#yeaaap

He had known Gwi-Ma could've been looking in on him in the human realm. Not always, but often enough. It was hundreds of years ago that he'd learned he couldn't afford to be caught doing anything but what Gwi-Ma expected of him, so he'd crafted a delicate system of how to be — who to be — above ground, and with great care. No more suffering for a misstep on the mortal plane, for following any sense of longing for life beyond the oppressive carpet of the Honmoon. Or, worse: longing for freedom beyond Gwi-Ma.

It had made Jinu a good actor. Quick to provide what was needed of him on the first take.

And with that confidence, the explanations had felt like enough in the moment.

'I'm just leading her on,' he'd say. 'I just need to find her shame, so we can use it. I'm using her. I'm manipulating her — haven't I learned from the best? You don't trust your own teachings?' And each time, Gwi-Ma would hum. Consider. Process. It was an old dance they'd performed together so often over the centuries that Jinu had been confident he could slip by with his bleeding, aching heart unnoticed. Some part of him lied to himself, of course. Some part of him had been such a good actor, he'd even been his own captivated audience.

It was too obvious, though.

The fondness, the burst of love that had lit up his chest when he'd looked into her eyes. The lilting honesty in his voice as it had embraced hers and carried up and over the beautiful lines of light that blanketed Korea… Now, he stares at his trembling fingertips and recalls with pathetic clarity how Rumi's hand had slotted so effortlessly into his own. It felt like something he'd been stripped of for four-hundred years. It felt like what living was supposed to be like.

She'd offered him a fleeting moment of hope, of a freedom that overlooked a vast and beautiful horizon.

The promise of a world beyond the suffering, the guilt, the misery.

"I understand," Jinu finally says, trying in vain to numb himself. "Please, allow me to prove myself. As… you've taught me."

Another song and dance they perform together, when Jinu is caught being insincere in his devotion to his master: grovel in words and actions and hope that he's not picked up and burnt into ash before a horrified audience. Their relationship has always been a wound sewn shut with flimsy thread; one wrong pull of muscle and the whole thing will unfurl. He forces himself to breathe evenly and turn back toward Gwi-Ma, legs wobbling under the weight of everything in his head. As he does Gwi-Ma's flames crackle around him, building sweat on his brow.

"Take off the mask," the fire says.

Jinu's ducks his chin, but he obeys. Pale, healthy skin de-saturates as purple lines creep over his face — an infection in a once human spirit, a symbol of his lies and misdeeds against those who deserved better. Glowing golden eyes cast their miserable stare at the floor. A suffocating silence constricts the very air before his patterns glow and he's unceremoniously forced onto his knees.

"Kneel," Gwi-Ma growls as he falls. Jinu's hands catch him, but the weight of pressure on his back leaves him bent like a straining bow string. The earth is close enough to his face that it cloys his smell, claws scraping on rock rendered the color of flesh by Gwi-Ma's light. His flame dances in staccato rhythm with faint laughter as he tells him, "Ahhh… Stop pouting, Jinu. It's not becoming of a demon so capable as you. Have I not spared you from burning tonight?"

Jinu's downcast mouth twitches.

Gwi-Ma doesn't care for an answer. "This song you've been working on — it's almost done, isn't it?"

Something Gwi-Ma's offering that he can latch onto, Jinu thinks. Something he can use to reorient himself, or else he'll never be able to pull himself out of the burning whirlpool that threatens the humanity left inside him. With focus, his voice becomes disciplined and systematic and cool.

"We haven't completed the ending. It's close, though."

"Look at me," the monster whispers, and Jinu tilts his chin up to obey. "Listen and remember well."

The knot in his throat narrowly goes down as he swallows. "I'm listening."

"And remembering well, my nobi?"

"… I wouldn't dare do otherwise."

Disgust coils in his insides. He's groveling and Gwi-Ma knows it. He can tell by the soft, almost sweet laugh that dislodges from the fiery mass. Lingering outrage at Jinu's flickered hope still paints Gwi-Ma's tone with disdain though, stray embers raining like spittle.

"Living in your mind now — too late, because you're mine now."

Jinu's lips part as a mixture of voices clamor over each other in his head, overlapping with ferocity like a belt lashing on wet skin. He bites back a whimpered breath as his temples throb and ache at the pressure of too much too fast for a meager human mind. Lyrics. Lines are being fed to him with gleeful intent. An unwanted duet, to wipe away all promise of liberation.

