you… how I own you.”

You whimpered in response, your fingers digging into his back, nails scraping over glowing marks. That was all he needed. Jinu’s grin turned dark—proud, hungry—and his hand slid lower, fingers finding that sensitive bundle of nerves between your thighs.

He rubbed slow at first, taunting, circling, then picked up pace, matching the rhythm of his hips. You cried out, your entire body jolting beneath him as the pleasure turned blinding. It was unbearable and addictive, like he was drawing something sacred from you.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his jaw clenched, hips snapping harder. His movements were no longer careful. They were claiming, desperate, overwhelming. “You’re so close. Let me feel it. Give it to me.”

Your body clenched around him without warning, the release crashing over you like a wave of pure light. Your back arched, your lips parted in a silent cry as every nerve in your body lit up, shattered, then melted into molten bliss.

A guttural moan ripped from his throat as he thrust deep one last time, your body dragging him over the edge with you. His forehead dropped to yours, his breath hot and shaky, arms locked tight around you as he let go inside you, completely, fully, yours.

Your body was still trembling, limbs loose and heavy, a delicious warmth spreading through every muscle like a lullaby. Your eyelids fluttered as you tried to stay present, but your body was already sinking, soft and spent against the mattress.

Jinu didn’t move right away. He hovered over you, his breath still uneven, chest rising and falling against yours. One of his hands slid up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing beneath your eye where a tear had dried. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low and reverent.

“Don’t sleep yet, baby,” Jinu murmured, his voice rough but soft. You felt his knuckles brush your cheek as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “Let me take care of you.”

You blinked your eyes open slowly, just enough to see the faint glow still flickering in his golden eyes. His skin had faded back from violet to its usual warmth, but the memory of his marks glowing against your skin still lingered in your mind.

He slid away from the bed briefly, and you whimpered faintly at the loss of him. But he was quick. You watched through heavy lids as he returned with a warm cloth and a glass of water, already rolling his sleeves up. The contrast between how fiercely he’d taken you and how tenderly he now touched you was dizzying. He parted your legs gently, murmuring soft praises as he began to clean you up with slow, careful strokes.

“You were perfect,” he whispered, gaze locked on yours as if daring you to look away. “You did so good for me. My girl. My good girl.”

Each word made your chest flutter.

You winced slightly from the sensitivity, and Jinu immediately pressed a kiss to your inner thigh—then another, closer to your hip. “Shh… I’ve got you. You’re okay,” he murmured, his thumb gently tracing over your skin.

You reached for his hand, weakly lacing your fingers through his. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed each knuckle, one by one, lingering on the curve of your wrist where your pulse fluttered.

“Arms up, baby,” he coaxed, holding the oversized long-sleeve open. You obeyed with a sleepy hum, and he carefully slipped the fabric over your head, pulling it down your arms like you were fragile silk. It hung loose and soft on your frame, draping you in his scent.

“There,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “You look beautiful in my shirt.”

You mumbled his name, nearly lost in the haze.

He chuckled softly and pulled you into his arms. “I know, baby. I know you’re tired.”

As he settled you into his chest, you burrowed instinctively closer. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, a rhythm that soothed you more than words ever could. His fingers stroked through your hair slowly, again and again, lulling you into the edge of sleep.

“You did so good for me,” he said quietly, reverently. “My pretty girl… letting me in like that. Letting me have you.”

You had fallen asleep with your cheek pressed to his chest, lips slightly parted, breath soft and even—like all the tension had finally drained from your body. The aftermath of your bond’s deepening still hummed faintly in the air, like static after lightning. The room felt sacred. Still. Warm.

Jinu didn’t sleep right away.

Instead, he lay there, unmoving, barely breathing, as if he might disturb the way you were wrapped around him. One of his hands rested protectively on your hip, the other slowly, almost reverently, lifted to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered there, tracing the curve of your cheek with a feather-light touch.

His golden eyes—no longer glowing but still bright with emotion—searched your sleeping face like it was the only thing that mattered. And to him, it was.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, his voice barely more than breath. “My girl. My everything.”

He leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips—just a whisper of touch. You stirred faintly in your sleep, nuzzling closer to him, and he let out a shaky breath, the kind only a man on the edge of obsession lets slip.

He trailed his fingers down the slope of your jaw, then over your collarbone, not to wake you, but to memorize every inch of your skin. His gaze darkened slightly, possessive, reverent.

“I don’t think you’ll ever understand what you’ve done to me. How deep I’ve fallen for you.” He chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it—just a weightless kind of awe. “It’s not just me anymore. We all feel it. We’ve tried to stay away. Tried to be patient. But now…”

Your hand twitched faintly in your sleep, fingers curling into his shirt. Jinu brought that hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across your knuckles, then holding it against his heart.

“Now you’re here. And you’re ours.”

He held you tighter, his nose nuzzling into your hairline, breathing you in.

“I’ll protect you,” he whispered. “I’ll love you until my last breath. Even after.”

His thumb grazed over your knuckles one last time, and only then did his own eyes begin to flutter shut. But even as sleep pulled him under, his hold on you didn’t loosen. Not even a little.

He slept with his forehead against yours, arms wrapped around your waist, a soft, satisfied hum leaving his lips as he sank into slumber with you.

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

Warmth surrounded you before your mind had even fully woken. A slow breath puffed against the back of your neck, and strong arms were wrapped securely around your waist, a soft hum of contentment rising from the chest pressed against your back.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see Jinu’s face. Relaxed, peaceful, utterly unguarded in sleep. His lips were parted ever so slightly, lashes dark against his cheeks, and even now, he looked like something carved from a dream.

You turned gently in his hold, you reached up and brushed a knuckle against his temple, your heart thudding a little harder when he leaned into your touch.

You didn’t want to move. But the soft pangs of thirst and the lingering ache in your limbs told you you needed to.

Carefully, you eased yourself from his grip, one breath at a time.

Jinu stirred slightly, a low sound escaping his throat as he rolled onto his stomach,one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other stretched toward where you’d been. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, the sculpt of his back bare and on full display.

Long, red scratches trailed down his back.

Your scratches.

The sight made your stomach clench and your cheeks burn. Your fingers twitched with the memory of digging into him, of holding onto him like your life depended on it. The shirt he’d given you last night hung off one shoulder now, loose and far too big, but doing little to hide the evidence.

You padded quietly into the kitchen, fingers rubbing the sleep from your eyes, expecting silence—maybe the soft hum of the fridge or the distant tick of a clock.

But instead… four pairs of eyes turned to you all at once.

Abby, standing near the window with a mug in hand. Mystery leaning back against the island, arms crossed, his dark gaze heavy. Baby perched lazily on the counter, a spoon still hanging between his fingers. And Romance, seated at the table like he’d been waiting for you.

The room fell silent.

You blinked, heart stuttering. “Oh,” you said softly. “You’re all here.”

No one answered right away. Their gazes had dropped slowly and hungrily trailing down the oversized black long-sleeve that hung off one of your shoulders. Jinu’s shirt. The hem barely brushed the tops of your thighs, and the hickeys blooming along your collarbone were impossible to ignore.

One of the sleeves had slipped down just far enough to make Mystery’s throat bob as he looked away, his fingers flexing against the countertop. Abby’s jaw tensed, knuckles white around his mug.

“Hyung’s shirt?” Baby asked with a low whistle, eyes glinting with something dark and teasing. “Damn, sweetheart… You’re gonna kill us before breakfast.”

Romance’s voice broke the tension. “Come here,” he said, soft but firm, lifting his hand in a quiet beckon.

You blinked again, still too sleepy to read the shift in their energy. Your feet moved before your thoughts did. Romance sat down and tugged you gently onto his lap, his large hands settling around your waist like it was instinct. Warmth bloomed at your cheeks, but you didn’t resist. His chest was solid against your back, and he smelled like cedarwood and something faintly sweet.

“You sleep okay?” he murmured, dipping his head to nuzzle his nose into your hair.

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“Of course she did,” Baby muttered with a smirk, sipping his drink. “Hyung made sure of it.”

Abby shot him a warning glance, but Baby just shrugged and chuckled, clearly pleased with himself.

His hands settled on your thighs, thumbs slowly stroking soft circles against your skin through the oversized fabric of Jinu’s shirt. The hem had already risen dangerously high when you climbed into his lap, and every lazy brush of his fingers made it ride higher. You didn’t realize how much of your skin was showing… but the boys definitely did.

Abby was standing by the counter, pretending to stir something in a mug, his jaw tense. Baby had frozen mid-bite, spoon hovering in the air as his eyes flicked away with effort, and Mystery was gripping the edge of the table, his expression unreadable—but his knuckles were white.

Romance didn’t stop. His mouth found that one spot on your neck—just over the bruise Jinu had left hours ago. He let his lips linger there before nipping lightly, a teasing graze of his teeth.

You squirmed, startled more by the heavy silence in the room than the kiss itself. But Romance’s grip tightened, steadying you with fingers that said don’t move unless I let you.

He chuckled softly, voice lowering until it was a purr against your throat. “Don’t squirm, baby,” he warned, possessive and smooth. “You’re driving them insane.”

You blinked at him, flustered. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” he whispered, kissing that spot again, slower this time.. “You never mean to. That’s the problem.”

Your breath hitched.

The others were quiet—too quiet. You dared a glance and saw Baby’s head drop, the tips of his ears red. “Hyung, you’re gonna break all of us at this rate,” he muttered, trying to sound light, but the strain in his voice was impossible to miss.

Romance only smirked. “She walked in like this,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your hip. “Not my fault she’s making us lose our minds.”

You blinked, flustered, suddenly aware of the heat of all their eyes on you.

But then, Romance shifted gears. He reached over with his free hand and picked up a spoonful of soft egg from the table. “Open up, baby,” he said gently, holding it out to you like it was the most innocent thing in the world.

And somehow, with his hand wrapped around your thigh and his breath against your neck, it felt anything but.

Still, you obeyed. You opened your mouth, and he fed you gently, watching you chew with far too much satisfaction in his eyes. “Good girl,” he whispered, almost too quietly for the others to hear.

Abby appeared beside you a beat later, setting down a glass of water with more force than necessary. “You need to hydrate,” he muttered, eyes flicking to your bare thighs before quickly turning away.

You blinked. “Oh. Thank you, Abby,” you said softly.

Romance only chuckled under his breath and pressed a kiss to your shoulder, letting the fabric slip a little farther.

Mystery followed next, he placed a dish of fruit in front of you with practiced calm. “Eat slowly,” he said, eyes lingering just a second too long on your flushed face. “You need to regain your strength.”

Romance’s fingers brushed the corner of your lips with a napkin, slow and indulgent, like he was savoring the excuse to touch you. “One more bite, baby,” he coaxed, holding the spoon out. You leaned forward, obedient without thinking, but the warmth of his lap and the way his arm tightened around your waist made it impossible to ignore the closeness.

And then there was Baby... well, Baby was grinning. Which was always a warning. He slid into the seat beside you, leaned in, and bumped your knee with his own. His grin was playful, but his eyes burned.

“So…” Baby finally said, cocking his head to the side, that mischievous glint in his eyes as he rested his cheek against his hand. “Hyung treat you right?”

You froze just as Romance brought a piece to your lips. You choked, coughing as the bite went down the wrong way, a strangled gasp leaving your throat.

“Baby!” Romance barked, shooting him a glare as he immediately shifted, hand soothing down your back. “Breathe, sweetheart. I've got you.” His voice was gentle, even as he glared at Baby over your shoulder. “Seriously?”

Abby let out a sharp sigh and threw a dish towel at Baby’s head. “Do you ever think before you talk?”

“Ow—hey, what?!” Baby ducked, laughing. “I didn’t mean anything bad. Just—look at her.” He gestured at you dramatically. “She’s glowing. Look at those legs. Look at that neck. She's wearing Hyung’s shirt and nothing else.”

Mystery pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “You’re the reason we have to hide bodies.”

You were coughing less now, though your face still felt like it was on fire. “You guys are so embarrassing,” you mumbled, covering your face with your hands.

Romance chuckled, low and amused. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous,” he murmured in your ear, his voice like velvet. “He’ll get his turn.”

That only made your breath hitch, and Baby nearly groaned again, running a hand through his hair.

“You can’t just say things like that, hyung,” he mumbled, trying to play it cool, but the way his eyes lingered on the curve of your exposed shoulder said otherwise.

“You’re not helping,” you whispered back, completely mortified.

You swatted at his chest weakly, but he caught your wrist and kissed your knuckles instead, his eyes dark with something tender—something possessive.

You sank further into Romance’s lap, hiding your face behind your hand. “Can I please have a normal breakfast?” you whispered, still coughing, cheeks burning.

That made Baby chuckle, but before he could speak again, Mystery tossed him a warning look over his shoulder.

“Tease her again and I’m personally locking you out of this penthouse,” he said coolly.

“Ouch,” Baby mocked, holding his chest. “So much for brotherhood.”

“Try breathing through your other nostril next time,” Abby muttered.

The moment your laugh slipped out, soft and unguarded, every head turned.

Romance leaned in, brushing his nose along your temple, and whispered, “There it is….”

Abby’s expression softened, the storm in his eyes dimming. Mystery’s tense posture eased as he sat down beside you, folding his arms on the table. Even Baby looked caught off guard for a moment, lips parting before he settled into a quiet grin.

“Don’t laugh like that unless you want all of us to fall harder,” Baby mumbled, eyes lowering.

“I think she already has,” Mystery murmured under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch. His words hung in the air like gravity.

You paused, looking around at them—all of them. These five men, demons or not, who surrounded you with such intensity. Who looked at you like you were made of stars. Who didn’t even try to hide how deeply they were falling.

A slow smile tugged at your lips again, this time softer… more vulnerable.

You didn’t know exactly what this meant. Not yet. But as their eyes drank you in like you were the only thing keeping them grounded—

You knew one thing for certain.

Whatever this was…

It was starting to feel dangerously close to home.

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

Jinu’s brows furrowed the second his hand met cold sheets. The warmth that had clung to the space beside him was gone. He sat up abruptly, golden eyes flicking around the room. The curtains were drawn just enough to let in morning light, dust dancing in beams across the floor. But you were nowhere in sight.

He reached out instinctively, as if the bond would answer him more clearly than his eyes could. And though he could still feel you—distant, calm—it wasn’t the same. The absence of your weight, your scent, the softness of your breath beside him made something primal twist in his gut.

“Sweetheart?” he called, voice rough with sleep and something heavier beneath it.

He was about to get up when the door creaked open and Baby peeked his head in, followed by Abby and Romance, walking in like they owned the place.

“Someone’s awake,” Baby sing-songed, eyes sweeping across the room with a lazy grin. “Damn, hyung. This place looks like a crime scene.” 

Romance gave a low whistle as he surveyed the sheets hanging half-off the bed, the dents in the mattress, and claw marks etched faintly into the headboard. “ Looks like someone had a very good night.”

