Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Baby can only watch Jinu burn in the flames of Gwi-ma’s hell as he offers his soul to… to the huntress. His world narrows to her image as he dissolves into the air. Empty of all light as Jinu’s soul floats down to rest beside the huntress’s heart. Why? Why is Jinu sacrificing himself for this girl? Why is he abandoning them when they’re just inches away from the freedom they’ve fought for over centuries?

He doesn’t move, frozen as his world collapses along with his brother. What are they without Jinu to guide them?

Betrayal and grief don’t even have time to settle in when he’s suddenly shoved back. A clawed hand strikes his chest, pushing him roughly. He loses balance with a painful grunt. He crashes to the side of the stage, the wood cracks beneath him and splinters pierce his palms. It all happens in a second. Mystery stands before him, arms open, protective. His bangs lift, revealing resigned yellow eyes and a soft apologetic smile spreads across his impassive face. Baby can only stare in shock as he explodes into a cloud of violet dust. A fine layer settles on his face and his mind empties once again. No—Mystery can’t—No no no—

Zoey. The only one whose name he knows because of her status as a rapper. Like him. She approaches and leans in gently. Like a curious child before a strange insect. She looms over him, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed as if she’s watching a delightful show. But the worst part, the absolute worst, was her smile… that smile… Radiant and joyful as if it were the happiest day of her life.

And we’re the monsters? The demons? We’re the ones being hunted? While she… she—

He can’t help but think, frozen in terror, as the girl—no, the huntress, the monster—looms over him. Tears well up in his eyes and he can’t stop them. He doesn’t want to be here. He should have died. Mystery—He—

He vanishes in a cloud of pink smoke. Gwi-ma’s control slipping from his soul, his body, against all odds, teleports as far as possible from the threat. He doesn’t think, still frozen in terror and shock.

He sits for a long time. Eyes wide open. His chest rises rapidly as he gasps in the night air. This—can’t be. He—They can’t.

This—This can’t be happening… No—No, no, no, no.

Jinu—Mystery—This—this isn’t possible. He had everything—everything to win! H-how—?

He shakes his head violently. His hair whips around his face, bangs stuck to his forehead from sweat. His eyes are wet and his cheeks cold. His lips tremble. He curls up into himself. The dull thud of his heart echoes in his ears. A slow, repetitive toll. His breathing becomes too fast and he whimpers softly. His hands clutch the sides of his head, claws digging into his scalp as he pulls too hard on his hair. He shakes his head frantically as if the images burned into his retinas could disappear with the motion.

That smile—She was smiling at him—Killing him while laughing—

No—No no no

Did—Did Abby and Romance die the same way? Staring their killer in the eyes while she smiled with joy? He bites the inside of his cheek violently, until a coppery taste fills his mouth. Blood. Why is he bleeding?

But even that thought can’t pull him out of his downward spiral. He sobs once, quickly followed by another. His breath ragged and his vision blurred by tears.

They were supposed to win! Claim victory together! Satisfy Gwi-ma with a feast for eternity and live together forever! They—They would have lived happily—

They should have won.

It was supposed to end like this.

He refuses to let it end any other way. No. NO!

He bolts upright. The world spins on its axis and his legs give out. A wave of dizziness crushes him as he collapses onto the soft ground. It’s… green. Grass. He’s in a park. He looks around, momentarily confused. Why did he come here…?

His gaze shifts toward an old swing. It creaks softly in the wind, worn down by time and weather. He freezes, his jaw clenches, and the anger returns to take its place. He looks away, eyes sharp and threatening. No. Not now. Never, if he can help it. Old memories aren’t worth it — only his revenge matters.

He stands up, his cheeks still wet. His ceremonial clothes torn and dusty from the battle, blood flows from his wounds, damp in some places and dry in others, making his clothes stiff. His legs tremble from exhaustion and he feels the Honmoon’s pulse restored beneath him. He bares his fangs as he sways again. His hand grabs a lonely bench to steady himself. HUNTR/X. He hates them. He hates them with such force. He’s going to kill them!! How dare they steal his future?! How dare they touch his family?!

With a roar of rage, Baby teleports back into the stadium. He doesn’t think. Rage boils in his veins and fury guides his movements. He doesn’t care about his wounds or his grief and roars as he lands on the stage. His demonic features are at their peak. His markings pulse with a violet glow turning red. His fangs and claws stretch until they hurt and his eyes shine with a blood-soaked yellow far too bright.

But the stadium is empty. The stage crumbles into dust. And silence lets his screams echo.

Dust still floats, the only witness to the final battle’s wreckage. The sun is already rising over a cloudless sky and Baby stands alone among the ruins.

The rage melts, drains from him like snow in the sun — and fatigue crashes down, all at once, heavy as lead. His knees hit the ground, tearing his already raw skin — he doesn’t move. Falling without resistance.

Tears well up in his eyes and he collapses to his knees. A tortured whimper escapes his dry throat. His brothers are dead, he is alone, he is weak. Too alone to take revenge, too weak to truly do it. Last survivor of an old dream he believed in until the end. Last fragment of a legacy built so four voices could join his own. But silence and death remind him all too well that he is alone. They are dead. This is the end.

Something breaks inside him.

He screams at the sky. He cries out his pain and his hatred. He screams until he loses breath and words. He screams while his heart bleeds. He screams and wishes he had died beside his brothers. His voice cracks, his breath fades but he keeps going — until only silence and blood manage to escape his throat.

His voice fades. Like everything else. Baby is nothing but a puppet without strings, a body without a soul, a breath without purpose. He should have died.

The silence is so deep that Baby thinks for a moment death is welcoming him into her gentle arms once again. But it’s not the case. Beneath the soft trickle of falling dust, beneath the traitorous beating of his heart, an unfamiliar sound brushes his ear.