Jinu echoes words that were whispered to him four-hundred years ago: "I will make you free when you're all a part of me."

(Jinu watches Rumi's lips move, a smile around every optimistic word… Just them and their song, building effortlessly from each other. It's as natural as breathing. "We could be free," she sings for him, to him, so kindly, "Free…")

Gwi-Ma chisels away the memory of Rumi with each striking word and slots himself there with malice.

"Give me your desire," he mockingly sings to the huddled form on his altar, "Watch me set your world on fire."

("We can't fix it if we never face it." Her hands are warm in his, and for a blissful moment, they're all that exists. Just a swell of promise for a better tomorrow against a secretive night sky. For the first time in four-hundred years, someone looks at him like there's really a chance for a guy like him-)

"내 황홀의 취해, you can't look away," Jinu sings back more forcefully now, heat burning his cheeks, sweat running down stark purple patterns along his jawline.

("Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless," she and he sing. Their voices melt together. He wants to — if he could just tell her…)

"No one is coming to save you," Gwi-Ma hisses.

Far down below the altar steps, the Saja Boys watch, expressions blank.

(He wants to press his lips against hers, thank her for the warmth in his chest. But Gwi-Ma will see, will know. It's too dangerous. But what if it — what if he did let go of it all? His shame, his guilt, that feeling that he'll never be whole again… What if… "Rumi, wait," Jinu calls out. She looks back at him before she can leave, the stars in her eyes. Oh, to believe so deeply-)

Jinu's throat feels tight, and he can't summon the words. The duet with Gwi-Ma feels like sandpaper across his skin.

"You're down on your knees," Gwi-Ma sings. Sings, in a voice that Jinu had once so desperately entrusted with his survival.

(Jinu's smile is slight. "I can't wait to see you on that stage tomorrow."

The moment the words leave his lips, he is ruined.)

Finally allowed to rise to his feet, the final line falls from his lips.

"I'll be your idol."

***

The other boys seem conflicted about the end of their era.

While it's certainly true that the 'Saja Boys' were a means to an end and the work was more grueling than they'd anticipated (interviews, variety shows, fan meet-ups, on and on and on in so short a time-), their work had been a reprieve from all of the wretchedness that often waited down below. This had been the closest thing to freedom that any of them had received in centuries — and why not relish in it? Why not enjoy the purest act of performing, of being adored for voices they had once used to sing to their parents, their aunts and uncles, their siblings?

It was an easy sell when Jinu had approached them. Contrary to popular belief among the other demons, where was no audition to be had. There was no search for the best, brightest performers.

Handsomeness was a requisite, admittedly.

But one doesn't live in the same barren hell for four-hundred years without noticing the distant pull of someone else's voice trapped in song, and Jinu had noted them distantly in the past. Had never approached them, naturally. He had been skittish at the thought of caring about another breakable thing ever again to consider friends or lovers.

Even the tiger and bird had to fight for his affections when they first floated into his life.

But he did listen, any time a demon opened their mouth to sing.

He listened very, very closely to voices when they would carry over the craggy rock that jutted up all over that wasteland. Their songs were so often distant melodies, with lyrics lost to the passages of time, thick with homesickness that Jinu had on occasion escaped into fleetingly. Bolstered by confidence in his plan, he'd approached each demon one by one: Abby Saja had agreed before Jinu could get his pitch out in full. Romance Saja had to consider it for an entire fortnight. Mystery gave no answer, and yet appeared the day he was due. And Baby? Baby had shrugged and eventually conceded that he'd had nothing better to do.

And so it went. Five leashed souls who had very few attachments, if any, and certainly none when it came to one another. But that's how demons are forced to exist. They find joys in the simple things, perhaps even share amused or devious smiles or a mutual understanding. Then they prepare themselves for the inevitable moment those small pleasures and budding relationships are burned to cinder in front of them.

They partook in something dangerously close to mortal life, and they pleased their master as they danced on that dangerous precipice between success and failure, between reward and torture. And soon they would win. They were almost elated by the thought of so many souls being culled tonight.

If you had asked any of them, it was never truly malicious or personal. Jinu had known that feeling himself, after all. None of them had sought to harm until harm sought them, and once a person's been beaten into the dirt and trained to loathe so many parts of themselves, it's easy to find comfort in the intoxicating flavor of a soul as it runs down one's throat.