Abby didn’t say a word at first. He knelt quietly, reaching down to pick something off the floor. He held it up between two fingers—your torn underwear. The delicate fabric was barely intact.

“Oh,” Baby laughed. “Oh. That’s hers?”

Jinu groaned, dragging a hand through his tousled hair, too dazed and still half-hard to be embarrassed. “She didn’t seem to mind losing it,” he muttered, his voice rough with sleep and leftover arousal.

Baby doubled over laughing. “Hyung, seriously?! It’s literally torn in half.”

Jinu finally stood, wearing only sweatpants that hung low on his hips, his torso bare, muscles shifting as he stretched his neck. “Where is she?” His voice had lost its sleepiness, laced now with concern. “I couldn’t feel her right away.”

“She’s with Mystery,” Abby replied. “He’s giving her a bath.”

“No need to panic,” Romance added, tilting his head. “He’s taking good care of her. You wore her out.”

Jinu’s eyes darkened at the thought, and then he groaned quietly. “Tch. Guess I didn’t do enough if she can still move.”

The room fell silent.

Baby’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now?”

“Jinu,” Abby muttered, deadpan. “She was barely walking. Mystery had to carry her halfway to the bathroom.”

Romance blinked in disbelief. “You left her covered in hickeys and bruises and you’re saying that wasn’t enough? Have you even looked at yourself?”

Abby walked behind him and smirked. “Speaking of—” He dragged two fingers gently down Jinu’s spine. Jinu flinched slightly as Abby traced the fresh red scratches running across his back. “She really clawed you up.”

Jinu didn’t even try to hide the satisfied growl in his throat. He reached over his shoulder, dragging a finger lazily down the angry red scratches that lined his back.

“She wanted to mark me,” he said simply. “So I let her.”

“Of course that pleases you,” Baby muttered.

Romance groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You're unbelievable.”

“Obsessed,” Abby muttered, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Completely wrecked.”

Jinu didn’t even deny it. “She’s ours. What do you expect?”

Baby folded his arms, lips twitching. “I mean, yeah. But at this point, you’re setting the bar real high. If she’s already struggling to stand…”

“Then maybe next time, she won’t leave my bed so soon,” Jinu said, eyes gleaming, voice dropping into that low, possessive tone that made all three of them pause.

Romance let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “She’s never going to get a break between the five of us.”

“That’s the point,” Jinu said, leaning back again, casual but wrecked, his voice all smoke and satisfaction. “She doesn’t need to.”

The tension in the air hadn’t faded.

Romance leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. His gaze flicked toward the door as if he could hear the water still running down the hall. “So… what now?”

Jinu didn’t move. “What do you mean?”

Abby sat on the arm of a nearby chair, his voice low but clear. “The mission. The souls. The reason we’re even here.”

Baby let out a scoff. “You really think any of us are gonna keep stealing human souls now?”

Silence settled over the room again. Heavy, this time.

Romance finally spoke, slower now. “We were sent here to feed. Corrupt. Harvest.” He exhaled through his nose. “But after her? After this? I can’t even look at another human without thinking about how it would break her if she knew.”

Jinu’s jaw ticked, and he finally sat upright. “We’re not doing it.”

All eyes turned to him.

“I’ll talk to Rumi,” he said. “We find another way. No more feeding on the humans. No more manipulation. If we want to stay near her…” His gaze darkened, fangs flashing slightly behind his lips, “...then no one touches another soul.”

Baby blinked. “You really think the hunter's gonna listen to you?”

Jinu’s golden eyes gleamed. “She will. Because if she doesn’t, I’ll make her.”

Abby didn’t argue. He just nodded once, quiet approval in his eyes.

Romance sighed, running a hand through his hair. “This bond… it’s changed everything. I can’t explain it. It’s like she’s in my blood now. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t need anything else.”

Baby sat up slowly, his gaze flicking toward the hallway. “Speaking of what’s ours…”

Romance sighed. “Don’t say it.”

Baby dropped onto the floor dramatically, lying back with a groan. “You’re all so serious, damn. Can we go back to the part where she’s naked in a bathtub right now?”

That broke the mood instantly.

Romance rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

Abby raised a brow. “You’re the one who said she could barely walk. What do you think’s happening in there?”

Jinu growled under his breath, sharp and low. “If Mystery puts his hands where I think he is…”

“He’s washing her, hyung,” Baby said, throwing an arm over his face with a groan. “I’m suffering, okay? Let me cope.”

Romance chuckled. “You’re suffering?”

“She’s soft, wet, and glowing,” Baby muttered. “And we’re just sitting here like idiots.”

Abby stood. “Then maybe go check if the bath’s done.”

Baby sat up instantly. “You think?”

“Or,” Jinu said dryly, “we could give her the privacy she deserves.”

There was a pause.

Then Baby grinned. “You mean the same privacy you destroyed last night?”

Jinu didn’t answer. He just smirked.

Romance shook his head. “We’re all doomed.”

“We’ve always been doomed,” Abby said quietly. “Now we just have something worth burning for.”

Jinu clenched his fists.

“I should’ve made sure she couldn’t walk for at least a week.”

Baby groaned, throwing his head back. “Hyung. We’re already losing our minds. Please stop talking like that unless you want us all to combust.”

Abby tilted his head. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

Romance exhaled, his eyes glowing faintly gold. “We’ve already changed. It’s not about feeding anymore. It’s about keeping her full. Happy. Safe. That’s our new mission.”

Baby muttered, “I’ll keep her full, alright—”

“Baby.” Three voices snapped at once.

He threw up his hands with a grin. “I’m joking… mostly.”

Then he stood, stretching slowly. “So… are we just gonna wait, or are we checking on her?”

The bond flared then, subtle but unmistakable.

A soft flutter of emotion—contentment, then a flicker of want.

She was thinking about them.

Romance inhaled sharply. “She misses us.”

Baby shot to his feet. “Now can we go there?”

“No,” Abby and Jinu said in unison.

“Why not?”

“Because she deserves peace after last night,” Jinu said. “Let Mystery take care of her.”

Romance stood. “If we go there now, we’ll overwhelm her.”

Baby snorted. “That’s the goal.”

Jinu looked toward the hall. “Five more minutes.”

“Or?” Abby asked.

“Or I make sure none of you get to touch her for the rest of the day.”

“Oh, hell no—” Baby sputtered, already half out of his seat.

Romance let out a low, amused laugh. “You’re lucky she’s your mate too,” he murmured. “If she weren’t, I’d be fighting you for real after a threat like that.”

・・・・・​​⟢​​・・・・・​​⟢

The warm scent of jasmine floated lazily in the air, clinging to the soft steam rising from the bath. You were sunk into the tub, your body hidden beneath a thick layer of delicate bubbles, your skin tingling from the heat—and from him.

Mystery sat on a low stool beside the bath, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his focus utterly devoted to you. He’d been so careful, so tender—his touch ghosting along your skin like you were something sacred. With one hand, he dipped the sponge again into the water, then gently drew it along your arm in slow, soothing strokes.

“You really don’t have to,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers followed behind, rinsing the lather with a gentle pour of warm water. “I can take care of myself.”

His voice was quiet, calm, but there was something unyielding underneath. “I want to.”

Your breath hitched. You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Mystery’s lips quirked, but he didn’t press. Instead, he reached around you and began to gently scrub your back, his touch firm yet careful, like he was afraid to break you. His knuckles brushed the nape of your neck, then down to your shoulder blades, and you swore the sensation lit sparks down your spine.

The heat wasn't just from the bath anymore. It came from the way his fingers lingered on your skin. The way his voice dropped when he said your name. The way your bond tugged—insistent, magnetic, and dizzying.

You shifted slightly in the water, bubbles rising with the movement. Your breath felt short, fluttering. And when your eyes met his again, you knew he felt it too.

That pull.

The ache.

“Are you feeling needy, sweetheart?” he asked, voice pure velvet now. Teasing. Dangerous in its gentleness.

You glared—only it wasn’t very threatening, not with your cheeks flushed and your eyes wide. “No.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “That pout says otherwise.”

“I’m not pouting.”

He tilted his head, letting his hand dip just slightly into the water, fingers brushing the surface near your wrist. “Mm, you are. And you’re adorable when you are. Makes me want to keep you like this.”

“Like what?” you asked breathlessly, heart stammering as his fingers ghosted up your arm.

“Naked,” he said simply. “Soft. Wrapped in steam. Needy only for me.”

You couldn’t stop the little noise that slipped out—a mix between a gasp and a whimper—and that’s when you knew he wasn’t going to let you off easy.

He leaned closer, eyes locked on yours. “You want a kiss, don’t you?”

The bubbles shifted with your breath. You stared at him, tongue darting out to wet your lips.

He smirked. “Say it.”

You shook your head, a soft pout forming.

“Poutier than ever,” he murmured, then leaned in and captured your mouth before you could protest again.

The kiss was soft at first. So soft it stole your breath. His lips tasted like warmth and slow-burning fire. But when your hand slid wetly up to the edge of the tub, gripping his arm, that was when the kiss deepened.

He tilted his head, claiming your mouth with a gentle dominance that made your toes curl under the water. His hand slid behind your neck, thumb stroking the hinge of your jaw while his other braced the tub’s edge beside you. Every part of him felt like he was holding back—like he wanted more, but wouldn’t take it unless you asked.

You moaned into his mouth, and he drank the sound in like he needed it to survive.

The kiss deepened until you were breathless, your fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer—closer—

A soft knock sounded at the door. Then, it cracked open.

“Hey… are you—” Baby’s voice cut off.

You startled slightly, but Mystery didn’t even flinch. He lifted his head slowly, brushing one last kiss to your cheek before turning toward the door.

“She's fine,” he said coolly.

“Baby?” Jinu’s deep voice cut through the steam like velvet, followed closely by Baby’s dramatic sigh.

“Oh, now this isn’t fair,” Baby groaned from the doorway. “She’s all soft and glowing and half-naked, and we’re stuck out there pretending to care about ethics.”

Romance stepped in behind them, towel over his shoulder, eyes dark with heat—but calm. Abby followed silently, his gaze moving straight to your face like he was checking your every breath.

You instinctively shifted in the water, though the bubbles still covered you. “I’m okay,” you said softly, voice small in the mist.

Mystery didn’t move. He just continued brushing his hand across your collarbone, protective and unbothered by the others. His voice remained even. 

Jinu came to kneel beside the tub, opposite Mystery. His eyes roamed your face, then down to your glistening shoulders and the curve of your neck. “Are you sore?” he asked gently, fingers reaching to cup your cheek.

“A little,” you admitted, leaning into his touch.

Abby rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “We just wanted to check on you. You’ve been in here a while.”

“She was getting attention,” Mystery said, casually.

Your face went crimson. “Mystery…”

“What?” he said innocently. “I didn’t lie.”

Romance stepped closer and crouched beside the tub, brushing a damp strand of hair from your temple. “Do you want more time?” he asked, gently.

You shook your head. “I should get out soon…” you sat up a little straighter, the water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub. “

That was a mistake.

All five of them suddenly stilled.

Their eyes locked on you. On your collarbone peeking above the bubbles. The droplets sliding down your throat. The curve of your thighs just barely visible beneath the foam.

You froze, then groaned softly. “Can you all please look away?”

They blinked in unison.

“Oh,” Baby said. “You meant now-now?”

“Yes, now-now,” you huffed, sinking deeper into the water. “Turn around.”

Jinu blinked like he’d been pulled from a trance. “Right. Sorry.”

Romance smirked but turned his back smoothly, hands folded behind him.

Abby cleared his throat and closed his eyes, though he stayed close.

Baby sighed. “This feels illegal. I’m looking at the ceiling.”

Only Mystery stayed where he was, not moving an inch but his gaze dropped, not in defiance, but with devotion. “I’ll help you with the towel.”

You gave him a look, cheeks warm.

“I won’t peek,” he said gently. “I’ll just hold it up.”

And he did—lifting the soft towel and averting his eyes as you stood from the bath, water trailing down your skin in slow rivulets, the air suddenly thick with heat again.

You stepped into the towel, and his arms wrapped it around you like silk, careful and reverent.

The others turned back once you were secure, but they didn’t speak. They just watched you.

The towel clung to your damp skin, short enough to show the curve of your thighs and just loose enough to dip off one shoulder. You padded barefoot through the hall, water still glistening on your collarbones. You didn’t mean to tease.

But the bond between you and them had other plans.

Every sway of your hips made the tension behind you thicken. You felt it—them—watching, their stares like a heat pressing between your shoulder blades.

A synchronized groan echoed behind you.

“Hyung, I swear she’s doing that on purpose,” Baby muttered, voice strained.

“She knows exactly what she’s doing,” Abby added, jaw tight, eyes locked on your retreating form like he wanted to drag you right back in.

“Of course she is,” Romance said smoothly, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. “And I’m not even mad.”

Jinu’s golden eyes followed you like a magnet, burning from where he stand. “I told you I didn’t do enough last night,” he murmured to no one in particular. “She’s still walking.”

“Still walking and swinging those hips,” Mystery added, voice low, unreadable—but the twitch in his jaw and the faint glow under his skin betrayed everything.

You stopped, letting the silence stretch for one tantalizing moment before glancing over your shoulder with a sweet little smile. “So... whose clothes can I borrow?”

Five demons froze.

Then the room exploded.

“Mine!” Baby shouted first, hand raised like a kid in school. “She should wear mine! I’m the maknae! I deserve it!”

“You deserve a leash,” Mystery scoffed.

“Mine,” Jinu said next, stepping forward.

“Back off” Abby growled, stepping in front of him “She literally slept in your shirt. It’s my turn.”

“I volunteer mine,” Romance said smoothly, voice like velvet. “She needs something breathable. Silk. Comfortable.”

“She should wear mine,” Mystery said calmly, voice low but firm. “It’s oversized and clean. She’ll feel safe.”

You blinked at the chaos, lips twitching. “So… do I get to choose?”

“Nope,” Baby grinned. “Let fate decide. Rock, paper, scissors.”

“Seriously?” you laughed.

Abby cracked his knuckles. “Oh, we’re doing this.”

The boys formed a loose circle in the middle of the room, eyes narrowed like predators, hands flexing. You wrapped your towel tighter around you, watching the absurdity unfold with growing amusement.

Mystery won first round. Then Abby. Then Baby tied twice with Jinu. Romance accused someone of cheating. You were halfway through stifling laughter when the final round came down to the best of three. Abby got cocky too early. Romance kept tying. Baby cheated once. Mystery barely moved but somehow stayed in. Jinu? He just grinned the whole time like he already knew how it’d end.

In the final round, Jinu threw rock. The others threw scissors.

“Of course,” Abby sighed dramatically.

“No!” Baby cried. “You cheated!”

“Lucky,” Jinu said with a crooked grin, stepping toward you like a hunter closing in on his prey. “Come here, baby.”

“My hoodie,” he murmured, his voice a low purr, “and nothing underneath.”

Your breath hitched as heat bloomed under your skin. His fingers brushed your arm as he handed you the soft, oversized fabric—dark, warm, and smelling like him.