A faint whimper echoes in the empty stadium.

His breath halts, as if inviting the sound to repeat — and it does. The young demon rises, alert. He sways on trembling legs. The whimper echoes again. He moves forward, finally. Each step is an effort. Each sound, a hope he doesn’t dare name…

Is it a human caught between two fires? Or… no, he doesn’t dare hope but without meaning to, he starts walking faster. He drops to his knees. Again, without caring about the sting of gravel and thorns beneath his skin. He moves the debris, careful not to collapse the fragile balance of heavy stones. A boulder, much larger than the others, momentarily slows his search. He pushes it with effort and just behind it is a hand.

A perfectly manicured hand, covered in blood and dust — and yet his heart skips a beat. He recognizes the patterns.

Romance!

He thinks he’s screaming, but doesn’t dwell on it. There’s no time. It has to be him.

His hands move faster than his thoughts and he digs frantically through the debris. Stone, wood, metal — everything breaks under his claws. His fingers bleed, thorns pierce beneath his nails, blood oozes from his hands and his palms grow slippery.

But he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. He’s the only one that matters. Romance. It has to be him. It has to be him because if it’s not, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

His claws split, one tears completely from his finger. He clenches his fingers, ignoring the pain. A stone slips between his blood-slick hands but he doesn’t stop. He can’t not. Romance. Romance. Romance—

A lock of pink hair appears and Baby digs faster. Desperation fuels his aching muscles. Finally, the largest debris has been tossed aside. He slides his arms under Romance’s body. The blood is warm, sticky. Every movement seems to draw a groan. Baby grits his teeth as Romance groans again in pain, still without opening his eyes. But he’s breathing and that’s all Baby needs.

Baby wants to reassure him, to promise everything will be okay. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. His throat burns, his voice is gone — or maybe just too broken to return. So he stays silent. He gently places the head of his last living brother on his lap and strokes his hair as he thinks about what comes next.

He brushes the dust from Romance’s hair with an almost sacred slowness. His fingers tremble, still covered in blood. But he carefully lifts each strand of pink hair and clears it from Romance’s face. He devotes every morning to meticulous care — Baby is sure that if he were conscious, he’d already be screaming at the state of his locks.

But he’s been badly hurt. A bloody wound runs from his shoulder to his abdomen. It’s by far the worst, but his body is also covered in scrapes, bruises, subtler marks. The smaller wounds have already begun to slowly fade thanks to their advanced healing factor, but the Honmoon and their battle have already weakened them far too much. There’s no chance Romance will survive without help.

Baby bites his lip, uncertain. He doesn’t know how to treat this kind of wound on humans, let alone demons — he’s never seen one this injured. They’ve been burned by Gwi-ma before, punished for their sins — but Baby has never seen a demon survive a huntress’s weapon.

He exhales, trembling, and decides the first thing to do is find shelter. His magic pulses faintly beneath his skin, like an ember about to die. He knows he only has one jump left. With the last reserves of his demonic magic, Baby transports them both to the apartment that once served as the Saja’s home.

The apartment is empty.

He knows it, and yet it hits him like a blow straight to the heart. Mystery’s book is still on the table, Jinu’s phone on the couch where he left it, Abby’s dumbbells messily tucked in a corner. And one of Romance’s outfits, laid out as if he were about to try it on again.

His eyes sting again, but he clenches his teeth. He’s tired of crying. Romance is counting on him, and he refuses to break. He crosses the living room without a glance. Romance’s whimpers behind him echo painfully through the emptiness. Each step feels heavier… too real.

He gently lays his last living brother down — careful not to cause him more pain — on the massive bed they all share. He removes the torn clothes with care, as if afraid of hurting him further. He cleans the dust and blood with a damp cloth. He doesn’t want to think about where it came from. He wrings it out and gently wipes his face, tracing the contours of his cheeks, lips, and eyes, brushing away the damp strands of hair clinging to his skin.

Romance stirs slightly when he cleans around the wound oozing faintly on his chest, but quickly falls back into a dreamless sleep. Baby scrapes off the dried blood and sighs with relief. He wishes he could hum. Bring life back to the silence but… he’s not sure he can speak right now, not even to reassure Romance.

He clumsily bandages Romance’s wounds. And when he has nothing left to offer, nothing more to do to help him, he turns to his own injuries. He’ll be useless if he collapses from an untreated cut. He doesn’t have the right to fall. Not now. Never, if he can help it.

He heads to the bathroom and undresses quickly, avoiding the mirror knowing he must look awful, and steps straight into the shower. The water hasn’t had time to warm up and he shivers slightly under the strong jet. His claws retract slowly, followed by his fangs. His markings glow faintly red before gradually fading into a soft violet, returning to their normal appearance on his skin.

He exhales softly in relief as all the grime covering his body finally begins to wash down the drain. The pain returns, dull and creeping. He winces. Now that the adrenaline has faded, every blow, every cut, every burn makes itself known. The one on his side looks really… bad… He finally steps out of the shower, dries off quickly with a random towel, and puts on black sweatpants and a soft, comfortable pink hoodie. He glances one last time at the nasty gash on his side and wraps a simple bandage around it.

He casts a look at the mirror. His eyes are hollow, red, sunken. His face is covered in scrapes. His hair, damp and tangled, looks like an insect’s nest. He bares his fangs at his reflection as if he could drive it away with the threat alone. He abruptly turns away from the mirror and finally leaves the bathroom. The days ahead promise to be long…

Chapter Text

The final battle had drained them. Two days later, Mira still feels the soreness in her aching muscles. With an exaggerated grimace, she drops ungracefully onto the couch. She lets out a soft sigh of relief as the cushions sink under her weight, a small smile of delight on her face, eyes closed. Mmmh, what a joy to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. And all that without worrying about crazy fans — she loves her fans but sometimes it’s just too much — or demon attacks trying to wipe out humanity.

