#saja

You didn’t mean to be there.

Your friend begged you to come—front row tickets to the Saja Boys, a gift she didn’t want to use alone. When you tried to insist it wasn’t your thing, she persisted, convinced you’d somehow change your mind when you saw these guys.

“Trust me, they are AMAZING!”

Of course, shooting down your friend’s optimism wasn’t on the agenda. But…you really didn’t understand why she picked you. 

You didn’t even like idol groups. You didn’t wear glitter or carry photocards. You didn’t wave banners. You barely knew their names. You were the wrong kind of person for this.

And yet.

The stage was everything you expected—blinding lights, perfect smiles, choreography sharp enough to cut through hellfire. The fans around you screamed themselves hoarse, reaching and sobbing, tears streaming down painted cheeks. But you just stood there. Still. Watching.

Honestly, you had to admit, you kind of got it now. This energy was infectious, and the guys, well…not only were they easy on the eyes, but they made it all look so effortless. Despite your initial reservations, you found yourself getting drawn into it, fixated…

That was when…he saw you.

Jinu.

The leader of the group was every bit as handsome as people said. Dark haired and dark eyed, with a perfectly-sculpted face and a body to match. 

He didn’t miss a step. Didn’t falter. His routine was flawless. But his eyes locked onto yours straight from the stage, like a dagger pinning paper to a wall.

For a moment, just a moment, you swore you saw something. A flash of gold in his gaze, a sharp widening, almost pausing, almost stumbling over his next line.

Then just as quickly, it was gone, like something you had merely imagined. He was back to effortlessly, beautifully performing.

As if nothing were amiss.

Weirdly, it made you uneasy. It was surely just a trick of the light, but you wondered if it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get some air anyway, if you could somehow muscle yourself out of this crowd. 

If I had made that choice then…how different things would have been.

It started slow. A shimmer in the air. A strange distortion in the bass. One of the backup dancers collapsed mid-move, and a few gasps arose in your section. 

His body arched all of a sudden, more sounds of shock erupting, as something blue and wispy came trailing up from his chest.

That was no trick of the light. That was real.

And then Romance stopped dancing. Turned his head sharply. Grinned wide, his human eyes melting to yellow slits.

The crowd screamed—but not in excitement this time. In terror, and confusion. No fancy stage effects could make something like that happen.

Their idols, their precious, beloved idols, began to change.

Skin shifting to deep violet. Claws unfurling. Pupils narrowing to slits. Fangs flashing in the flashing strobe lights.

Demons.

The entire stadium fell into chaos. Security fled. Lights shattered overhead. The screams grew ragged as girls collapsed one by one, faces frozen in euphoria as glowing threads lifted from their chests—souls. Pouring out like perfume from open bottles.

You couldn’t move.

You were frozen.

You should have run. Everyone else did, and you even watched your friend vanish into the stampede. But your legs didn’t work. You were locked in place. 

And Abby—Abs Saja—was walking toward you. Slowly. Casually. Like a predator savoring the only meal that hadn’t bolted. And, to him, you were a meal.

“Well now,” he said, voice silk and static. “Not even gonna try?”

You opened your mouth. No words came out. What could you say? What could you do?

This didn’t feel real.

Abby smiled. And opened his mouth wide, suddenly lunging for you. All you could see was a blur of pink and gold, before you were knocked back with a painful, cracking thud against the confetti-littered ground. 

Abby, crouched over you, straddling your hips like a beast just before the bite. His face hovered inches from yours, demonic markings glowing faintly beneath the glamor of his skin. His yellow eyes burned like lit oil. His lips parted wide—too wide—revealing not just sharp fangs, but rows. More than human. More than necessary.

“You smell scared,” he purred, breath hot across your cheek. “I like that.”

You squirmed. Tried to shove him off. But his hands—clawed and heavy—pinned your wrists easily above your head. His grip was tight enough to bruise. His reputation as the ‘tough guy’ was accurate.

He leaned in closer, and you saw it. The flicker of energy, like thread made of smoke, rising from your chest. Your soul. He was calling it forward. Drawing it out.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered. “It won’t hurt long. Just feels like—suffocating. From the inside.”

He opened his mouth wider, and you shut your eyes tightly, yelping, bracing yourself.

Yet suddenly there was a sharp flash. A wind like a scream.

Abby was slammed off you, tossed like a doll into the wreckage of a shattered speaker. Metal shrieked. Sparks flew. The soul-thread snapped back into your chest and you gasped as air flooded your lungs, your second chance.

Above you stood Jinu.

“Enough.”

The voice cut through the air like lightning. He was glaring at the guy who’d just gone for your throat, clearly furious. In full demon form. But…still beautiful. Terrible and beautiful.

Abby hissed, pulling himself up out of a pile of broken banisters, wiping his mouth.

“It’s just a soul, Jinu.”

Jinu didn’t look at him. He looked at you.

And something in his gaze…cracked. Not the same feral hunger as his bandmate, but instead, a kind of admitted relief.