“Go on,” he teased, eyes dipping. “Unless you want help putting it on…”

You snatched it, flustered. “I got it, thank you.”

Romance smirked. “You sure? He’s very good with sleeves.”

You didn’t answer. You just turned on your heel, stalking down the hallway toward Jinu’s bedroom, ignoring the chorus of low groans and quiet chuckles that followed you.

The hoodie in your hands was soft and warm, like he’d poured his heat into it just for you. You dropped your towel with a huff, pulling it over your head. It swallowed your frame instantly, sleeves long and hem brushing your thighs—bare, save for the brush of air against your skin.

You opened one of Jinu’s drawers and grabbed a pair of black sweatpants, tugging them up over your hips. They were loose, too big, but comforting… like being wrapped in all of them at once.

As soon as you turned to head back out, the door opened.

Jinu stood there, eyes glinting with satisfaction as he raked them down your form. He guided you into the softly lit living room, your hand small in his as his hoodie draped low over your thighs, swallowing you whole. The fabric still smelled like him—cedar and something darker—and your skin hummed where it touched your bare back.

The moment you stepped into the living room, your body wrapped in Jinu’s hoodie, Abby’s gaze locked on you like a slow pull of gravity. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as if your presence alone triggered something primal. Without a word, he reached out from the couch, his massive arm hooking gently around your waist and pulling you down into his lap.

“Right here, angel,” he murmured, voice low and rough like a velvet growl. “C’mere.”

You blinked up at him, your cheek resting against the solid wall of his chest, lulled by the deep thud of his heart beneath you. “You’re warm…”

Abby chuckled, low and pleased. “You’re always cold. Let me fix that.”

You melted into him without hesitation, curling into his massive frame like you belonged there—and maybe you did. The way he shifted you in his lap, adjusting you so effortlessly to fit against him, made it feel like his body had been carved just to hold you. His hand slipped beneath the hem of the hoodie, fingers settling at the small of your back, stroking slow, hypnotic circles that made your lungs catch.

Your breath hitched, bare skin brushing his calloused palm, but instead of tension, it unraveled you. The warmth, the scent of him surrounded you, grounding you like a tether to something deeper than yourself. Abby pressed a kiss to your temple, a soft sound escaping him—satisfied, content, possessive.

And your body responded like it remembered this. Like it had missed him.

Jinu watched with a slight smirk from across the room, arms folded as he leaned against the wall like a proud man watching his treasure get worshipped.

The hoodie slipped slightly off one shoulder, exposing more skin, and he took the opportunity to kiss the hollow between your neck and shoulder, his lips warm and reverent. You sighed, the sound almost a whimper, and his grip tightened just a little.

Moments later, a soft dip in the couch signaled someone joining. You barely lifted your head before Baby settled on your other side, hair still tousled and eyes gleaming with mischief. “What’s this?” he asked, voice teasing. “You two look suspiciously comfortable.”

You didn't answer—too drowsy, too warm. Your hands moved on instinct, the pull of your bond guiding your sleepy actions. One hand rested over Abby’s chest, fingers lightly kneading the soft fabric of his shirt. The other floated aimlessly… until it found Baby’s cheek.

He froze.

Your fingers brushed against the smooth skin of his face before you gave a small, absent press, like a sleepy kitten seeking heat. Baby blinked, stunned… then let out a soft, involuntary sound—almost a purr.

“Oh my god,” Abby chuckled, chest rumbling beneath you. “Did you just purr?”

“She’s got him domesticated already,” Jinu laughed, walking past and tossing a blanket over all three of you. “It’s kinda cute.”

Baby, still stunned, leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help himself. “She’s warm,” he mumbled, half-defensive, half-whiny. “And she’s touching my face. What was I supposed to do?”

You made a small, sleepy sound of approval and shifted closer, fingers still curled where you needed them most. Abby’s other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, easing you against him like you were the most precious thing in his arms.

Baby leaned in and nuzzled into your palm, letting out a soft, helpless sound—a purr. His lashes lowered. “You’re unfair when you’re sleepy,” he muttered, kissing your wrist. “So warm. So soft.”

Soon, Mystery appeared and leaned against the wall with a quiet smile, while Romance took a seat on the armrest, watching with fond eyes.

The soft rise and fall of your breathing had shifted into the rhythm of sleep, your cheek nestled perfectly against Abby’s chest, fingers still curled like a kitten over his shirt. His hand never stopped moving—slow, lazy strokes up and down your spine, each caress more worship than comfort. He leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss into your hair, inhaling deeply as if your scent could tether him to the present.

Baby had gone unusually still beside you, just watching. His head tilted slightly toward your touch, his lashes fluttering when your knuckles brushed his skin with every slow breath you took. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the quiet way your lips parted as you slept… it was making something raw in both of them ache.

“She asleep?” Baby whispered.

Abby nodded, his voice thick with something reverent. “Yeah. Out cold.”

The room was quiet, but charged. The others had fallen into their own spaces

Abby’s fingers slid up to your nape, his other hand moving from your lower back to cradle your thigh, adjusting you carefully in his lap without disturbing your sleep. “You feel that?” he murmured. “How she just sinks into us. Like she knows.”

“I do,” Baby added, his voice barely audible. “I feel it every time she touches me.”

Romance reached over and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “She needs all of us. The way she pulled you in,” he said to Baby with a crooked smile, “and the way she lets Abby hold her like that. She was made for this. For us.”

Then, as if drawn by the bond they all shared, each of them leaned in to leave a kiss. A whisper of devotion pressed to your temple. A warm brush over your forehead. The faintest graze of lips on your shoulder. Even Mystery, ever careful, let his fingers run down your arm before pressing a kiss to your hand, as though making a silent vow.

You stirred faintly, a soft noise in your throat, your fingers tightening their hold—one against Abby’s chest, the other brushing Baby’s jaw. He leaned into the touch again, eyes fluttering closed, a soft purr vibrating in his throat.

“Don’t wake her,” Abby warned with a low chuckle, but he didn’t stop stroking your back, his touch a constant, grounding rhythm. “She needs this.”

“We all do,” Jinu said. “Just a little longer.”

And so they stayed like that—five demons once built to steal souls, now completely undone by the one girl who had no idea she’d already claimed theirs.

Next Chapter...

It had the opposite effect of what you were hoping. He was pressing into you. His lips, peppering kisses all over your small face. You were being squeezed like a squeaky toy. Some of the kisses were so hard you thought they would bruise. Mustering all your remaining breath, you squeak out in utter disbelief,

"This is-- assault!! Lemme go!!"

Baby burst out laughing, observing all your passing emotions and expressions as if gazing at a particularly facinating sample under a microscope. The others stared at him. Beni, if anything, was the most moody of their group. Nothing, no-one had ever made him laugh like this.

Romance couldn't hear you, mumbling to himself incoherently between kisses, "So-- small-- so fucking-- soft--"

He was smothering you in his scent. It was sweet and intoxicating; cedarwood and roses. You hated it. When he nuzzled your neck, his pink hair tickled. You vaguely caught sight of a poster on the wall. Romance was his stage name? Yeah, no shit.

"Off her, Roman. We need to figure shit out."

You refused to thank Jinu for getting the lovesick, oversized man-pup off of you, though you really wished to when Roman reluctantly released you. You sat up, dizzy and reeling. Eyes wide as you stared into space, traumatized.

However, you were soon caught in the grasps of another. The Mysterious guy had you now, and his arms were just as strong as the others'. You tried kicking, even throwing your head back as abruptly as you could. He dodged it smoothly. Unable to help it, you helplessly whimper, "Are you even human?"

You were using your whole body weight to try heave him away and he still didn't even budge. As if their bodies were made of lead. They surely could not be regular boys. No matter how much they danced and worked out, this level of strength should be impossible.

"No." The court, quiet response tore through you. It was from Mystery. Rasped in your ear, the croon of a fallen angel. It should have been a joke, so why'd you flinch?

You broke out of your stupor and continued struggling. He grabbed your small thigh and eased it upwards, adjusting himself into a sitting position and now it looked like you were sitting in his lap.

Jinu smiled that pretty smile again. An act you were now growing to hate, "Well, well, I was going to tell you to make yourself comfortable but now I see, there was no need."

You were about to blow a fuse, when suddenly Jinu dropped his smile. He brought up a large hand, and cupped it as if wielding something for the world to see.

And then, you saw.

Fire. It was fire. Purple though, various shades of violet flickering and overlapping. Born of golden embers. It didn't have an unpleasant smell like regular man made fires, and was captivating to the eye. Where was it coming from? His palm. You opened your mouth to scream, but Mystery covered it easily.

"Malak is right, though. We're not human. We're demons. You knew that, didn't you?" You definitely should have. Afterall, the way you looked at them that time. You saw everything that was within them and felt it.

Utterly appalled, you shook your head. You were a vision. Eyes wide, jaw dropped. Cheeks flushed in shock. Fear in your gaze. You were stunned. Completely dumbfounded. They loved it.

Seeing your reply, that fucker, he smiled even wider, hand brushing through his dark hair, "Well now ya do. And now that you know, you see, we just can't let you off our radar."

The other boys slowly grinned as they realised the plan of Jinu. He had been conspiring. Just to tie you to them like this. A secret could sometimes be the greatest shackle of them all. This one would have a considerable weight on you. And no matter where you ran, where you would hide, it would cling to you. You poor, poor thing.

The silence was broken by your small burst of forced laughter. "Haha-- wait-- is this some sort of organized prank?"

Abby, who had been leaning against the door, teleported so that now he was seated upon the bed. Right. Next. To. You. You squealed, the sound muffled against Malak's palm.

The rest of them were this distinctively strong. But this guy, who was so clearly built and possessed such defined tight-packed abs? You couldn't fathom his strength. You cowered away the best you could. He saw it, flashing inhumanely sharp canines at you as he smirked.

"Does it still seem like a prank?"

"Are you going to kill me now?" You weren't going to lie and say that you hadn't been practicing your facial expressions in the mirror since your boyfriend had died, just so that you wouldn't be percieved as completely emotionless. But this did strike shock in you. Demons, ghosts and supernatural abilities and things like that were beyond human understanding, afterall.

But that ebbed away now. You were still submerged in your sorrow. Handsome demons threatening you now wouldn't change that.

Before Jinu could open his mouth to reply, you continued, subconsciously slouching against Malak. "You can't; it would be too difficult to hide. There are CCTVs everywhere on that street the police would see how you escorted me away last night. They'll trace my dissapearance back to you all somehow, and even if you avoid it, you can't afford the suspicions. It would leave too much of a mark on a debut band like yourselves."

Your voice was cool, calm and collected. Even if you didn't mean to, you occupied Malak's lap like a queen. Their queen. His hand that once covered your mouth now in your smaller one. You let go of it abruptly once you noticed.

"You've got some brains on you." Jinu finally spoke, voice breathy. Visage collected as if he didn't have a raging boner that he was thankfully successfully able to hide beneath baggy blue joggers.

"No, I just don't care. You can kill me if you want. Maybe I'll be able to meet him then atleast." Malak's arms tightened around you at the mention of your death. The way your voice softened, became that lovely, vulnerable melody as you mentioned your late lover.

Roman's eyes were wide. He pulled the blanket up over his lower half. "She's smart."

Abby leaned closer, grabbing part of the blanket for himself "She's stunning,"

Baby huddled in, doing the same. "And she's brave as shit."

You could only vaguely hear their musings in the background. Didn't pay any mind to it. Waited for the ravenette man's reply in particular.

"You make a good point. But we weren't planning to kill you in the first place," Jinu couldn't suppress his smirk. They didn't want you dead. They wanted you between them.

They wanted you wrapped in silk and kisses and themselves, to rever and worship you. But look at you right now. If you were to know how they felt you would run for the hills, let alone understand. How five men, no, demons, could be all over you within days of meeting. Or, according to you-- minutes of meeting.

The Baby-looking one couldn't give a shit about the technicalities. He grabbed you by the shoulders, yanking you from Malak. "Beni." The curtain-haired man hissed under his breath.

Beni held you down, his aquamarine locks swaying at the action. "Who's he and why are you so obsessed with him? What does he have that we don't?"

You were getting annoyed. They were manhandling you without any effort whatsoever. And you still just wanted to go home. Their words at this point, in the most respectable way possible, was mere noise to your ears.

"We have the money." Jinu furrowed his brows.

"The muscles," Abbott added, stretching and involuntarily almost snapping the top button of his sleep shirt. You eyed it cautiously, paranoid it would come shooting at your face.

"The looks," Malak brushed back the thick curtain of hair over his eyes and you gasped at the beauty you saw.

"The fame," Beni flipped his hair again, practically staring you down at this point.

"The chivalry," Roman eyes you down in a way that made you shudder.

His long, slender finger guided a line down your forearm, before he interlinked your hands again. Maybe if it was any other girl who actually enjoyed being surrounded by attractive men like this, she would have passed out in bliss

You were perplexed with their little monologues, but replied nonetheless, "It's not the same. You can have all of that and crank them up to the max but you'll never be him." Your words broke between grunts of effort of getting out from under Beni's grip.

"Can't be everyones type, no matter how hot you are." You couldn't help but add in the tiny little taunt. In your defense, your tone was literally monotonous; not too provoking. You just really wanted to get outta there.

By god, was that a mistake.

Within seconds, you were pressed into this weird weird, weird position with Beni between your legs, hands held above your head in just one of his. His face in your neck. You were too confused, shocked to even holler.

He was sucking. Your hand was in his hair, scrunching, tugging the brightly-colored locks to get him off of you. He moaned in that slutty deep voice of his and rutted down like an animal in heat. With every pull of his hair, his flesh became hotter and hotter. These guys were a diverse group. You feared they had some pretty diverse kinks as well.

For the next minutes, the room was filled with the sound of Baby's lips against your skin. Wet and intense. And the sound of your angry and slightly scared grunts and groans-- winces of effort of escaping from this. All in futility.

Knowing how much it riled him up having his hair pulled, you'd learnt your lesson. You were tugging on the back of his shirt now, tiny legs squirming and kicking around his muscular thighs.

"We-- were-- having-- a conversation!!" You choked out between grunts of effort of pushing him off.

Vaguely, you could hear the sound of Jinu's tuts. "We can't even have a conversation without you riling up one of our boys, [Y/N]," wait a minute, OUR? You cringed.

Beni heard this and gave a frustrated huff before he removed himself. Pass all the dumb technicalities, and he could pounce on you however, whenever he wished as many times as he liked. He smiled to himself. Even wider when you shot him a murderous glare from the bed.

You shot up, and you felt the humiliating sting of tears in your eyes from having your neck sucked so hard, being pressed in such a helpless position for minutes on end. Horrified, you wipe them harshly with the back of your hand. This was traumatizing to say in the least.

"It's not my...he just attacked me!! And how do you know my name??"

Jinu solemnly held up the identification card he nicked from your purse and dodged when you launched yourself at him. He caught you in his other arm instead, holding the card in the other hand well out of your not-so-long reach.