She wiggles her hips slightly to sink deeper into the soft couch.

Her long pink hair is still damp from the shower and drips lightly onto her shoulders, staining her t-shirt a little. But she doesn’t really care and even enjoys the slight coolness on her skin. A sweet smell floats through the air. Mira opens her eyes. Oooh, she knows that smell. She gets up reluctantly, leaving the couch like one leaves a dream.

Rumi hums a soft tune while flipping a perfectly golden pancake in the pan. A small stack is already waiting behind her.

“Pancakes for breakfast today? You’re spoiling us, Rumi,” she teases gently. Rumi’s pancakes are the best, right next to her waffles and Zoey’s burgers. She steps closer until she rests her chin on Rumi’s shoulder and watches what she’s doing.

“Yeah, I thought after the battle we fought, it’d be nice to… relax.” She forces a small, sad smile without looking at her, and Mira presses her lips together when she notices the sadness still weighing on Rumi. She turns her gently to face her and Rumi avoids her gaze, focused on the slightly overcooked pancake. She turns off the stove to try and get Rumi’s attention and places her hands on her shoulders.

“Rumi… You don’t have to celebrate anything… Take your time.” She speaks softly as Rumi finally meets her eyes. Her gaze is slightly wet and she sinks into an embrace.

“I know… It’s just that—He—He’s gone,” Rumi mumbles, her head buried against Mira’s shoulder, on the verge of tears. Mira holds her tightly, trying somehow to take on part of her pain. She doesn’t really understand how Jinu and Rumi grew close so quickly, but she knows that demon truly helped her accept herself, and it’s thanks to him that they won — and that Rumi is alive. She feels reluctantly indebted to the demon, even if his case is exceptional. Not all demons will be like him.

Suddenly Zoey bursts in, her hair still messy and the shadows under her eyes far too dark. Mira guesses she probably gamed or hacked something all night. You never really know with Zoey. She was probably drawn in by the divine smell of pancakes, but her overly wide and nervous smile gives her away instantly. Mira knows right away the youngest has done something.

“Hey girls, everything good?..” she asks, sounding nervous and not at all natural. Rumi gently pulls away from Mira’s arms and discreetly wipes her tears with the back of her hand. She takes on a more serious and doubtful expression in response to Zoey’s behavior.

“Zoey… what did you do?” The unspoken “again” is clear in her tone, and Zoey blushes harder, embarrassed. She lowers her eyes to the floor and fiddles with the rings on her fingers. Her smile stretches in a way that’s almost comical.

“I—what? What makes you say that?” she stammers a bit and shifts awkwardly from foot to foot.

Mira gives her an unconvinced look, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. “Zoey…”

“Okay fine!” She throws her arms up dramatically and steps into the kitchen. “So I maybe let one of the Saja escape? You’re not mad, right?” she blurts out in a voice way too loud and way too fast.

“What? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Mira sighs, disappointed. But the threat is real. Just one of those Saja demons could put the Honmoon in danger again. It must be dealt with.

“Uh—I felt guilty and it just seemed wrong to say it right after we fought, we were all tired but I did some research and hacked a few things and now I know where we could, um, look…?” She rubs the back of her neck, sheepish, rattling off her explanation at lightning speed. Rumi sighs in the background, amused, not seeming too worried.

“It’s okay. Let’s have breakfast… and then we’ll go find him. He can’t be far,” Rumi says as she sits down. “Actually, who did you let escape?” Mira follows and sits too, joined by Zoey. Rumi serves them more hot pancakes and coffee, and Zoey takes the opportunity to drown both in a mountain of sugar.

“It was Baby… he looked really… scared… but then he vanished in a cloud of smoke,” Zoey frowns, thoughtful. She stares at her coffee, now almost syrupy from the sugar. A flicker of guilt crosses her face. Rumi frowns at the confession and Mira bites into a chocolate pancake.

“You’re sure he wasn’t faking it?” Mira asks while slowly chewing her pancake, savoring it happily.

Zoey stares straight ahead, not touching anything on the table, her expression frozen in something more serious, as if replaying the scene. Seeing Zoey like that… it’s almost like that expression doesn’t belong on her face. Her coffee steams in front of her as she gently fiddles with the handle of the mug.

“No… I mean, I don’t think so. Uh—I was aiming at him at first but Mystery stepped in and pushed him away before I could hit him,” she winces, eyes distant, looking deeply sad. “He really looked scared and I don’t think he was pretending.”

Rumi lets out another sigh, as if trying to digest her words, before speaking. “Well, it’s worth trying to talk to him. Maybe reason with him? It’s not like he’s a huge threat on his own, and with the Honmoon sealed and stronger than ever.” She shrugs and sips her coffee. “What do you think, Mira?”

Mira pauses, chewing her pancake absentmindedly as she thinks. “Well, it might be worth it. But if he’s dangerous, we take him down, okay? No matter what you think, Zoey.” she adds. Zoey nods frantically.

“As long as we give him a chance first.”

Rumi smiles when all the girls agree. “Great! Where do you think we should start looking?”

“Maybe where he used to live? It’s our best lead and even if they moved since, it could give us clues.” Mira adds, thoughtful, as Rumi’s eyes light up.

“Perfect! And you already know it, Zoey!” Rumi pauses as if thinking of something. “Wait, is that why you’ve got those dark circles? You didn’t sleep at all, did you?” She raises an eyebrow, clearly displeased, and Zoey shrinks under her gaze.