“No,” he said softly. “It’s not…”

Abby scoffed. “What the hell does that—”

Jinu didn’t let him finish. He extended his hand once more, still without so much as glancing his way, and sent a surge of rippling, demonic power straight for that famous chest of his. Abby was sent careening backwards halfway across the chaotic stadium.

Lowering his hand again, he stepped closer to you. Jinu reached out slowly, claws retracted now, and touched your wrist.

And the second his skin met yours—

Silence.

The voices in his head—the endless droning guilt, the ghost of Gwi-Ma’s laughter, the memory of his mother’s scream—they all stopped.

He could breathe. For the first time in centuries, he felt peace. 

Peace was far from what you were feeling, though. Your eyes were wide. Terrified. Trembling.

“You…” he whispered, awe-struck. “You made them stop…”

For a moment, just a moment, you didn’t know why but you felt…pity for him. You let his touch linger…you saw the humanity in his face.

But the shrieks and screams around you came flooding back in, and you were reminded.

He’s a monster! I have to—

Run. 

You tried.

But everything went black.

…

You woke up in a palace. 

Grander than the concert hall. Eerily dark and ornate. There were no windows. Only vast empty halls, flooded with a strange violet hue, petals scattered across lacquered floors. A single bipa lay in the corner of the room, untouched for centuries.

Jinu sat beside you. Legs folded. Head tilted.

Still in demon form—but his markings had dulled, as had the glow in his eyes. He may have been dressed like a reaper, all in black, but he was calm.

Nonetheless, you flinched and scrambled back, frightened. 

“Don’t worry,” he said softly. “I’m not gonna eat your soul.”

You stared at him. “You’re…a demon.”

He smiled. Sad. Tired. Like it was a fact he had come to miserably accept a long time ago.

“Yes.”

You shook your head. “I should go—I shouldn’t be here—”

You tried to stand, and were surprised when he didn’t try to stop you. Yet all it took was two steps, and the walls around you warped. Suddenly, the hallway extended into a chasm. The doorway vanished.

You were trapped.

Turning back to him, your eyes began to fill with tears.

“Let me go…”

Finally, he stood. He walked across that strange, ever-shifting space towards you, until you were almost chest-to-chest. It only made you all the more aware of how small and fragile you were by comparison, to a man like this.

No. Not a man.

“I would,” he said. “If you weren’t the only thing keeping me sane.”

Need. You could see it in his face.

“I didn’t know what I was missing,” he said, voice rough. “Until I looked at you and everything finally…stopped. The noise. The shame. Gwi-Ma’s curse. It all stopped.”

You backed away. He followed, toe-to-toe.

“Do you know what that feels like?” His voice cracked. “To have your mind to yourself again? Just for one second?”

The two of you were forced to a stop by the paper wall behind your back. You cowered against it, whimpering in his shadow.

“You’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel human again. So no, I’m not letting you go.”

This…has to be a nightmare. This can’t be real. None of this can be real!

Desperately, you tried to push past him, to get away. Whatever this evil place was, this place that felt so cloying, that smelt so strongly of blood, you had to escape it. 

But of course, Jinu didn’t let you budge. He grabbed you by your upper arms, pushing you back against the wall again, with force enough to almost break through it.

“LET ME GO–”

He cut you off with a kiss. A surprisingly tender kiss, that left you reeling for a moment, that spread a heat through your body despite yourself. You weakened against the wall, sinking a little. 

A seal. A pact. A claim.

That was how it felt. 

But clarity came again, and you shoved him hard, gasping and turning your face away. Your trembling hand covered your mouth, struggling to believe he had really just done that. 

He stumbled away—but only because he let you. He could have easily held strong. 

For a moment, he gazed at you sadly. It was what he had expected, but still, in an ideal world, you might have been able to accept him. To see just how much he needed you. To stay, willingly.

Lowering his head, he sighed slowly.

“If you knew how it felt, you’d understand. But it’s alright. We have time…I can tell you everything.”

“I don’t care!” horrified, letting your anger show, you lowered your hand slowly and looked at him from the wall with a glare, “You’re nothing but a demon! And I won’t let you keep me here like some sort of prisoner!”

Jinu stilled.

“...So you still think you can run, is that it?”

As his head raised, his fangs glinted. His eyes were glowing again.

This time, he looked more amused than anything else. It seemed whatever sorrow, whatever sympathy he had felt for you, had now waned.

With a tilt of his head, he gave an eerie smile. 

“You can be scared of me. That’s fine. You can scream and struggle. Try to escape. But it’s futile.”

He began pacing towards you again,

“I’ve suffered long enough. These voices…I can’t bear it anymore. I refuse.”

As he reached you, he leaned close. Eyes boring into yours, as his clawed hand cupped your cheek, and the tips of his sharpened nails dug a little into the plush surface of your skin.

“My master doesn’t need your soul…”

He slid his hand slowly down your throat, and curled his fingers delicately against it, feeling your pulse.

“I do.”

Seeing your fear, he smiled, though there was nothing comforting about it.

“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you for it.”

Jinu pressed closer, his body fully against his, his lips by your ear,

“I’ll keep you here. Alive. Forever…”

You let out a squeak as he nipped at your skin. 

“You’re mine now, little fan.”