"We'll be holding onto your documents for now." The card dissapeared from his hand before your eyes in a puff of red smoke.

You still couldn't quite believe it. You waved your hand above his palm a few times. It had really dissapeared. Jinu chuckled at your unwitting cuteness. You stumbled back. You were screwed.

"My little soda pop~" Abby chuckled, pulling you close by the waist and nuzzling your waist. You went rigid. This guy was huge. At the same time, you really didn't want him to know how terrified you were of him.

"Pull your top down it's making me nervous." You finally said, making your little wincing noises as you tried to pull away. They held back coos at the adorable noises. His cropped top rested just above his navel, showing a teasing hint of his abs. And you should have found it sexy like all other chicks, but it was really just intimidating as hell right now.

No doubt, he took this the wrong way. He let go of your waist. You hadn't even taken a step and you were yanked right back by your wrist.

There, in front of everyone, he lay back and pulled your small form effortlessly atop him. "Wah--!" Your voice had gone high pitched, using your hand against his right chest as an anchor as you tried to pull your hand away. Your knees on either side of his huge thighs.

"All yours," He winked. He had your hand against his unyielding abs. Bare abs; his shirt hooked up in his other thumb.

He was utterly and completely shameless. Poor you, you didn't even know how to voice your surprise. It came in the form of hiccups. "Hic-- h-hic...lemme go.. let my hand go-!!"

You didn't notice but they all marvelled at the way your small body twitched with your adorable little hiccups. The way you helplessly tried to muffle them and failed miserably.

"What, [Y/N]? Too much for you to handle~?" He was so mean, the way he was taunting. He punctuated his question with a upwards roll of his hips. It caused your small hand to unwittingly slide downwards and elicited an excited moan from his throat. The action was so obscene, you stopped breathing for a moment in mortification.

"I-- I don't understand-- why are you...why are you all acting like this? Why not just let me go-- hic--peacefully?"

"You're looking down like this at me and asking that? You really don't know??" Abby raised a flared brow, smiling even more.

You squirmed some more. To no avail. "I don't know! I don't fucking know!! I don't even care that you're demons or whatever so just lemme go!!"

"Oh honey," Romance purred in your ear. He slowly pulled you off of Abby. The latter actually shivered as your touch slid off of his abdomen.

"We are never letting you go."

"I still can't believe we're not hot enough for her." Baby Saja leaned on your shoulder and looked up at you, giving you puppy dog eyes. But there was a faint shimmer that travelled over his flawless skin. A glisten, that momentarily revealed purple patterns crawling across his flesh.

You burst out crying. Not because of the patterns. "You said I could go home, you said-- *sob*-- just a few questions and I could leave--"

"[Y/N]" Jinu said your name with that honey-sweet and hypnotizing voice of this. Innocent, as if they weren't all driving you to your wit's end. His large hand went to your waist, the other cupping your cheek and flicking away the tears before they could stain.

"We like you." They said it. At the same time, five pairs of eyes all on you. You laughed.

"You don't know me." You denied. Jinu was having none of it.

"You do know us, even if you don't realize it. We know you. Better than anyone ever has, better than that dead boyfriend of yours--"

SMACK

𝐓𝐁𝐂

⌗☾︎ ‧₊˚ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶⋅₊˚☽︎⌗

Like that concept. Was it supposed to be a secret? They didn't react like you expected. No panic. No anger. Then again, you didn't exactly study their expressions too hard. Priorities.

Still, the sight's fresh in your mind. The holograms. The glowing golden eyes. That haunting yet stunning transformation. Whoever came up with that deserves a raise. You want those contacts. Seriously.

Focus. So what exactly did you do to earn their torment?

...Maybe their whole demon concept isn’t even a concept. Maybe it's just them being themselves. It wouldn't surprise you if they casually peeled off their skin one day and revealed horns underneath.

You'd arm yourself with holy water and crosses. Even if it doesn't work, at least you tried.

You sigh. The regular chaos of your job is already exhausting. You didn't sign up to be personally targeted by five beautiful men with bad attitudes and possible hellspawn origins.

Still, you can't deny the silver lining. Your last three chapters? A hit with your readers/audience.

With the extra income, rent is looking less like a nightmare and more like a minor inconvenience. You might even treat yourself to a pastry.

So, the plan for today is simple: Avoid them at all costs. Have another staff member deliver their water and lunch. Easy. Professional. Peaceful.

Elsewhere…

"She could be with Huntrix." Jinu muttered, arms crossed, brows drawn so tight it looked like he was trying to squeeze the truth out of thin air.

Baby snorted, already halfway through flopping into a chair. "Or maybe she's just weird. Ever think of that?" His tone carried the smugness of someone who never overthinks anything in his life.

Abby leaned forward, voice serious, eyes too dramatic for the conversation. "Or she's spying for someone else. A lone agent." (He's been watching too many shows)

Romance, because of course, had to add flair. He tapped his chin, eyes gleaming with fake wisdom. "Or… a real artist, like she says. She does draw well for a spy. Very aesthetic espionage."

Mystery finally decided to break his silence and add in his idea. "What if she just takes her job seriously?"

The silence that followed that was longer. Suspiciously long. Everyone blinked at him like he just said the most cursed thing in existence.

Baby frowned first. "…That's even worse."

This is what he meant: if you're the type to take the 'job' seriously, then you could've been quietly studying them, sketching more than just their faces, memorizing habits for the perfect disguise.

Or worse, worse—you're just a terrifyingly normal human who's so diligent it makes their own chaos look embarrassing.

"Agreed." Abby nodded gravely, as though Mystery had just confirmed she was a war criminal.

Jinu exhaled through his nose, patience thinning. "You're all missing the point." He straightened, voice sharper now. "Whether she's with Huntrix or not, we don't know anything. And like I said yesterday, I don't attack without information."

That earned him a round of groans. Baby slouched further, Abby muttered something about "boring rules," and Romance rolled his eyes like Jinu had just killed the mood with a lecture.

"Fine then." Baby piped up suddenly, grinning like he'd just cracked the code of the universe. "Let's hypnotize her."

Abby perked up immediately, bumping Baby's fist with the enthusiasm of someone who'd been waiting for this moment. "That's not bad. If it works, she's human. Case closed."

Romance smirked, leaning back like he was watching a soap opera unfold. "And if it doesn't?"

The grin slipped off Baby's face like a sticker losing its glue, while Mystery just sat there, wide-eyed, diligently absorbing the chaos like he was in a very educational seminar.

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sound that could only belong to a stressed Asian parent.

"Does what I say enter your ear and leave through the other?" His tone carried the exhausted weight of someone who’s explained multiplication tables for the fiftieth time.

He dropped his hand and leveled them all with a stare sharp enough to slice the room in half. "If it doesn’t," he said, voice low, deliberate, "then we'll know exactly what kind of opponent we're dealing with."

That shut them up, if only for a moment.

Finally, Jinu sighed, slow and heavy. "I'm sure you've all memorized the choreography enough by now. Instead of wasting time speculating, we'll take turns watching her. And while you're at it—" His gaze sharpened, "Get that book. Whatever she's sketching, it could clear this whole situation up."

For a split second, the boys looked excited. A free day? No drills? No yelling about formations? Freedom?

But then Jinu smiled. Not his usual half-smile, but a teeth-baring, leader-grade smile. "So. Who wants to go first?"

The chorus of groans that followed was louder than the speaker system.

Instead of practicing, they spent the entire morning arguing over who goes first, then next, and all the way to the last. They eye each other like enemies before throwing down their hands in a dramatic round of rock, paper, scissors.

By lunch, they've just finalized the schedule when the rehearsal room door swings open.

"Hello! Here's your lunch." A voice calls cheerfully causing for heads to whip toward the unfamiliar staff member.

"Where's the other noona? The one who's been bringing our food these last two days?" Baby asks politely all while flashing a disarming smile.

The staff member nearly swoons. "She asked me to take over today. Said she had errands."

Suspicious. They all thought.

Suspicious enough that the unlucky member with the first shift rises like a man sentenced.

—

It didn't take Romance long to track you down.

A couple of smooth questions here, a sweet smile there, and suddenly the universe was pointing him straight to where you were.

Broom in hand, sweeping the backstage floor like Cinderella without the glass slipper. Earbuds in, shoulders bobbing faintly with the rhythm, blissfully unaware that a demon, a very handsome one was about to ruin your peace.

Romance lingered for a beat, then another. There was something oddly captivating about how focused you looked—even on something as boring as dust.

But then he remembered yesterday. The lack of swooning, the attitude, and the way those words you threw felt like bricks. He wasn't leaving without a reaction this time.

"Need help with that, darling?" His voice slid in like velvet, smooth and practiced. He leaned against the wall like he owned it, hands in pockets, grin sharp enough to blind. "Or should I just stand here and give you moral support while you sweep?"

You felt his presence. You heard him. And you ignored him—like air. A very expensive-smelling one. Which, fine, was basically a compliment. Forget it.

Romance didn't budge. He reached forward and plucked one of your earbuds out before you could stop him. "Don't be so cold now, sweetheart."

Your face soured instantly. Both at the stolen earbud and at his face. "You're the one stealing. That's rude." You snatched it back, glaring. "Also, sweetheart? Really? What, did your script run out of budget halfway through?"

That got him to laugh—bright and sharp, like he couldn’t decide if you were insulting him or auditioning to. "Oh, so she talks. I was beginning to think you were immune to charm."

"I am." You deadpanned, stabbing the broom into the floor like a mic drop. "Now go spread glitter somewhere else. I've got work to do."

"Ouch." He pressed a hand to his chest, smile unwavering. "Feisty. I like that."

"Not here for your approval." Your eyes flicked to him like the broom in your hand wasn't just for cleaning.

Romance leaned on the nearest chair, draping himself with lazy elegance, that practiced smile curving slow. "Maybe not. But you looked at me before answering. That counts for something."

You scoffed, sharp as glass. "Yeah. I was weighing if it'd be worth smacking that annoyingly symmetrical face with this broom."

His grin only widened, unbothered, like he'd just been paid a compliment. "If you hit me, I might just take it as flirting."

"Then I'll aim lower." Your eyes flicked to his shoulder, and you tightened your grip on the broom for emphasis.

He chuckled, soft and maddeningly smooth, as though your irritation was some game he'd already mastered. "So cold. And yet, I can't help but think you enjoy my company."

"If by company you mean the way mold shows up uninvited, sure." You brushed past him, only for him to fall into step beside you, too close, too casual.

At one point, you bent to pick up a fallen prop: a foam trident. Without missing a beat, you twirled it in your hand like you'd trained for it, movements sharp and fluid.

Romance watched, his usual poise flickering into something else—amusement laced with the faintest hesitation.

"Careful." He murmured, eyes following the clean spin of plastic in your grip. "You're starting to look a little dangerous with that thing."

"Relax." You smirked, leaning the trident over your shoulder. "If I really wanted to stab you, you'd already know."

For once, he had no immediate comeback. Just a laugh, smooth but thin, like he wasn't sure if he should be charmed...or threatened.

Romance finally dragged himself away to meet with the others at the rooftop. He didn't even bother to shake it off.

Abby was already leaning against the rail, arms crossed, the first to pounce. "So? How'd it go?"

"I couldn't get it." His answer was smooth, casual, like he wasn't admitting failure at all. Still, the chorus of sighs that followed hit him like a wave.

They really did think it would only take him.

He didn't tell them about the way he forgot the whole point halfway through, too distracted by the sharp tongue attached to a broom. Instead, he offered dryly, "She was practicing how she'd strike us. With a trident."

Jinu immediately choked on his drink. He slammed the can down, eyes wide like they finally learned the truth about their staff girl, and her double life.

He hummed, mentally noting a valuable information. "So her weapon's a trident, huh?" Now, they're finally getting somewhe—

"Foam." Romance said, dead serious, not even blinking.

There was a long beat.

Mystery tilted his head, voice mild, though his eyes glinted. "You really could've led with that."

Romance ignored him, carrying on smoothly, "She spun it like she meant business. Deadly. Almost called her Poseidon." He paused, then added, "Also called me a walking arts-and-crafts hazard."

That earned him a silence sharper than any insult.

Romance just smiled, unbothered, leaning against the railing like he'd done them a favor.

Failure #1

—

Baby's turn begins with him stuffing his pockets with snacks. If he was going to tail someone, he might as well do it on a full stomach.

He finds you in one of the dressing rooms, sorting wigs and costumes into bins. Boring, mindless work. Perfect for sneaking in.

He slinks around, crouched low like some stealth agent, until he accidentally knocks over a mannequin arm. It hits the floor with a loud clack.

You jump. He jumps. For one second you both just stare at each other

Your eyes narrow instantly after you finally processed it's another one of these boys for today again. "Why are you crouching like that?"

Baby straightens immediately, hands on his hips, chest out like nothing happened. "Stretching. Back pain. Old injury."

You look him up and down, unconvinced because you should be the one saying that. He's acting like it wasn't just yesterday that he was messing with you by littering all the things you just cleaned up, like some fucking cat.

"Huh, this box? Woops! I'm so sorry, noona." That's exactly what he'd say, eyes wide and fake-innocent, like some baby deer with unresolved mischief issues.

And yeah. It did make your skin crawl. Not the "noona" itself—you could handle that. It was the way he said it. That smug little tilt, that cheeky lilt, like every syllable was dipped in mockery.

You'll admit it: he's cute. Objectively. But his whole existence had the chaotic energy of someone who knew he was cute and used it for evil.

And unfortunately for him, charm loses its effectiveness when paired with the urge to throw him out a window.

And right now, he's grinning at you with that exact kind of energy. "You know," He says, sidling closer. "your work ethic is really inspiring. Sorting wigs with that kind of passion? Sexy."

You stare at him, unblinking, weighing whether to smack him with the mannequin arm or go full WWE with the entire stand. Both options sound therapeutic.

Instead, you sigh, finish folding another wig net, then glance his way. "You remind me of my friend's cat. Always knocking things over, demanding attention, and evil."

Before he can quip back, you pat his head, scratch under his chin like he's an actual pet, and walk past him.

He freezes. Absolutely short-circuits.

A full minute later, he's still standing there, blinking like his software needs an update. Meanwhile, you're already finishing up.

"I'm not wasting brain cells on a live-action reminder that pretty doesn't mean functional." You say flatly, hefting a box into your arms. "Unlike you all, who clearly have nothing better to do, I have an actual job."

Baby finally snapped out of it when he saw you step out though before taking your leave completely, he heard you speak again in a demanding tone like you were a parent warning its 7 year old naughty kid.

"Go back to your little posse, alley cat." You said, eyes half-lidded as you smirked. "Don't you have hair to flip and raccoons to fight behind a 7-Eleven?"

Baby just stood there. Snacks forgotten. Pride, dented. Your words echoed in his head on loop, each replay somehow crueler than the last. Alley cat. Not even a sleek panther or a tiger. No.

A mangy stray scrapping with raccoons by a dumpster.