“Hmm yeah?” she replies in a small voice, and Mira chuckles softly. Rumi rolls her eyes, playfully exasperated, and Mira laughs outright and ruffles her hair.

Despite the demonic threat still lurking out there, the girls spend a lovely morning chatting and laughing around the breakfast table.

OoO

He sprints to the house and bursts in with a deafening slam. He doesn’t even bother closing the door behind him and rushes straight to Romance’s bedroom. As soon as he enters, the familiar stench of sickness, blood, and infection hits him in the face, but he doesn’t linger on it. He drops to his knees beside Romance’s bed and gently shakes him to wake him up.

“Ro’ Ro’, come on, wake up, I found the right one this time. This medicine will help you. You just have to get up, come on Ro’.” He shakes his brother’s shoulder, but Romance only half-opens his eyes and stares without seeing. The fever makes his gaze glassy. Baby bites down hard on his lip, his fangs sinking into the swollen, bleeding flesh. Romance’s condition has only worsened over the past three days. The fever makes him delirious, and the lack of food has left him too weak to fight off the infection. He distractedly licks the blood from his lips, grabs the damp cloth from Romance’s forehead, and moistens it with fresh water.

“Come on Ro’… I can’t heal you if you don’t wake up.” He tries one last time, but Romance only lets out a faint groan, still delirious from the fever.

Baby already didn’t know what he was doing — and now it’s even worse! He searched online and found out he hadn’t disinfected Romance’s wound, hadn’t stitched it, hadn’t even checked if the bandages he used were sterile!

Now the wound is infected, and a sticky, disgusting fluid oozes from it despite how many times he’s cleaned it. Luckily, he managed to find a pharmacist kind enough to give him medicine for free — well, mostly he used his youthful charm on a man already corrupted, and he shudders at the memory of the pharmacist’s hands on him. He shakes his head to try and erase the unpleasant memories. He did the right thing. For Romance.

Baby bites his lip again and winces at the pain. His stomach growls painfully and he licks the blood that’s dripped onto his chin. He hasn’t eaten properly in days, hasn’t even slept. Too stressed about Romance’s condition.

He’s noticed he feels hunger and fatigue more easily now, and even changes in his body — and in Romance’s.

He started bleeding like a human. His markings have faded slightly on his skin, looking more like pale pink scars, and the roots of his hair have begun to grow, revealing their true color — a washed-out gray, and Romance’s a soft brown. But the worst part is their healing factor. Already weakened by the lack of demonic energy, it’s completely stopped functioning properly, leaving them to heal like ordinary humans.

All he has left are his fangs and claws to defend himself. He still hasn’t tried teleporting — and doubts he could — but he can still levitate above the ground.

“Sorry Ro’.” He murmurs, his voice hoarse and broken from the screaming days ago and the lack of use. He gently lifts Romance by the upper back and takes one of the pills given by the pharmacist. He helps Romance swallow it and gives him a little water. Then he gently massages his throat to trigger the swallowing reflex, just like the internet advised. Thankfully, it works — blessed be the internet.

With a tired sigh, Baby lays him back down. He changes the sweat-soaked sheets for fresh ones and opens the window slightly to let the air circulate, making sure to keep the curtains drawn. Nosy neighbors are the least of his worries.

While tidying the room a bit, he can’t help but notice how much weight Romance has lost in just a few days. His skin is pale like porcelain, and his cheeks are hollowed out by illness. His breathing is heavy and tortured, as if even that is a struggle. Baby wants to scream, wants to cry, punch something, or curl up in a corner forever. But he can’t. Romance is counting on him.

Not for much longer.

A voice — insidious, vaguely reminiscent of Gwi-ma — echoes in his head. But that’s impossible, the link was broken. He bites the inside of his cheek, staring at his brother’s face. He can’t lose him. His heart wouldn’t survive the pain if he did.

If he ever lost his last brother… Baby thinks he’d go back to challenge the huntresses, kill at least one before dying under their blades…

A sudden crash echoes through the apartment and Baby’s eyes widen. He didn’t close the door. He rushes out of Romance’s room and locks it behind him so no one can get in. He runs quickly down the hallway to reach the front door and—

HUNTR/X

The Huntresses.

They’re here to finish the job.

Baby freezes in shock, just like the girls. Their weapons are raised instinctively, but all he can see is them. And suddenly, all his worst nightmares come true. Visions blur with reality and all he can see is them. Them looming over his brothers to kill them. Their smiles haunt him, their laughter echoes in his ears. One realization cuts through the fog.

They’re here to finish the job.

He can’t let them get their hands on Romance.

And that becomes the one and only truth of his being.

Simple and absolute.

They’re here to finish the job and he can’t let them get their hands on Romance.

With a roar of rage, eyes blazing, claws ready, fangs bared, Baby launches himself at them with the energy of desperation. He can’t let them take Romance.

No ! 

Chapter Text

The three girls stop in front of the open door of a rundown-looking apartment, wearing skeptical expressions.

“Zoey, are you sure this is the place?” Mira asks, stepping forward, inspecting the entrance without actually going in.

“Of course! I couldn’t be wrong, I hacked the cameras and tracked them, but maybe I should’ve just hacked the site directly… the apartment’s under their name, but it was more complicated—” Zoey’s voice fades as she starts mumbling again, focused on her phone. She fiddles faster with her necklace, looking anxious, worried she made a mistake. Rumi places a hand over her screen to stop her.

“Mira wasn’t doubting you, Zoey, she was just asking for confirmation. Either way, we trust you found the Sajas’ hideout.” Rumi smiles kindly while Mira nods along to reassure the youngest member of the group. Zoey eventually smiles softly and puts away her phone, her hand calming down and stopping the nervous fiddling.