A momentary high. A reprieve. A chance to be commended by the devil that had distorted them, even if such pride in their efforts would surely rot into disdain for their tarnished souls..

Evil. Irredeemable. Monsters.

For tonight, they could all be desirable to demon and human alike. They could be revered for those fleeting moments in front of a backing track, and then think of all of the mercy that their master would bestow upon them like medals of honor. The voices in their heads would lessen. The realm would never be hungry again. And then… maybe there would be a moment permitted to rest.

Or at least, that's what the plan is supposed to be.

In their small, bright changing room and dressed in shades of black, Jinu peers back at himself in the mirror of his vanity. The memory of Rumi's hopeful smile clutches one wrist, while Gwi-Ma's smoldering heat shackles the other. They tug his mind back and forth relentlessly, all while he sits so very still and studies the shadows across the plains of his face. He's tired, but the glamour of his human mask hides it all behind smooth, perfect skin.

What now?

Here, in one hand: Rumi's peaceful gaze, telling him everything would be okay.

Here, in the other cold, clawed hand: Gwi-Ma's promise of pain if he dared help them.

He can hear them, melting together.

A beautiful voice raising in song for him.

A young voice begging for her brother to come back.

He buries his face in his hands and sits in the silence as the clock ticks down the seconds. It's not until he feels the press of a cold, wet nose and soft fur into his arm that he sucks in a surprised breath, turns his attention to his tiger. Unnamed but not unloved, the beast usually seems to smile with those crooked, odd teeth. Perhaps it's just a trick of his plagued mind, but it doesn't seem to be the case now. Is that concern in his feline eyes?

Sliding his hand over the crown of his large fuzzy head, the corners of Jinu's lips turn up weakly.

"What do you think, old friend?" he asks wearily, with claws summoned to scratch beneath the tiger's chin. "Would the Honmoon save a guy like me?"

***

Rumi's voice soars with confidence.

Light bounces off every angle of her. Rhinestones on her cuffs twinkle like the stars that have returned to her eyes. Gold tassels bounce as she raises her arms, saintly, glowing warm with adoration for her fans, for her friends who prepare to join the stage with her. There is no fear. Just jubilation. Just the auditorium and the taste of a Golden Honmoon on their lips.

"I'm done hiding, now I'm shining, like I'm born to be…" she sings; the crowd joins in with her, harmonizing effortlessly as their souls glow blue and beautiful with inherent power — a sea of happiness and undivided connection. Jinu nudges through the crowd until he's pressed up against the barrier, clutching his aching side beneath his jacket. There would be no demons to steal Zoey and Mira's face. No Takedown to bare Rumi's shame to the world. He can already imagine the looks of anger and betrayal on the Saja Boys' faces, when they realize they'd been led too far astray by his lies to prevent what happens next.

It doesn't matter. Not anymore.

The fans scream and giggle in ecstasy around him. It's so palpable, he's not even sure they'd notice him without his raised hood. If he's honest, he also can't take his eyes off of Rumi as she belts out their hunter's mantra with pride. "… and I know I believe!"

The other two girls appear beside her as the backing track swells exuberantly, and soon their three-part harmony carries through the speakers, through the very air itself. Huntrix moves with fluidity, moons around a sun, three parts of a whole: a perfect, cohesive performance, carefully practiced to delight the very energy that safeguards the planet.

The golden threads of the Honmoon flutter in anticipation at the promise of finality.

They're so close. Freedom, just at the tips of their fingers. It fills Jinu's chest with something warm, so much so that his mouth falls open as he croons the words back. "Up, up, up, with our voices, 영원히 깨질 수 없는…"

As if a lantern through thick fog, Rumi sees his the glow of his blue soul before she sees Jinu's face among the crowd. His soft brown eyes look back in fluttering relief. Relief and — something more, something both had felt as they'd floated in their own delight together, hand in hand, yearning for freedoms neither had been allowed for so long. No more fighting, no more pain, no more secrets.

Her eyes lift into happy crescents as she sings at him — for him. "You know that it's our time, no fears, no lies…"

— and even with the distance between them, he couldn't help but reach his hand out to her with longing to feel the warmth of it again.

Rumi reaches back.

Their golden Honmoon rolls across the earth in a beautiful, intricate wave.

"That's who we're born to be…!"

The last thing Jinu sees before the blanket of gold light violently pushes him back down into the earth is Rumi's horrified expression, just beyond her outstretched, empty hand.