By the time he dragged himself back to the rehearsal room, the rest of the boys were already lounging in their circle formation, waiting.

He stood between Abby and Mystery, a noise halfway between a hiss and a sigh. He hadn't stopped simmering since you walked away on him.

"She called me a cat." He finally announced. His voice was flat, as if delivering a crime report. "Not in a hot, aloof way. A stray." He looked up at the ceiling like the fluorescent lights had personally wronged him.

"Like the kind that gets into turf wars with raccoons behind a 7-Eleven." His fangs peeked when he clenched his jaw, a flash of demon irritation breaking through.

Romance's lips curved first, an exaggerated pout. "Aw, Baby… my poor little alley cat." He even mimed scratching the air with claws, complete with a hiss.

Abby doubled over instantly, wheezing. "Behind a 7-Eleven?! Pfft—oh she got you good." He actually clutched his stomach like laughter alone might finish him.

Mystery chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as if savoring the absurdity.

Jinu, on the other hand, looked like he had aged ten years in ten seconds. His arms crossed slowly, veins ticking at his temple.

"So let me get this straight." His voice was sharp, every syllable dripping with disappointment. "I told you to find information. A sketchbook. Something useful. And you return with a personal insult report?"

Baby's eyes snapped to him immediately, narrowing into a glare. He snarled under his breath, fangs flashing just enough to remind everyone why mortals used to tremble at their kind. "She compared me to garbage wildlife, Jinu."

"Garbage wildlife?" Romance raised a brow, a sly grin tugging at his lips before a low laugh slipped out. "So, the pretty lady thinks you're exotic."

"Yeah." Abby snorted, leaning against Romance's shoulder with a lazy smirk. "Exotic like rabies, that is."

Baby's head snapped toward them so fast the snack wrapper in his hand crinkled. His turquoise eyes flashed a faint gleam of gold for a second. "Shut it."

Romance only chuckled, unfazed, twirling a strand of his pastel hair around his finger like he’d just gotten away with murder. "Don't pout, alley cat. It's kinda cute."

Abby cackled harder, practically sliding off the couch. "Yeah, Baby—flash those gold eyes again, maybe the raccoons will finally respect you."

Baby scoffed as he muttered under his breath, "Karma comes fast. I hope you feel the burn when she spits her witty lines on your dumb faces."

Jinu's sigh in the background could've carried the weight of ten centuries. "Unbelievable. You're proving she's a tougher opponent than I thought. She knows how to throw us off balance. She's strategic."

Whereas despite all this chaos, Mystery was only minding his own world—like none of this even registered as important.

And then there was Baby, still stuck replaying the insult on loop.

Like Romance before him, he hadn't even managed to ask about the damn sketchbook. He hadn't even gotten the chance to turn the charm up to full power—because one moment you were letting him play, and the next you were roasting him alive like a sack of coffee beans.

If you could dismiss him like that, then fine. He'd just make you swoon, same as those other gullible humans.

He swore it.

Failure #2

—

You felt it. That prickling weight crawling along your shoulders, the unmistakable sense of being watched.

Paranoia? Maybe. Except you weren't paranoid. You were being watched.

Your eyes swept across the storage room—dusty, dim, stacked with boxes and shelves that hadn't seen sunlight since the Jurassic period. Empty. Still. Too still.

Either someone was lurking…or this place was haunted and your will to live had just expired on the spot.

You took one cautious step toward the door.

And then, Mystery appeared from behind a shelf like he'd just been spawned by Satan's stage manager.

He was silent, just standing there, like a typical jumpscare in a horror movie or game you already expected to appear yet was still surprised.

"Shibal—!"

You jumped so hard your soul briefly disconnected from your body. In the process, you managed to trip over a half-collapsed box, slip on some packing tape, and crash to the floor in a glorious symphony of dust, cardboard, and your dignity snapping in half.

Mystery blinked once, slow as molasses, then tilted his head like you were some curious lab experiment. "You startle easily."

You coughed, sneezed from the dust, then sat up with a glare so tired it could've been sponsored by under-eye bags. "You appeared like a ghost."

No apology. Not even the courtesy of offering you a hand. Just that unreadable face and deadpan tone, like he wasn't the reason you were currently decorated with Styrofoam peanuts and shame.

And yet…his gaze didn't feel malicious. Just mildly unsettling. You were, at minimum, eighty-five percent sure he was judging you from under all that hair.

Dragging yourself upright with a sigh, you brushed off your pants with the grace of someone absolutely not humiliated. Nope. Totally fine. Nothing happened.

He hadn't moved. Just kept watching. Patient, quiet, like he was waiting to see if you'd do a trick.

"You're worse than the cockroach I found in the kitchen yesterday." You muttered, already half-convinced he wouldn't respond.

He hummed, unbothered. "Cockroaches don't scream."

Unbelievable.

"...Do you guys rehearse this stuff beforehand?" Your tone was cool, even, but your brow arched. "Like, do you hold little meetings about how to make me question my sanity?"

Mystery didn't answer. He just stood there, shoulders angled ever so slightly toward you, the shadows of his hair keeping his eyes hidden. If not for the faint rise and fall of his chest, you might have mistaken him for a wax figure.

You exhaled slowly through your nose. "Right. Of course. Why would you answer a normal question when you can just stare at me like I'm under a microscope."

His head tilted. A small, deliberate movement, reptile-like in its patience. "Microscope."

"Yes, microscope." You tapped your broom against the floor for emphasis, gaze steady. "You know, those things scientists use to examine bugs. Which I guess makes sense, considering you just brought up cockroaches." Yes, you're humoring this guy.

He didn't move at first. Just watched you with that blank, glassy stare of his, like he was scanning for cracks you didn't know you had. A quiet that wasn't just quiet—it was intentional. Heavy.

Then, without a word, he stepped closer.

Your shoulders tensed, but you held your ground. If you showed weakness, he'd smell it. Or worse, the others would.

His hand rose, slow and deliberate, and for a split second you thought he might—what, touch you? Grab the broom from your hands? Break your neck? Okay, getting wild there.

Instead, his knuckles brushed the side of your face, dusting away something near your cheek. A speck of dirt, maybe. Nothing worth the way your stomach knotted.

Unbothered, he hummed. "Book."

You squinted and spoke. "...Excuse me?"

He didn't clarify. Just let the word sit there between you like a dropped coin in an empty room.

Your grip on the broom tightened. "You're going to have to be a little more specific. People usually use more than one word when they try talking to me."

"The one you always have your nose in." He answered, eyes scanning every feature on your face.

You looked at him like he was the puzzle itself. "...Is this whole bothering-me thing about that?"

He gave a single nod. You stared. Did this guy have a word quota? Was he conserving syllables for his vocal lines?

"You mean my sketchbook?"

Another nod.

"If I gave you that, would all of you stop pestering me?" You asked, tired but sharp.

He didn't answer. Not immediately. Just stood there, matching your stare, silence stretching like a rope ready to snap.

So you sighed, then gave him a smile. And for one brief, shimmering second, Mystery thought he'd won. Maybe you liked him best. Maybe you had a thing for the quiet ones—the cryptic, brooding types who linger like ghost drafts in haunted castles.

Jinu did say people had different tastes in idols. Like food—

"No."

…Or not.

"What makes you think I'd entrust something of mine to you, or any of you?" You asked, jabbing your finger at him with all the sharpness of a prosecutor in a drama. "If you're all worried I'm drawing you in 'suspicious' ways, don't flatter yourselves. You're just references."

You stomped past him with the righteous fury of a woman scorned, broom bristles dragging like thunder. But halfway across the room, you spun on your heel and stalked back.

"Actually, scratch that. You should be worried." Your finger came up again, pointed right at him like you were about to smite him on the spot. "I will draw all of you in suspicious ways. And when you debut? I'll post it."

Your eyes narrowed, locked onto his shadowed face. You didn't care that you couldn't see his eyes. You were confident.

You were an artist. You had the power to draw this stupid boyband making out with each other in watercolor and full shading without feeling an ounce of shame.

They, however, would never recover.

"You better think twice about bothering me now." You warned, all cocky behavior. "Tell them that."

But instead of the cold silence you'd expected, something shifted.

His head tilted, just slightly. A slow movement, deliberate. Then his gaze. hidden though it was, dropped from your face to the finger you pointed at him.

Before you could react, his hand shot out, catching your wrist in a grip that was far too steady, far too calm. You froze, breath hitching as he held you there like you'd just walked straight into a trap.

And then, with unnerving slowness, his thumb brushed against the inside of your palm, coaxing your finger down until your hand folded into his. He didn't lace the fingers together, not quite—but the implication was there. His lips curled into the faintest, sly smirk.

"How rude." He murmured, voice lower, darker than you'd ever heard it.

The sound ran over your skin like a bucket of ice water poured straight into a furnace. Your brain screamed danger, but your body was too busy short-circuiting at the cold press of his hand around yours.

You yanked your wrist free harder than necessary, shaking the phantom weight like it burned.

"Touch me again and I'll actually draw you as a cockroach." You snapped, heat crawling stubbornly up your neck.

That smirk lingered, razor-thin and smug. He didn't chase. He only stepped back, quiet as a shadow, radiating the kind of confidence that said he'd gotten under your skin—and that was enough.

You stormed off, chin high, broom dragging behind you like some kind of medieval sword. Unfortunately, your pulse betrayed you, pounding in your ears loud enough to drown out the victory march you were trying to fake.

Behind you, Mystery just stood there, still as stone, smirk tugging faintly at his lips.

By the time he rejoined the others, they were already circling like sharks at feeding time.

"Well?" Jinu demanded, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Romance leaned forward, smirk locked and loaded. Baby, halfway through stabbing a juice box like it owed him money, muttered, "Bet she roasted him."

Mystery tilted his head, thoughtful. "She… carries fire in her hands." he said finally, voice even.

Everyone blinked.

"…What the hell does that mean?" Romance asked flatly.

Baby snorted juice up his nose. "Called it. Roasted."

Jinu pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did you at least get the sketchbook?"

Mystery was silent for a long beat before shaking his head.

Romance threw his hands in the air. "You're telling me you stood there all this time and came back with a riddle from a discount fortune cookie?"

Mystery didn't answer. His lips curved, faintly, like he knew something the rest of them didn't. Which only made it worse.

Jinu massaged his temples. At this point, he wasn't sure if they were failing—or if you were simply immune to every charm, trick, and supernatural parlor game they had in the book.

Romance muttered something about buying foam bats. Baby muttered something about alley cats.

And somewhere in the room, the last fragile pieces of their collective pride collapsed in silence.

Failure #3.

—

You volunteered to run an errand. A simple supply run. A chance to breathe.

Sure, you had your suspicions the boys were rotating shifts like overzealous bodyguards. Mystery already confirmed it earlier with a thirty–minute staring contest that gave you nothing but an unblinking migraine.

Romance tried to flirt like he'd studied "How to Woo" off a (not-so) trashy webtoon panel. Baby? You nearly offered him tuna before realizing he wasn't a stray cat in expensive clothes.

So today, you were ready. Today, you had your escape.

Or so you thought.

The second you stepped outside, the universe betrayed you. Because the universe sent you Abby.

Of course it did.

The walking thirst trap of the group. The one with annoyingly perfect hair, annoyingly perfect abs, and a face that probably came with a warning label: handle with holy water.

He was right there, strolling at your side like this was casual. Like he wasn't making traffic slow down just by existing.

And his shirt. Don't even get you started on his shirt. What was it doing? Creeping upward every few steps like it had a contract to expose just enough skin to get pedestrians into fender-benders.

Really, universe? Was this some karmic prank? Was Mother Nature herself holding a fan, waiting for the exact right breeze to lift the fabric higher? Because that gust of wind earlier—no coincidence. That was treason.

Naturally, Abby noticed. Naturally, you got caught staring. And naturally, the bastard smirked.

"I saw that." He drawled, smugness dripping off every syllable. "Like what you see, sweetheart?"

You groaned like he was the human equivalent of a bad Wi-Fi signal. "I was looking at the crime against fashion you’re wearing."

He places a hand dramatically on his chest. "You wound me."

The only response you gave was roll your eyes so hard it nearly gives you vertigo.

"You know," Abby started, lacing his fingers behind his head as he strolled beside you, "I think I should be the one to keep you company more often. You seem calmer with me. Maybe even a little... interested."

You stopped dead and gave him the flattest look known to humankind. "I was calm because I thought I was alone."

The pedestrians passing by audibly laughed at that. Someone even muttered, "Ouch," like background commentary in a sitcom.

But Abby? He thrived on delusion. He leaned down, lowering his sunglasses just enough to reveal a grin that belonged in a perfume ad. "Come on, just give me the sketchbook. You like me the most, right?"

You tilted your head, pretending to weigh the idea. "Let's see..."

Then, with a dramatic gasp, you slapped a hand to your heart. "Oh no. My deepest secret! How did you know I fall for guys who flex their abs at me like it's still 2012 Tumblr?"

That gets a crack in his confident grin. Inside, he's genuinely confused. What does that mean??

You pat his arm like you're speaking to someone tragically misguided. "Listen, I've drawn more abs than I've touched in real life. Yours aren't special. They're just... reference material."

bby actually choked on nothing, like the sheer audacity of your words had sucker-punched him. “Reference material?!”

You flash him a cheeky smile, all teeth. "Yeah. The kind I toss into the 'basic male idol' folder."

And with that, you start walking again, breezy and unbothered, like you didn't just verbally body-slam the man sculpted like a Greek tragedy.

For once, Abby was silent. Which should’ve been your first red flag.

Because when you glanced back, he wasn't sulking or hanging behind—he was right there. His stride was slow, deliberate, like a lion following something that thought it had escaped. His eyes? Less scandalized now, more… sharp. Amused. Dangerous.

"You wound me, sweetheart." His voice was playful as he slid into the step beside you. That smirk was back, but thinner, sharper, predatory. "Reduced to 'basic'? After the way you were staring?"

You nearly tripped over a sidewalk crack. "I was not staring."

He bent down just enough for his voice to skim the edge of your ear. “You were practically drooling.”

You snorted, masking the way your skin prickled. "Relax. If I want to drool, I'll look at a rotisserie chicken."

He stopped walking. Actually stopped, and looked at you like you'd just declared war. His jaw slackened for a fraction of a second before curling into the most infuriating grin you'd ever seen. "Oh, that's cute. You think you're untouchable."

"Untouchable?" You barked a laugh. "You're not even in the top ten things ruining my day right now. Congratulations."

Abby stepped closer, eating up the space between you until the air practically buzzed. His shadow bled into yours, swallowing it whole.

That gaze of his dropped, slow and deliberate, tracing from your eyes to your mouth, then back again. It was a look that pinned, not just watched.

"You've got a really sharp tongue." He murmured, tone low and silken, like a confession whispered too close.

You arched a brow, refusing to flinch. "Good thing sharp things scare off pests."

For a second, his smile faltered—just enough to reveal something lurking underneath, something not meant for daylight. Then, he laughed. A soft, dangerous sound that coiled around your ribs and squeezed.