“So, girls, shall we go in?” Rumi asks, and Mira smirks.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Mira pushes the door open wider with one hand, her weapon already ready in the other, and the girls finally step into the dark apartment. The windows are covered with heavy curtains. A half-empty bowl sits on a wobbly table. Soiled bandages are piled in a corner. The air is thick, almost sticky with the stench of sickness, rot, and infection. Rumi wrinkles her nose while Mira covers hers. Zoey simply places a hand over her face.

“What is that smell? It’s like a body’s decomposing in here—” Mira mutters, disgusted, and Rumi frowns. Suddenly, a loud noise echoes behind them. The two girls spin around in surprise and… it’s Zoey, who slipped on a dumbbell on the floor.

The two girls laugh softly before helping their younger teammate off the ground as she groans dramatically. “Ow, ow, ow, who leaves dumbbells lying around like that? Ugh—” She groans again and Rumi takes the opportunity to ruffle her hair.

But another sound rings out in the apartment. The three girls freeze, alert, and draw their weapons. A door slams shut somewhere deeper in the house, followed by hurried footsteps. In a blur of motion, a small storm of teal hair appears.

He stops and freezes in front of them, just as surprised and shocked. Silence stretches as they stare at each other. It’s Baby. But none of them would’ve recognized him without his blue hair. His soft face is hollowed by fatigue and hunger. The demonic markings on his body are a pale pink, contrasting with his sickly pale skin. His eyes are shadowed, his hair messy and greasy, and his clothes are dirty and hang loosely on his thin frame.

His eyes are wide with surprise and fear, and his hands tremble as he stares at them. His expression quickly shifts and darkens, mixing burning rage and fear in stark contrast to his appearance. His fangs are out and a powerful growl rumbles in his chest. His hands curl, nails turning into claws that stretch unnaturally. His gaze darts rapidly, almost frantically, from girl to girl. It lingers on Zoey for a moment, terror flashing in his blue eyes before fury quickly takes its place, and he lunges at them with a harsh roar.

He charges at Mira, the closest to him. She dodges easily and blocks his claw strike with the shaft of her spear.

“What are you doing here!?” he growls through clenched teeth, his voice low and dangerous.

“We were looking for you.” Rumi, always the group’s mediator, stands calmly behind them. Zoey is behind her, like a bodyguard, weapons ready but lowered. Both of them block the door. Mira doesn’t move from her position despite the young demon’s still slightly superior strength, and Baby’s eyes dart frantically when he sees the exit blocked.

“I don’t want anything to do with you!” he shouts before suddenly ducking and sweeping Mira’s legs. She stumbles with a small cry as Baby leaps at Rumi. She catches his wrists, his claws just inches from her face. She shoves him back, throwing him off balance. Baby lands on his back with a grunt of pain and Rumi pins him down. Her knee on his stomach, his wrists trapped against the floor. He bares his fangs and jerks his head up to bite her. Rumi shifts quickly and, without losing focus, flips him onto his stomach and locks his arms behind his back. He struggles harder, kicking her in the back and twisting his hips to throw her off. Rumi doesn’t budge, far stronger than the weakened young demon. He keeps screaming and growling louder, his face pressed against the floor.

Zoey quickly comes to help Rumi and sits on the demon’s legs, while Mira finally gets back on her feet. Baby’s strength begins to fade, and he stops struggling as violently under the half-demon.

“Let me go!” he roars again, shaking his head and lifting his neck to preserve at least a shred of fragile dignity. “I didn’t do anything to you! Just let me die with some dignity!” he shouts, and the girls freeze at his words. He doesn’t care. He needs to buy time. Or at least get them far enough from the apartment — then he could escape and move Romance somewhere safer. He can’t be weak! He spits insults, each one more vulgar than the last, and it seems to snap the girls out of their trance.

“We’re not here to kill you, Baby,” Rumi begins gently, like she’s speaking to a child. He doesn’t care! He doesn’t need their pathetic pity!

“I don’t need your pity, bitches!” he growls, still struggling, but Rumi’s knees on his back are starting to feel heavy. His chest is pressed against the floor and he takes a brief moment to gasp for air, trying to fill his lungs with as much oxygen as possible. Rumi notices and eases her grip slightly. He shoots her a dark glare and tries to bite her again. She doesn’t even bother to move — he can’t reach her anyway. Instead, he growls, threatening.

“We’re here to help you, Baby!” chirps a voice. The one sitting on his legs. Against his will, his body freezes, shoulders tense as his eyes lock onto her. A soft smile on her face, far from the radiant one she wore back then. But her smile — that smile — it’s burned into his memory. It’s her —

He abruptly looks away as Mira steps into the hallway leading to the room where he keeps Romance.

“Stop! K-Kill me or do whatever you want, but come back here —” His voice is lower, and he hates how pathetic he sounds, but he has no choice. He bites his lip again, reopening a scab that hadn’t had time to heal. Rumi frowns above him, though he can’t see it, and Zoey pauses, more alert. Mira glances at him but doesn’t stop, and none of the girls speak.

He hates this feeling. He absolutely hates it. On the ground like an animal. Begging for another life. Studied like a strange insect under a magnifying glass. They look at him with pity — when they’re the ones who caused this! It’s all their fault!!

He struggles harder as Mira continues down the hallway and finally stops in front of Romance’s door. His heart skips a beat in fear.

They’re here to finish the job.

“Stop!” he roars, thrashing harder, squirming under the girls’ grip, fueled by desperation. “Don’t you dare go near that door, Huntress!” he screams, his voice cracking again as tears well up in his eyes against his will.