Your heart tripped, traitorous, thudding loud in your ears. You were almost certain he could hear it, savor it, but you refused to give him the victory.

So you smiled back, sickly sweet. "Don't worry. You're not my type."

His lashes lowered, gaze narrowing into a predator’s patience. "Oh?" he drawled, voice dipping dark. "Then what is your type?"

You didn't even blink, just gave a smile between mocking and completely done. "Anyone but you."

His grin spread slow, sharp, like a blade catching light. He leaned in, just enough that his breath brushed your cheek, too warm, too close.

"Careful, sweetheart." He whispered, amusement dripping like poison honey. "Sometimes the ones you say you don't want… are the ones who end up under your skin."

You arched a brow, your voice flat and merciless. "Please. You'd be under my skin the way a splinter is—annoying, painful, and better off pulled out."

His laugh came low, dangerous, entertained. The sound curled around you like smoke, heavy and cloying, but you forced yourself to keep walking, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you falter.

"Sweetheart!" Abby called after you, laughter lacing every syllable. "Running away already? Thought I wasn't your type!"

You didn't stop. Didn't look back. "Better company than you." You muttered, buying some tteokbokki and stabbing one into your mouth like a victory prize.

Behind you, Abby's chuckle carried down the street—dark, amused, and far too entertained for your comfort.

Back at the dorm, Abby slumped into the chair like a fallen king, one hand thrown over his heart, the other dragging across his face.

"She called me predictable. And then—" His voice cracked with wounded pride. "She made me carry everything like some sidekick."

The room was quiet, save for the faint snickers from Baby and Romance, who were already sprawled out in their own sulking heaps.

"So she didn't give you the sketchbook?" Jinu asked, though the knowing tilt of his voice made it sound more like a statement than a question.

Abby exhaled heavily, as though the weight of the insult alone had crushed him. "I think she drew a whole new character in her mind just to insult me."

Failure #4

—

That left Jinu—the last card on the table. The leader. The so-called ace up their sleeve.

"We're counting on you, lead~!" Baby sing-songed, grinning with all the smugness of a cat who’d just pushed a glass off the counter. His voice dipped into exaggerated aegyo as he threw Jinu a wink.

The beef he had with Jinu wasn't subtle; something about being 'the cute one' when Baby rather be anything else. It didn't help that Jinu never really fought back, just smiled like he had better things to do than argue with someone who collected Hello Kitty bandaids.

You, meanwhile, were done. Clock punched out. Brain fried. The sun had dipped, dragging the last of your patience with it. At this point, the only things on your agenda were a hot bath and blissful unconsciousness.

Then, of course, he showed up.

"Happy that work's over, huh?"

You didn't need to look to know who it was. The voice alone was enough to drain whatever scraps of energy you had left.

"Obviously." You let out a breath, rolling your eyes as if gravity itself had personally offended you. "Wouldn't you be, after dealing with a pack of demon-spawn who seem to think my sanity is a team sport?"

His steps slowed. A quiet pause.

"…Is that a general insult," He asked, voice even but eyes sharp, "or something more specific?"

There was something in his gaze, a flicker of suspicion that clung too long—like he was dissecting your words instead of brushing them off. You, on the other hand, were too wrung out to care. You only gave him a look that said: take the hint.

He chuckled softly. "Fair."

And yet, instead of peeling away, he fell into step beside you. Not asking, not excusing himself. Just walking there—close enough that his presence pressed in, far enough that you couldn't call it invasive. The exact kind of balance that made it impossible to ignore.

"Wanna grab dinner?"

You blinked at him, slow and incredulous, then gave a side-eye sharp enough to slice the air. "What makes you think I'd say yes? Is this one of your weird group rituals where someone leaps out of a trash can screaming and I have to sign a waiver afterward?"

"I said dinner, not a prank war." His hands lifted in mock surrender, tone easy, practiced. "My treat. No one else will be there. Consider it… an apology. For the chaos they’ve put you through."

You raised a brow, unimpressed. "And you're suddenly the nice one?"

"I never said that." His reply came silky-smooth, smugness threaded through every syllable. "But I do know when to offer compensation."

You studied him, trying to decide if he was serious or just bored. He hadn't lifted a finger earlier while you drowned in noise and claws, true—but at least he hadn't made it worse. Maybe that counted as mercy in his twisted little world.

Still. Free food was free food. And your fridge looked like a crime scene, your wallet looked worse, and the idea of a meal you didn't have to cook yourself was starting to sound like the closest thing to heaven.

"Fine." You sighed, leveling him with a stare that carried every ounce of suspicion you had left. "But if this turns into a cult initiation, I'm stealing your wallet before I run."

The smirk that tugged at his mouth was quick, sly, entirely too satisfied. "Fair enough."

The place he brought you to wasn’t flashy. A quiet little diner tucked between a laundromat and a stationery shop, the kind of neighborhood haunt that had probably been around for decades.

The air smelled faintly of grilled meat and broth, warmth clinging to the walls the way only years of steam and chatter could manage.

Warm fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, painting the cracked vinyl booths in honey-gold. A small TV bolted in the corner played reruns of some old variety show, the laugh track filtering through the clink of metal chopsticks and the low hum of conversation.

You ordered too much food on purpose. A small rebellion, or maybe just survival. He didn't call you out for it. You pretended not to care.

"You know," Jinu said halfway through his plate, voice deceptively casual. "I kind of expected you to throw your drink in my face by now."

You paused with your fork in hand, squinting at him. "Wow. Do you usually inspire that much violence at dinner?"

His mouth twitched. "Only from the interesting ones."

That earned him a sharp look, but he didn't flinch or look away. If anything, the longer you stared, the more he seemed to settle into it—chin propped against his hand, eyes tracing your face with unnerving calm.

Like he wasn't just making conversation. Like he was cataloguing every flicker of your expression.

You forced yourself to chew, swallow, resume that calm, indifferent rhythm. As if you weren't sitting across from someone who looked like he belonged on a runway instead of a dingy diner booth.

"You always like this?" You asked finally, tone flat but your brow arched. "Weirdly smooth one second, annoying the next?"

His smirk curved like it was practiced, like he enjoyed being accused. "It's a learned skill. Keeps people guessing."

"Mm." You stabbed another bite with your fork. "Or maybe you just like hearing yourself talk."

"Only when the company's worth it." He leaned back, the kind of easy sprawl that took up too much space in a small booth, watching your reaction like it was the punchline.

You gave him none. At least, you tried. The corner of your mouth twitched before you pressed it flat again. "That line work on everyone, or am I special?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." His tone was teasing, but there was something behind it, like he was testing how close he could lean without you pushing him back.

You lifted your glass, sipped slowly, made him wait. "You'd guess everyone. You strike me as an equal-opportunity menace."

"Menace?" He tilted his head, amused. "That's a new one. Usually I get 'charmer.' Sometimes 'dangerous.' Never menace."

You hummed then playfully tilted your head with a faint smile. "Guess I'm refreshing."

"You are." He said, so simply it caught you off guard. Not his stage voice, not even his practiced smirk—just the words, dropped between you like a coin into water.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you cleared your throat, speared another bite like the food deserved all your attention. "Careful. Keep talking like that and I'll really throw this drink."

He grinned, slow and unbothered, like he could already see the splash across his shirt and still call it a victory. "Worth the risk."

You rolled your eyes, lips quirking despite yourself. "Figures. Masochist."

"Optimist." He corrected smoothly, tilting his glass toward you. "You'd miss me the second I left."

"Bold assumption." You muttered, but the way his eyes lingered on you made it hard to keep your tone flat.

Eventually, the conversation drifted into unexpected places. You didn't mean to—God, you weren't the type to unpack things over noodles with a guy you're starting to know.

But Jinu's steady attention was disarming. He didn't fidget or check his phone. He just…listened.

You caught yourself talking about exhaustion. About the constant grind of pretending you were fine, of showing up with a straight face when your chest felt hollow.

"Expectations will kill you faster than anything else." You said lightly, tracing the rim of your glass with one finger. "Everyone wants you to smile, work harder, be tougher—until you feel like a puppet. Sometimes I think it'd be easier to just disappear for a while."

His gaze flicked to you over the table, sharp and unblinking, but he didn't interrupt.

You gave a humorless laugh, trying to brush it off. "And then there are the demons whispering at three a.m. Telling you you're not good enough, not fast enough, not—whatever. It's exhausting."

You'd meant it metaphorically. Obviously. But the way Jinu blinked, slow, calculating, made the hairs at the back of your neck rise. Like you'd stumbled into a minefield without realizing it.

He didn't press. Just nodded once, as though filing the words away in some locked drawer behind his eyes. Still, you swore there was something heavier in his gaze now.

You stabbed another piece of food just to have something to focus on. "Anyway. Point is, I live in a circus. Especially with your group around."

That got the faintest twitch of amusement from him. "My group?"

"Don't play dumb. Those lunatics you work with? They've been driving me insane all day—since yesterday. Mystery tried to bribe me with chocolates, Abby nearly caused a scene on purpose, Romance—" You sighed and shook your head. "Just— they're circling me like vultures for my sketchbook. Tell me that's normal behavior."

He leaned back, folding his arms with an air that was too casual to be real. "And why is that book so important? Can't be just doodles, or you wouldn't guard it like state secrets."

You froze with your fork halfway to your mouth. The shift in his tone was tiny, but you caught it. Too smooth. Too deliberate. His eyes didn't have the warm humor from a moment ago—they'd sharpened, predatory, like a cat stretching lazily while its claws slid out.

You looked at him, then squinted. "Maybe I just don't like sharing. Some people keep diaries, I keep sketches. Nothing groundbreaking."

"Hm." He tilted his head, gaze fixed on you like he was peeling back layers. "You don't strike me as the type who hides behind nothing. If you guard it that much, it means something."

"Careful, Jinu." Your lips curved, though it was more defiance than amusement. "You're starting to sound like you're trying to psychoanalyze me."

"Good thing I'm not." He said easily, leaning forward just enough to. His voice dipped, soft but deliberate. "Just curious."

You tapped your fork against the rim of your plate, pretending to think. "Curious? About me? Or about what doodles I make during breaks? Because if you're expecting a secret treasure map in there, I hate to disappoint."

"Maybe both." He murmured, eyes never leaving yours. The way he said it, like he wasn't asking about sketches at all, made your pulse flicker.

You gave him a mock-suspicious squint. "You're awfully invested in a girl's sketchbook. What's next? Going to ask what shampoo I use?"

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "That depends. Would you actually tell me?"

And just like that, the air between you shifted again. He looked like he was asking about your sketchbook, but something in the weight of his eyes made it feel like he was asking about you— something more.

You picked up your glass, using the sip as an excuse not to break eye contact. "Curiosity killed the cat."

He tilted his head, grin spreading slow, like he liked the 'warning.' "Lucky for me, I've got more lives than most."

You snorted, pushing your plate away as if the whole conversation hadn't been circling closer than you'd like. "Yeah, well, dinner's over. If you needed something, you could've just said so."

For once, Jinu didn't jump back with a clever line. He just watched you. His chin tilted slightly, expression calm, but his eyes fixed on you like a riddle he meant to solve.

It wasn't the look of someone making casual small talk—it was sharper than that, like he was waiting for the mask on your face to crack, even just a little.

You stared back flatly, deadpan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of twitching under the weight of it.

Finally, he moved. Smooth, deliberate, standing with a quiet kind of grace as he slipped a hand into his pocket and tossed bills onto the table like the check was beneath his notice.

"Guess I just wanted good company." He said, tone almost careless.

"Right." You slid out of the booth, straightening your clothes like you were clocking out of a shift. "I'll try not to die of heartbreak when you don't text me back."

That pulled a laugh out of him, low and quiet, his mouth tugging into a smirk as he followed you to the door. He even opened it for you, gentlemanly, as if he hadn't just been dissecting you with his eyes minutes before.

The night air was cooler than you expected, brushing off the leftover warmth of the restaurant. You tugged at your jacket, glancing sidelong at Jinu who still lingered beside you like he hadn't decided whether to walk or stand guard.

"Look." You said, half turning toward him. "I really thought you needed something. No one just buys dinner for free, not unless they're guilty or hiding something."

His lips tugged at the corner, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk—something measured. For a second, his gaze flickered, sharp as glass, before softening into that smooth unreadable mask again.

"Maybe I am." He said, voice low, like the words weren’t meant to be heard so much as slipped under your skin.

You blinked at him. Oh. Your brain instantly supplied the most cliché explanation possible, because of course it would. He's one of those guys. The falls-too-easy types. Great.

You narrowed your eyes at him, deadpan. "I'm not giving you a kiss."

That landed like a slap of cold water. Jinu froze, caught completely off guard, his expression cracking for just a second. His brows jumped, then lowered, like he wasn’t sure whether to be insulted, amused, or both.

His mouth opened—then shut. He looked at you the way someone might look at a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong corner.

"That's… not what I—" He stopped himself, exhaled slow through his nose, then shook his head like he was rebooting. "Forget it."

"Good." You said, folding your arms, satisfied like you'd just blocked a scam call.

Jinu straightened his shoulders, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with deliberate composure, though you didn't miss the faint stiffness in his movements. The perfect gentleman slipping right back into place.

"Either way… thank you for tonight." He paused, recalibrated, then corrected himself with the barest dip of his head. "For the company."

You tilted your head, suspicious. "Pretty words for a guy who almost glitched back there."

He let out a small scoff, brushing past you toward the street, but the tips of his ears betrayed him—just the faintest red as he muttered, "Get home safe."

You watched his back for a second, your lips twitching despite yourself. Then you turned on your heel, striding off in the opposite direction.

'Free dinner.' You reminded yourself firmly. 'Totally worth the embarrassment.'

And even as you shook your head, mentally cursing yourself for blurting out the kiss thing, you couldn't shake the feeling of his eyes still following you—like he was still waiting for a crack that wasn't coming.

Two idiots, walking away convinced the other one was playing the game.

—

Jinu slipped back into the apartment, the night clinging to him like smoke. The others looked up, caught between feigned boredom and sharp curiosity.

Abby was the first to break. "Well?"

Jinu loosened his tie, slow, deliberate. "No sketchbook."

That earned a groan from Romance and an eye roll from Baby.

"But," Jinu added, his voice low, controlled, "she's easier to talk to when you're not clawing at her throat. You might try it sometime." His glance skimmed Abby, Romance, Baby in turn, though none of them looked the least repentant.

He didn't mention the way you carried yourself at dinner—guarded, but not unyielding. The way your eyes sharpened when your teased him, as if testing how much ground he'd give.

Or the flicker of something softer when you let herself laugh, unthinking. You were careful. Clever. But you waere still human.

"Tomorrow." He said instead, lowering himself onto the arm of the couch, his posture loose but his words firm. "She'll fold eventually. Humans always do. It's only a matter of patience."

Baby squinted, petulant. "You sound like you're already winning. Don't tell me you're her favorite now."