No no no no nonononononononon —

Romance is barely breathing — he’s an easy target! He — he can’t — not like this — they can’t kill him — no — he won’t let them!

He screams and fights even harder. Tears stream down his cheeks. He has to draw attention, pull them away from Romance. He can’t lose him — no —!

Rumi presses her lips together, her hands trembling slightly, but she remains steady. Zoey shifts nervously, and Mira just watches the demon thrash beneath them, her expression unreadable — but the sight of his broken state is starting to get to her… She doesn’t feel like a good person right now…

“Girls… maybe we should just… give up?” Zoey finally speaks, sounding nervous as the demon screams and struggles beneath her and Rumi. Baby suddenly freezes at her words. His body tense again. Rumi had noticed that every time Baby became aware of Zoey’s presence, he froze like this… Out of rage? Out of fear?

Mira finally steps toward the door that Baby is sobbing over on the floor. She tries to open it. Locked. She shrugs and kicks it once with her boot. The wood creaks and Baby roars again from the floor.

“Stop! I’m begging you, stop!” he sobs, his shoulders shaking violently, and it makes Mira pause for a second. But Céline’s words echo in her mind:

“Demons are always pretending.”

She kicks the door again, and this time it bursts open with a deafening crack of wood. Followed by Baby’s scream, as if he were the one being killed. He thrashes wildly on the floor, tears pouring harder from his eyes as he begs.

“Please, please, leave him — please — stop, he’s all I have left —” he whimpers and sobs on the floor. His forehead pressed against the dusty floorboards as he moans, like he’s begging on his knees for mercy.

But as soon as the door opens, an even stronger stench of sickness and rot spills from the room. The space is dark, the curtains swallowing the light, the window wide open, and a massive bed stands in the center. But she can hear wheezing, labored breathing. Someone is in the bed. Focused on her task, Mira doesn’t notice the renewed screams. She steps slowly into the room as if entering a sanctuary. Her spear raised and ready for anything. Who could—

She stops with a sharp inhale.

Romance.

He looks dead. His chest rises with difficulty. Sloppy bandages cover his torso, hiding what looks like a massive wound stretching from his abdomen to his shoulder. A sticky fluid has already soaked through the bandages and begun to cling. A cloth rests on his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed red from fever. His eyes are closed and sunken, his cheeks hollow.

Boxes of various medications and half-used bandages litter the room and the small nightstand. Mira can easily imagine who spent days and nights sitting here, watching over the last member of his group. It fills her with a sickening mix of pity and horror she doesn’t know how to name. She can still hear the muffled cries and sobs outside the room, like Baby is being tortured.

Baby. The one who fought with everything he had for someone other than himself. The one who watched over Romance for days, even though it was obvious he didn’t know what he was doing. The one who struggles and begs so that she, Mira, won’t kill the last member of his group. As if he truly believes they’re monsters.

“But aren’t we?” a voice echoes in her mind, and despite the unease it brings, she can’t help but think about it.

They’ve saved thousands of lives… But technically, they’ve destroyed many others… Do all demons feel? Or just some? Does slicing them with their weapons send them back to hell or… erase them completely?… Céline never answered that question…

Mira stumbles out of the room. Her face pale, lips tight. Rumi straightens slightly, instantly worried. Baby had stopped screaming and struggling, collapsed against the floor. Her grip on him had slowly loosened with his lack of resistance and Mira’s sudden exit.

That’s all he needs. In a burst of movement, he jerks upright. His body trembling, out of breath. But he refuses to give in. Rumi falls off balance with a small surprised cry. Zoey tries to grab his ankle, but he shoves her aside with a sharp motion, not even looking at her.

Baby rushes straight toward Mira, still standing in the hallway outside Romance’s room. Instinctively, she recalls her weapon, ready to counter the attack. But the demon quickly passes her and bursts into Romance’s room. He rushes to the bed, panicked, and his shoulders relax with a sigh of relief. Romance is still breathing — that’s all that matters. He turns toward the sound of footsteps. Standing tall, arms spread, claws bared, fangs out, eyes wide and bloodshot. He growls, almost painfully, with his broken voice. Protective, desperate, and dangerous.

Mira stares at him in shock, unmoving, arms hanging loosely at her sides. Rumi and Zoey quickly join her, stopping in front of the doorway with a controlled slide. Baby growls at them, protective. Fear and anxiety shine in his yellow eyes alongside a fierce protective rage. Fatigue weighs down his movements. His arms tremble under their own weight, yet he refuses to fall.

Guilt crashes down on Zoey like an anvil in her stomach. She wavers under the invisible weight, unable to look away from the scene before her. Rumi places a firm hand on her shoulder and shakes her head, urging her to step back. She doesn’t take her eyes off the cornered demon. Mira understands too and gently takes the youngest by the hand, guiding her away from the room that reeks of sickness and death…

Rumi steps slowly into the room, without fully crossing the threshold. She notices how Baby can’t seem to tear his gaze away from Zoey, as if the youngest member of the group were the most dangerous of all. She can tell there’s probably a story behind all this. Baby’s shoulders relax slightly once Zoey is out of sight. He tenses again when she moves. Rumi makes sure to keep her hands visible and avoids any sudden movements so as not to scare him. He watches her closely, tracking every gesture, trying to appear as threatening and imposing as possible — anything to keep their attention away from the one he’s protecting behind him.

Rumi feels guilt twist in her gut. She’d been so focused on saving Jinu, she hadn’t even tried to get to know the other Saja boys or give them a chance at redemption… She feels like such a hypocrite… Of course she and Jinu can’t be the only exceptions to the rule. Part of her wonders how many more exceptions might exist…

“What do you want?” he spits, his voice cracked from too much screaming. She can still see the dried tear tracks on his pale face. She’ll have to tread carefully.