Jinu's smile was faint, unreadable. He didn't bother answering. Instead, he turned his gaze to the window, city lights burning like distant embers.

"She doesn't realize it yet," He murmured, almost to himself. "but she's already opening doors."

The others knew better than to pry. If Jinu said tomorrow, it meant the game was still on.

Jinu closed his eyes, as if already moving on, though the taste of your laughter lingered in his thoughts—like a secret he wasn't about to share.

Failure #5 (losers)

Day 4: Pretty Privilege Denied

The rehearsal room smelled faintly of sweat and takeout—an unholy combination that matched the mood.

"This is useless." Baby drawled, stretching out across the floor like a cat claiming territory. His lollipop bobbed lazily between his teeth as he watched the ceiling. "We're four days in and she's still walking around like we’re background characters."

He flicked his wrist, tossing an empty chip bag toward the trash. It hit the rim, slid down the side, and stayed there. He didn’t even look.

"Right?" Abby scoffed, tugging up his shirt just enough to flash abs that no one asked for. "If we just went in at the same time, boom. Four against one. She can't ignore all this."

Romance smirked, leaning forward in his chair like the idea actually had weight. "An ambush of charm. I like it. Idols do interventions all the time."

"Idols do fan meetings." Mystery muttered from the floor, where he was half-curled like he'd merged with it after all those dancing. His voice was thin, haunted. "She'll resist. She always resists."

Baby finally tilted his head just enough to glance at him. "You stood in front of her for half an hour without blinking. That's not resistance. That's basic survival instinct."

Mystery sat up, affronted. "It was intimidation."

"It was horror-movie lighting without the soundtrack." Baby shot back, calm as ever. He pulled the lollipop from his mouth, inspecting it like it held more promise than the conversation. "If you want someone to talk, you don't stare at them like you’re auditioning for a cursed VHS tape. You smile. You soften. You let them want to spill."

Romance arched a brow. "Since when are you the strategist?"

"I'm not." Baby said, already slipping the lollipop back between his lips. "I'm just not an idiot."

That shut the room up for a beat.

Then Abby squinted, defensive. "So what, you think she'll just… fold because you look pretty?"

Romance hummed then looked at them with doe eyes. "You think this is adorable?"

"I think this is inefficient." Baby replied without hesitation. "She clearly likes attention. She breathes like someone who wants to be perceived."

Abby froze mid-sip of his water. "You said that out loud."

"Good." Baby's gaze stayed steady, bored but cutting. "I hope the wind carries it to her. Maybe it’ll reach her ego first."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"…You scare me sometimes." Abby muttered, rubbing the back of his neck like he was rethinking his life choices.

Romance laughed under his breath, shaking his head. "And you wonder why Jinu won't trust you alone with fans."

Baby just smiled around his lollipop, perfectly at ease, like he hadn't just insulted everyone in the room.

Jinu, naturally, wasn't there for any of this brilliance. Leader duties—or, more accurately, pretending the rest of them didn't exist.

Which left them here, unsupervised, plotting like idiots while the girl in question was probably sketching their flaws in perfect detail.

And of course, in the next five minutes—fueled by ego, caffeine, and the collective inability to admit defeat—they came up with the worst idea possible.

"We'll confront her together." Romance declared, eyes glittering like he’d just invented fire.

"Like a sketchbook heist?" Abby grinned, already on board. They high-fived. Loudly.

"No." Baby corrected, finally sitting upright like a cat that had decided the chaos was worth watching. "Like a coordinated idol strike."

Mystery, still hugging his pillow like it was a lifeline, nodded gravely. "A synchronized emotional ambush."

"...That's literally just stalking in unison." Someone muttered, but the words fell flat against the mounting energy in the room.

Because it didn't matter. Logic never stood a chance here.

And with that, four immortals in idol skin—men who could summon portals, demons, fire and shadow decided the peak of their ancient power would be spent ganging up on one overworked staff girl who already hated their collective existence.

A plan born of bruised pride, caffeine highs, and the kind of demon logic that had probably gotten them exiled in the first place.

What could possibly go wrong?

—

Somewhere…

Jinu had always known patience was the real game. You don't survive four centuries being impulsive. So when his members started treating you like a raid boss with a lootable sketchbook, he didn't intervene.

He watched. Waited. Calculated.

And then last night happened.

Dinner wasn't supposed to go that well. He figured you'd make it halfway through the meal, throw a napkin in his face, and storm out. But you didn't. You stayed. You talked.

And somewhere between the noodles and her muttering about "demons whispering at night," something in him stilled. That wasn't normal small talk. That wasn't nothing.

You either didn't realize what you said, or did, and didn't care. Either way, Jinu recognized the weight of it. A thread pulling somewhere close to the truth.

So yeah. He was interested now. Not just in the sketchbook. In You.

Which meant this morning, his tactics had shifted.

You'd let your guard down—just a little. Enough to tempt him. Enough to remind him that pressure didn't always have to be sharp; sometimes it was better to let someone lean, then slip away.

Keep you guessing.

So when he saw you on the sidewalk, coffee in hand, face still half-asleep, he smiled like he'd been waiting.

He held the door open. Gentlemanly. Predictable.

You glanced up, caught his gaze, and your brow ticked like you didn't trust it. Still, you adjusted your grip on the cup, muttered a dry, "Wow. Actual manners. Must be my lucky day."

And right as you stepped forward...the door swung shut.

Not slammed. Not cruel. Just a perfect, quiet click of indifference.

Your foot halted inches from it, the expression on your face shifting from tired suspicion to flat, murderous disbelief.

Through the glass, Jinu met your eyes with the kind of calm that could be mistaken for innocence. His lips curved—subtle, measured. Almost apologetic. Almost.

He pulled the door open again with smooth ease, tilting his head like it had been nothing more than timing. "Oh. Did you need that?"

You stared at him, deadpan, coffee clutched like a weapon. "Uh-huh. Total accident."

"Of course." His voice was silky, unbothered, but the flicker in his eyes gave him away. He wanted you to wonder. Wanted you off-balance, second-guessing.

You stepped through without breaking eye contact, brushing past him with a muttered, "Robot."

He didn't argue. Didn't even frown. Just let the ghost of a smile linger as he followed behind you, like closing doors on unsuspecting staff girls was simply another part of his patience game.

You tried to brush it off. Keep walking. You had your sketchbook in your bag, a long list of things to prep, and exactly zero energy to spare on whatever weird game he was playing now.

And then—

"Good morning, hardworking staff member." Jinu said, tone dripping with the kind of polite brightness that was faker than a variety show smile as he slipped easily into step beside you. "Did you sleep well on your commoner bed?"

You froze mid-stride, your brain lagging so hard you half-expected a blue screen to appear in your vision.

"…What." You said slowly, every syllable dragged out like you were translating from another dimension. "What did you just say to me?"

Was flabbergasted the right word? Because that didn't even scratch the surface. You were spiritually winded. As if someone had just smacked you across the face with a Gucci slipper made entirely of ego.

Jinu, the menace incarnate, only smiled that saintly little smile, sipping his artisanal coffee with the calm of a monk. A smug, deranged monk who lived for ruining mornings.

"I heard those floor mattresses are terrible for posture."

You blinked at him. Hard. Twice. "You think I sleep on the floor?"

He raised a brow, effortless in his disbelief. "Don't you?"

Oh, okay. So this was the level of unhinged we were on today.

You stared at him, soul leaving your body one judgmental breath at a time. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with all of them? Did they audition to be idols or audition to test your will to live?

Because right now, you were genuinely convinced the universe had assigned you to a group of sleep-paralysis demons with backup dancer skills.

He stared back, calm and composed, like the human embodiment of a rice paper screen: pretty, delicate, and annoyingly hard to punch without consequences.

The silence stretched long enough for you to seriously consider hitting him with your sketchbook.

"What is wrong with you?" You muttered.

He tilted his head, that slight summer-villain smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "A better question is, what's wrong with you? You're very defensive about your sleeping arrangements."

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Because you knew exactly why his words made your ears burn, and it had nothing to do with floor beds.

Unfortunately, your brain decided to throw up the memory of last night, specifically that mortifying moment when you'd told him—loudly—that you weren't going to kiss him.

Perfect. Just perfect.

You spun on your heel and stormed toward the staff lockers, muttering under your breath, "Robot."

Of course, he followed. Because he was the type who'd follow you into hell just to see how fast you'd run.

You turned and walked faster. He followed. He wasn't done.

"You know," He said casually, "you make it too easy. One comment and suddenly you're stomping away like I stole your sketchbook."

You fumbled with your lock a little too forcefully, nearly denting the thing, and shoved your bag inside. "Don't flatter yourself. You don't have that much influence over me."

"Mm." His hum was soft, thoughtful. Infuriating. "Funny. You sound like someone trying very hard to convince herself of that."

You froze halfway through tossing your coffee sleeve into the bin, heat crawling up your neck. The absolute nerve.

"Do you rehearse this?" You snapped. "Do you wake up and practice being insufferable in the mirror, or does it just come naturally?"

He smiled at you, sharp enough to count as a weapon but polite enough to get away with. "Natural talent. But thank you for noticing."

You shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel and turned toward your locker. The lock clicked under your fingers, though you may or may not have twisted it like you were strangling it.

Jinu leaned casually against the wall, like he had all the time in the world. "Strange." He mused, eyes flicking toward you. "I never see you when things get…interesting. Like yesterday."

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to look at him. "Well, maybe you were too busy. Someone had to wrangle your circus. Meanwhile, I was being tag-teamed by your idiot members one after another, like some kind of chew toy. Felt like a mouse in a house full of cats."

He hummed, pretending to think, tilting his head just enough to be insufferable. "Including me?"

You slammed your locker door shut harder than necessary and turned to face him, stepping in close enough that he had to lower his gaze to meet yours. "Especially you."

For a second, the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to laugh. He didn't. He just studied you, cool and patient, as if every flinch, every word, every slip was a puzzle piece he was slotting neatly into place.

"Oh, I was watching." He said mildly, tone too smooth to be casual. "You were easy to find. Always in the middle of the chaos."

You narrowed your eyes. So he had seen. So the dinner really was just for show. Figures.

"Not by choice." You bit back.

"Of course." He said lightly, as though he agreed. He didn't. His eyes gave him away, sharp and glinting with that quiet calculation that made you want to throw your coffee in his face. "But funny, isn't it? How every time something happens, you're there. Like it follows you."

Heat surged up your neck, irritation sparking. "Are you accusing me of something?"

He leaned in, just enough that you had to tilt your chin up. His brows lifted, polite curiosity etched into every line of his pretty, aggravating face. The very picture of innocence—if innocence came with a smirk tucked under it. "I'm just asking questions."

"Uh-huh." You were now brimming with sarcasm. "Interrogating the staff before breakfast. That's normal."

His chuckle rolled out low and soft, warm enough to sound harmless but sharp enough to dig under your skin. "You're quick to call it an interrogation. Feeling guilty?"

Your jaw tightened. Too fast, too defensive. You could feel the words bubbling up, but you swallowed them down so hard it left a burn in your chest.

Instead, you grabbed your pencil case like you were arming yourself and stepped even closer, close enough that anyone passing by would think you were about to stab him. "Careful, Jinu. Keep poking like that and I might actually give you a reason to be scared."

For one impossible second, his smile widened, a flash of satisfaction he didn’t bother to hide. Like that was exactly what he’d wanted all along—for you to bare your teeth.

Then, with infuriating calm, he reached past you, plucked your coffee from where you'd set it, and took a slow sip. He didn't break eye contact, not once.

"Noted." He said simply, and walked away, latte in one hand, your coffee in the other.

You glared holes into his back, mentally flipping him off at least twice. Maybe three times.

Last night? That was a trick of the light. An illusion. You should've known better. He was the leader of the circus for a reason.

—

You were just trying to do your damn job.

That was it. A normal, uneventful day where you were minding your own business, collecting the tangled mess of mic wires from rehearsal because apparently no one in this building had ever heard of wrapping cables properly.

You crouched on the studio floor, looping one cord over your arm, muttering under your breath about savages, when the hair on the back of your neck prickled.

You turned—and nearly dropped the entire armful of cords.

Four Saja boys stood there. Together. Blocking the doorway like some glossy-haired wall of chaos.

"..." You blinked like they might disappear if you ignored them. "…Oh no."

Romance stepped forward first, all charm and cologne, smile so smooth it had to be rehearsed. "Need some help?"

"No." You hugged the wires like a shield.

"That's a lot of work for one person." He crouched, leaning in too close, his voice dropping an octave. "You should let me lighten the load."

"Touch the cables," You warned like a territorial wild animal. "and I'll strangle you with them."

His laugh was low, delighted—like you were playing along.

Before you could retreat, Mystery drifted closer, crouching at your other side so silently you flinched. His covered eyes tilted toward your hands, his tone slow and unsettlingly calm. "You're trembling. Want me to hold them still?"

The hairs on your arms rose. You yanked your hands back. "Try it and I'll bite."

Abby finally peeled himself from the mirror he'd been leaning against, a cocky smile tugging his mouth like he'd been waiting for the perfect cue.

"Fiery as usual." He drawled. He plucked a stray cable from your pile with maddening ease and twirled it like a toy. His shirt shifted just enough to flex the muscle beneath, and he knew it. "Relax. We're only practicing."

You stiffened then eyed them all suspiciously, ready to use the cable to strangle anyone. "…Practicing what?"

"Fan service." Abby said, deadpan, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You stood there, silent for a second before your expression shifted to a judging and disgusted one. "…You're joking."

"Why would we joke?" Romance murmured, gaze glittering. He winked, the kind that could break entire forums in half. "Imagine it. Debut. The crowd. The screaming. Girls begging for our attention." His grin sharpened, feral beneath the pretty. "You should feel honored. We're rehearsing with you."

Mystery didn't smile, but the curve of his head said enough. "Think of it as…simulation training." His voice caressed each word, soft but edged, daring you to look away first.

"I think of it as harassment." You snapped, shooting to your feet.

They rose with you—like a pack. Perfectly in sync.

Abby's smirk deepened as he wound the cord lazily around his hand, watching it bite into his skin before letting it go. "You really think you can resist us forever?"

"Yes." You shot back instantly without fear, just flat and done.

Romance tilted his head, teeth flashing. "Confident little thing." He reached out—too fast—and brushed the back of your hand with his fingers. The touch was feather-light, arrogant, intimate in a way that made your throat close. "But your pulse says otherwise."

You jerked back like you'd been burned, cords nearly spilling. "My pulse says I'm seconds from assault charges."

That got a ripple: Abby chuckled under his breath, low and throaty; Mystery's mouth curled in the barest smirk; Romance's grin spread wider like you'd just confirmed what he already knew.

And then Baby, who's been silent and just watching everything, moved.

The smallest of them slid forward, voice flat, humorless, and somehow more cutting than all the others.

"You talk a lot for someone cornered." He cocked his head, gaze blank and cold despite the softness of his features. "Are you sure you're not enjoying this?"