“I—We want to help you,” she begins softly, offering her intentions like a gift. She needs to make the demon understand that she doesn’t intend to hurt him. That she has nothing to gain, and more importantly, that she’s offering something in return — something that might allow her to help him. She glances at the trembling, feverish form of Romance behind him. He follows her gaze and instantly shifts to block it again, drawing attention back to himself.

“Why? Aren’t you a huntress? Just kill me already,” he growls, his face twisted with fury. It might have been intimidating if not for the dark circles and still-wet tears on his cheeks.

“Listen… We have nothing to gain by killing you. The Honmoon is sealed, and I doubt you or Romance could do anything about it now. I can offer medical care and a full team bound by confidentiality to treat Romance…” She pauses for a moment before adding, “I—I loved Jinu, and I know he loved you. I feel hypocritical for not thinking of this sooner, but you deserve a second chance too.” She finally looks up after her confession to see Baby’s confused, perplexed expression. She bites her lip — he looks so young with that expression, even though she knows he definitely isn’t. He must be, what, a century old? Maybe two?

“W-Why would you do that? You’re huntresses and we’re… demons,” he adds the last part reluctantly.

“I already told you… Whatever you might think, we’re not monsters. And you and Romance didn’t deserve what happened to you under Gwi-ma’s control — or after. Please let us help you… And if not for yourself, then at least for him…” she adds, gesturing gently toward Romance.

Baby’s posture relaxes slightly, maybe from fatigue or the lack of immediate threat. His hesitant gaze shifts from her to Romance, and he bites his lip. His fangs tear into the thin skin and the scabs start bleeding again, though he doesn’t seem to care. Rumi winces slightly before noticing something important.

“Wait. You’re bleeding?” she asks, surprised. Baby flinches slightly before nodding.

“Yes… My healing factor has slowed down to human speed, and our markings have faded… I don’t know what’s happening, but I’ve never spent this much time outside the demon realm with a fully sealed Honmoon, so maybe it’s normal…” He shrugs before seeming to realize who he’s talking to. The loneliness must be weighing on him if he’s speaking this openly to those he considers enemies.

His shoulders rise defensively, almost to his ears, but he’s slightly embarrassed and less threatening — and Rumi sees that as a step in the right direction.

“I—I’ll go with you, but I won’t let you touch Romance or let your friends come near me. We’ll leave as soon as he’s recovered and you won’t see us again, okay?” He lays out his conditions with a tone that tries to sound authoritative but comes off more anxious, like he’s ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Rumi can’t blame him, and she keeps a soft, reassuring smile on her face to encourage him. She nods.

“Your conditions are perfectly reasonable, and I’ll make sure the girls respect them. We have a car downstairs that can take us to the penthouse — do you need help with…” She doesn’t finish her sentence as Baby quickly shakes his head in refusal.

“He’s not heavy. He’s my brother.” He looks at her with wide eyes, shining with unwavering determination and protection, and Rumi can’t help but feel guilt flood her again.

Without another word, Baby turns partially away from her, keeping her in his line of sight. He begins wrapping Romance in a blanket. He lifts him onto his back with a soft grunt of effort and turns to face her. The pose would almost be comical — Romance is a few centimeters taller, carried by Baby with a face of steel. But there’s nothing funny about the situation. Not when Baby’s legs tremble from the conscious effort of carrying him. Not when Romance’s already labored breathing turns into a wheeze. There’s nothing to laugh about. Rumi nods with determination and walks down the hallway without looking back. She signals the girls to follow so she can quickly explain the situation, while Baby trails behind her.

Zoey keeps glancing back. She fiddles with her necklaces and strands of hair, wrapping her fingers around them with a guilty look. She lingers slightly behind, wanting to help but trying to respect Baby’s boundaries.

Suddenly, the young demon’s knee buckles under his weight and Romance’s as he steps down a stair, stumbling. He begins to fall in slow motion. Instinctively, Zoey — being the closest — catches him to steady him, offering an encouraging smile. She opens her mouth, ready to speak, when Baby abruptly pulls away and backs up. Romance’s head lolls slightly on his shoulder as he presses himself against the wall, breathing short and ragged. Zoey reaches out, confused and worried. But he shakes his head violently, frantically. His teal-blue eyes are wide with terror, and his breathing quickens, turning into gasps. His demonic markings pulse softly, flickering from pink to violet in rhythm with his erratic breath. A firm hand lands on Zoey’s arm to stop her from moving forward. Rumi presses her lips together and shakes her head at her.

“Don’t touch me—” Baby growls, still pressed against the wall, his wide eyes turning bright yellow as he stares at her in fear. She swallows at the violent reaction and steps back, guided gently by Rumi’s hand.

“Baby, can I…?” She reaches out slowly. Asking without words if she can touch him. He shakes his head even more violently and seems to want to melt into the wall despite Romance clinging to his back. Rumi understands and nods.

“We’ll go down. Join us when you’re ready, okay?” And without waiting for a response, she grabs both her friends by the arms, her grip a little too tight from emotion. She leads them down the stairs. She guides them to the car — which is actually a white van, comfortably refitted for travel and discretion.

Rumi drops heavily onto the cushioned seats in the back of the van. She rests her head in her hands, elbows on her knees, trying to reorganize her thoughts.

It’s Mira who breaks the silence.

“It’s a lot to process…” She doesn’t look at them, tapping her fingers on her thigh, following an inaudible rhythm — something she only does when she’s stressed.

“I—I don’t know where to start…” Rumi begins awkwardly, but she’s suddenly interrupted by Zoey.

“He’s afraid of me.”