Your blood ran cold. The others teased like cats with a mouse. Baby spoke like he'd already decided which part of the mouse to eat first.

For one horrifying second, you realized they believed their own hype—that they could bend you, break you, charm you into whatever they wanted.

A mouse in a house full of predators. Except these predators were beautiful, arrogant, and smiling like your defiance was dessert.

And somewhere behind them, across the dim hallway, someone else was watching. You didn't see him, your attention was caged in by four boys circling you, but Jinu lingered in shadow.

His hands were deep in his pockets, expression smooth, but his eyes were sharp. Calculating. Cataloguing.

He watched the way you snapped back instead of folded, the way your jaw set instead of trembled, the way you slipped sideways at the last second to dodge Abby's arm and shoved past the wall of them with nothing but stubborn fury.

He didn't interfere.

Not yet.

But when your glare burned hot enough to scorch the mirrors and you stormed off with cables clutched like weapons, Jinu finally let himself smile.

And then—pink smoke. Gone before you ever knew he'd been there.

You hadn't even made it to the door when Baby's voice cut across the room, low and sharp. Too steady to be casual. "Where's your sketchbook?"

You froze. Not for long, but long enough. The pause was all it took. Four sets of eyes snapped on you like vultures spotting a half-dead rabbit.

"My—what?"

Mystery moved first. Typical. One blink and he was there, too close, his shadow spilling over yours. His hair brushed your shoulder like an accident that wasn't an accident.

He didn't speak, just studied you with that tilted head and sharp-eyed calm, like you were some strange painting he hadn't decided whether to admire or rip off the wall.

Abby put an arm around his fellow pink-haired. "You know, the one you always have your cute little nose in."

You cut your eyes sideways at Mystery, deadpan. "You've been spying on me?"

Before he could answer, another presence pressed in. Baby had slipped up beside you without a sound, close enough for his shoulder to brush yours. His fingers caught your chin, tilting your face toward him like it was nothing.

His voice came deep, steady, with a weight that didn't need to raise volume. "You weren't exactly being subtle, darling." The pet name landed like a hook—soft in sound, sharp in intent.

Romance's laugh spilled in before the silence could tighten, syrup-thick and amused. He swept a step closer, smile already carved across his face. "Spying is such a cruel word. Let's call it… observing."

You glared at Baby, but didn't pull away, only meeting his sharp, almost predatory gaze. "Congratulations. You've officially graduated from creepy neighbor to professional stalker.”

Romance pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense, glitter still in his eyes. "Admirer, then."

"Admirer." You echoed flatly, shifting the bundle of cables against your chest like a shield. "You mean the way rats 'admire' cheese before they eat it alive?"

Abby barked a laugh then sauntered closer, grin cocky enough to really make you want to swing. "Then let us gnaw, sweetheart. Show us a page. Don't be selfish. We're your inspiration, aren't we?"

You actually laughed at that one. Short, sharp, and mean. It landed like a slap—Abby's grin flickered for a half second before snapping back into place.

"Muses?" You scoffed, now pulling away from Baby's grip, who only smirked. "Please. I draw tragedies, not clowns."

Abby's jaw ticked—blink and you’d miss it, but you didn't. You filed that away for later like ammunition.

Romance playfully pouted his lips. "Clowns? No, no, no. You mistake me. I'm your Romeo."

You tilted your head, unimpressed. "You're more like the chandelier that drops on Romeo and Juliet mid-play."

That one cracked the facade. Mystery's lip twitched, halfway to a smirk. His jaw worked like he was grinding back a laugh.

"Sharp tongue." He murmured finally, voice pitched low, smooth as velvet but with the edge of a blade beneath.

"Better than a dull brain." You shot back. Then muttered just loud enough, "God, I should've majored in accounting."

Finally, Baby moved again. No theatrics, no smirk—just stepped forward until his stillness pressed against you harder than Abby's swagger or Romance's showboating ever could.

His face stayed neutral, but his stare cut sharp. "If it's nothing special, why hide it?" His tone never lifted, never dipped, but the words hit like stone. Then his mouth twitched, almost a smirk. "Unless you're drawing us ugly."

You hugged the cables tighter to your chest. "Don't need to. Your personalities already do that job for me."

That landed.

Silence rippled through them like static. Even demons needed a second.

Romance broke first, laughter muffled into his hand. Abby shook his head in disbelief, muttering something about you being brutal.

Mystery's teeth grazed his lower lip like he was savoring the taste of your words. And Baby's eyes narrowed, the smallest crack in his blank composure, irritation sliding through.

You shifted your grip on the wires, voice flat, final. "Listen, hellspawn. My sketchbook is my diary, my therapy, and my nuclear launch codes. You don't touch it. I'd sooner sketch your funerals than hand it over."

Romance leaned in again, so close you could smell the faint hint of cologne and arrogance. His smile gleamed smug. "You act so tough. But if you didn't care… why are your hands shaking?"

Of course your pulse betrayed you. It always did. But you gritted through it, eyes sharp. "Because I'm holding back from strangling you with this cord. Big difference."

Abby threw his head back and laughed, loud and cocky. "She's dangerous." He snagged one loose cable end, twirling it between his fingers like a toy, grinning like he'd already won.

Mystery hummed, sly and low. "Danger makes good art."

Baby didn't bother changing tone. His words just landed cold, final, like a stone dropped in a well. "Danger makes corpses."

Your patience snapped clean. You shoved the whole coil forward like a battering ram, wires cracking the air. It nearly clipped Romance in the ribs. "Try me. I'll dismantle this boy band with nothing but XLR cables and spite."

That bought silence. Real silence.

You pushed past, muttering about restraining orders and watercolored revenge, cables clutched like a weapon.

Behind you, their composure stitched itself back together—Abby's laugh rolling low, Romance sighing dramatically, Mystery humming something quiet and wolfish.

Then Baby's voice cut through them all, flat and sharp as a gavel: "She'll slip up."

Not today.

Not with your art-kid fury burning hot enough to keep four demons at bay

—

You escaped the building. You escaped the chaos. You made it to your favorite cafe. You ordered your drink, clutching the receipt like it was a personal victory flag.

For one blissful second, there was quiet. No shark grins. No circling predators. Just coffee machines hissing and a playlist soft enough not to stress your brain.

Then you turned around.

"Hi." Jinu said, already standing there like a smug advertisement come to life, holding out an iced Americano. Perfectly composed. Perfectly unbothered.

You didn't blink. Not at him, not at the matching coffee. Honestly, you wouldn't even be surprised if you woke up in Switzerland tomorrow and they were all just standing there in the Alps, looking scenic and smug.

Which led to a cursed thought: Were they even after your sketchbook? Or—God forbid—was this all one of those twisted webtoon scenarios where demon boys stalk you under the guise of romance?

Yeah. No. You definitely lost it for a second there.

You stared at Mr. Bed-Is-For-Commoners like he was the last straw in human form. The same man whose group had basically hunted you like rabid pigeons ten minutes ago, and here he was, sipping coffee like peace incarnate.

He noticed, of course. "You're glaring." He said mildly, like he was commenting on the weather. His smile never moved, but his eyes flickered, scanning your face for cracks. Reading you.

"I'll trade you this premium Americano for a peek at your sketchbook." He added, voice smooth as glass.

You plucked the coffee from his hand without hesitation. "Thanks." Flat. No inflection.

And walked past him, taking your first victorious sip.

Jinu blinked, then turned half toward you, amusement warming his voice. "That was a limited roast."

You raised the cup over your shoulder like a trophy. "Should've limited it harder."

He chuckled under his breath, the sound annoyingly rich as he followed you to your table and sat there instead. "Petty." He said, almost fond.

"Alive." You corrected, swiveling around just long enough to jab your straw at him. "Do you have any idea what your children just tried to pull?"

His brows lifted slightly, like you'd just told him a fun fact. "I've been… busy." He took a measured sip of his—your coffee, unbothered. "Haven't seen them since last night." (A lie)

You glanced at the drink then pushed the two coffee close to you, shielding them with your eyes with narrowed eyes. "Busy? Busy doing what—polishing your crown? Meanwhile, your merry band of psychos practically staged a sketchbook intervention."

His mouth twitched. Almost a smile, almost smug. "Sounds intense."

You almost slammed your hand on the table. "You're not even denying it!"

"I wasn't there." His tone stayed maddeningly even, but his gaze lingered on your flushed expression, catching every flicker of irritation, every twitch in your jaw. Filing it away. "Though, judging from your mood, I don't think it went… smoothly."

"Oh, wow. Genius deduction." Your teeth ground. "Truly Sherlock of you. Where's your violin?"

He let out a small laugh—real, quick, gone just as fast. "You're fun when you're like this."

You glared, holding your drink like a weapon. "I'm three seconds away from sketching your funeral program, Jinu."

His grin sharpened, infuriatingly calm. "Make sure I look good."

That was it. That was the kind of day you were having.

—

Later that day, the practice room was supposed to be empty.

Keyword: supposed.

You walked in with your sketchbook tucked under your arm and your emotional shields fully charged, only to freeze. All of them.

Oh, god. The dread. The disgust. The divine urge to U-turn right back out the door. As much as your eyeballs enjoyed symmetry, you could go one fucking day without seeing their faces.

There were other sources of inspiration in the world. Sewer rats. Tax documents. Wallpaper peeling off in depressing patterns.

Your glare hit them like a blunt weapon. It wasn't subtle—it had weight, volume, a spiritual stink-eye meant to exile them straight back to the underworld.

Romance lounged on the window sill like he'd been posing for a tragic oil painting all afternoon.

Baby was on the floor with his back against the mirror, legs stretched out like he owned the space. Abby crouched beside him, peering at Baby's phone with the permanent frown of a disappointed babysitter.

Mystery was seated on a swivel chair, turning, basically just playing with it. They must've took it from their manager's office...

You stared. They stared back.

"…What." You said flatly, no longer surprised their oh-so blessing your eyes with their pleasant looks.

Baby broke first, voice low and honey-slick. "Relax, doll. We just wanted to hang out."

You squinted at him. "All five of you. In one room. Together. With no cameras. No choreo. No staff instructions. Just… existing?"

Silence.

"Unscheduled." You repeated slowly. "Yeah, see, that's the part that's throwing me off. You people only move in packs when someone tells you to. Otherwise, you scatter like cockroaches."

Abby's smile cut sharp. "Team-building. Very healthy. Builds trust."

You snorted. "Trust? Between you guys? Please. If you had to fall backwards into each other's arms, half of you would let go just to watch the crash."

Romance stretched theatrically, milking his spotlight. "Or maybe we were hoping for… a little sketchbook time."

"Denied." You fired back instantly. No hesitation. You smelled that setup coming.

Mystery moved with the chair in front of you. "I brought snacks." It was almost cute, if they weren't so blatantly 'lusting' over your sketchbook.

You deadpanned at him. "Those are pocket mints."

"They're shareable." His grin only widened.

Your patience broke. Yep. You turned toward the exit. Not worth the brain cells, not worth the oxygen.

Unfortunately for you, Jinu was standing there, blocking your fucking path. Yet he's oh-so just leaning against the doorframe, casual as sin.

"Leaving so soon?" His voice was smooth, calm, smug. Gorgeous, unfortunately. Always unfortunately. "We haven't even started the icebreaker."

Of course. No matter how good looking they were, they still made it their mission to test your sanity. Your eye twitched for the nth time.

"What is this, a hostage situation?" You looked him up and down, and he knew you were judging him.

"That depends." Romance hummed, flashing teeth with his grin. "Are you willing to negotiate?"

Baby pouted from the floor, tipping his head, pulling the kind of cute act that would probably knock fans unconscious. "We just want a peek."

"You've been studying us." Abby chimed in, leaning casually against the mirror like he was about to sell you something. "Seriously. We can feel it."

"We'd like to see your… interpretations." Romance added, pitching his voice low, clearly trying to sound seductive. You gave him a withering look so dry it could peel paint. He faltered for half a second before clearing his throat. "Strictly for performance critique purposes."

You let the silence hang, their anticipation prickling in the air, then slowly opened your sketchbook… just an inch. Their eyes lit up like kids spotting presents under the tree.

Then you snapped it shut.

"No." You smiled, cruel and sweet like a cliché villainess in heels stepping on her rival's hand.

"Cruel." Jinu muttered, a soft huff leaving him as he sipped his coffee.

Baby groaned like you'd run him through with a sword, flopping back on the floor. "Why won’t you just let us see it?"

"Because it's mine." You said, backing toward the wall. "And because I know you'll cry."

Romance scoffed, instantly bristling. "I don't cry."

"You cried when your contact lens flipped inside out." Abby pointed out, chuckling as he folded his arms.

"That was emotional trauma." Romance replied with full dignity. His retort was too smooth, too quick. Clearly weeks on those 'little screens' paid off.

Jinu tilted his head, still blocking the door, smug and effortless. "This all could've been avoided, you know. Back when we were being nice."

You narrowed your eyes. "You smiled at me once and then threw a door in my face."

"I smiled twice." He corrected, sipping his coffee like it was evidence. "That's investment."

You sighed so dramatically it could've scored a whole ost. "This is what I get for not calling in sick."

They started inching closer, the slow crawl of a very attractive zombie horde.

You raised your sketchbook like a holy relic. "Another step and I'll post the 'Romance as a Rotisserie Chicken' spread online."

The air snapped. Silence, thick and instant.

"…You didn't." Romance said, but his voice pitched high. His whole act cracked in real time.

"Oh, I did." Your smile turned razor as you playfully waved the book like they're a bunch of goblins in spiderwick. "Golden brown. Extra crispy. Even the little string tying your legs together."

Romance looked personally victimized. "Burn it. I forbid it."

From the swivel chair, Mystery tilted his head until his bangs slipped just enough to show the glint of his eyes. "So that's why you stared at him like poultry yesterday."

Romance whirled on him, mortified. "She did not—"

"Rotisserie Boy." Mystery's grin sharpened. "I like it. Has a nice ring."

"Shut up." Romance hissed, flailing a hand at him.

"Relax." Jinu cut in smoothly, though there was a spark in his gaze like he was cataloging every detail. "If it leaks, people will just talk about us. Free exposure."

You gave him a slow, pitying look. "Yeah. Debuting as the Chicken Boys. Very legendary."

That landed. Even Jinu's smirk twitched.

"The woman's not bluffing." Baby gave a low whistle, voice casual but cutting. "She'd roast us alive just for the punchline."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." You shot back, disgustingly sweet and smug.

Abby dragged a hand down his face like it's already happened. "Unbelievable. Our reputations, gone."

Romance groaned into his hands.

Mystery let the chair spin, chuckling under his breath like he'd just watched the world burn.

And finally, Jinu sighed, stepping aside with mock defeat. "You win this round."

You patted his shoulder as you walked out, wearing the smirk of a villainess who knew she owned the room. "Correction. I win all rounds."

And with that, you strode out—sketchbook secure, egos torched, and the legend of K-pop's almost-poultry boyband sealed forever.