She realizes it, shocked. Her eyes distant, as if struggling to accept it. “He’s terrified of me. Just my presence.” She inhales sharply. She wraps her arms around herself like she’s trying to shield herself, on the verge of tears. “He—He had a panic attack just because I touched him.”

Rumi bites her lip and places a comforting hand on Zoey’s shoulder. “Zoey…” she begins gently.

“No—No, Rumi. He—He’s terrified of me.” She lifts her head, her lips trembling, her eyes filling with tears. She wipes them away angrily, as if furious they exist. “W-What—No—I know—I know.” Confusion gives way to understanding as she thinks back to the final battle.

“I—I killed Mystery right in front of him. I—” Her eyes widen in shock as she begins to truly grasp the weight of her actions and their consequences. But she hadn’t had a choice in the moment. They had to win, to make them disappear, to stop them from destroying the world. She had no choice. She—

Baby suddenly appears. Half bent forward under Romance’s weight, he still moves steadily until he reaches the van. Rumi opens the door and steps aside to let him in. The girls shift respectfully, giving him as much space as possible to settle in. He places Romance against the wall of the van and positions himself between him and the others.

“Hurry up, we don’t have much time left.” He says through clenched lips, his voice hoarse, not looking at them.

Rumi nods, wearing her determined, unwavering leader’s expression, and quickly tells the driver to start the engine. She glances at the girls. Zoey is still in shock, staring into space and fiddling with her necklaces, and Mira seems lost in thought.

They have a lot to think about.

She then looks at the two self-proclaimed brothers — Baby’s grim expression and Romance’s sickly one — and presses her lips together.

And they have a lot of mistakes to fix…

Chapter Text

His leg bounced against the linoleum floor of the infirmary. Baby was still biting his lip, trying not to reopen the old scabs too much. Romance lay in bed, hooked up to various machines; a heart monitor sliced through the silence with a soft, reassuring beep beep. Reassuring because it meant Romance was still here, but honestly, the sound was kind of annoying. But even if it annoyed him, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t abandon him. Not now, deep in enemy territory. He couldn’t leave Romance so vulnerable in the middle of their enemies…

Fatigue weighed heavily on him, a lead blanket dragging down his movements and pulling his eyelids lower. Again, a little closer. He forced his eyelids back up. He couldn’t close them. If he gave in, he might fall asleep. He couldn’t let his guard down, not here — not now —

To distract himself from the exhaustion, he decided to take a closer look at Romance’s condition. He’d been kicked out of the room while the doctors worked to stabilize Romance. But he’d refused to leave before seeing him, so he’d stayed sitting on the floor until the purple-haired huntress took pity on him and brought him a chair. She’d also brought some food and — thank God — a few energy drinks, so he could already feel the effects fading. Thankfully, the team had done a good job — he figured that with Huntrix’s prestige, they had access to the best of the best. After just one full day under the care of the medical team, Romance had regained some color. His face wasn’t as pale as before and his breathing had stabilized without needing a respirator. From what he understood of the nurse’s muttering, his infected abdominal wound had been treated quickly enough, but he needed to be kept under observation until his fever dropped and he woke up. They also needed to avoid sudden movements or tiring him out too much afterward, and above all, keep him well hydrated.

At some point, he realized he’d closed his eyes while thinking about Romance’s injuries. He dug his still-too-sharp nails into the palms of his hands and leaned in such a way that his healing flank wound stretched — not enough to reopen it, but enough to hurt and keep him awake. His leg kept bouncing against the floor. His right hand still held Romance’s, and he absentmindedly ran his thumb over Romance’s knuckles, hoping he’d wake up. Baby was so focused on not falling asleep that he completely missed the person entering the room.

A sudden throat clearing made him jump. He sat up abruptly, eyes wide. He instinctively tightened his grip on Romance’s hand. He relaxed slightly when he saw it was just the violet one. If she’d wanted to kill them, it would’ve been easier to do it when Romance hadn’t spent hours being treated by their own care team… but maybe luring him and Romance into their penthouse was just a strategy to kill them more discreetly or worse — He shook his head at the thought, his theories were completely far-fetched and he blamed the lack of sleep for them. But he couldn’t help glancing at the huntress from the corner of his eye as she shifted nervously from one foot to the other. That left Baby more confused than he’d like to admit: why would she be nervous around him?

“Uhm, hi,” she said awkwardly with a smile a little too wide to seem natural. He looked at her without a word. She bit her lip and suddenly noticed a chair off to the side. She pulled it over, on the same side of Romance’s bed as him, but not too close. She finally sat down and placed a small bag on her lap that he hadn’t noticed.

“I saw you’ve been here for hours… are you okay?” She didn’t look at him, focused on the bag. So she couldn’t see his dark glare.

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak but… nothing came out. He frowned and pressed his lips into a thin line. His inability to speak at times brought back bad memories. But now that he focused more on the sensations in his throat, he realized it was tight in a strange way, like even trying to speak would hurt…

Noticing he still hadn’t said a word, Rumi glanced at him and he just nodded, avoiding her gaze. He felt… vulnerable. Without his ability to speak to defend himself or just annoy people until they left. He really, really wanted to growl at something right now. But that’s considered rude. Oh, you know what, he didn’t care. He growled. Not loud enough to disturb the silence, but enough for the huntress to understand.

Rumi stayed silent beside him for a long moment. The sound of the heart monitor and the hum of the machines were the only things echoing. Seeing she wouldn’t get a verbal response anytime soon, she rummaged through the bag before handing him something.

“Here, I uh… noticed you bite your lips a lot and seem to like it, so I got you these,” she said just as awkwardly, handing him a pack of lollipops.

He froze for a moment. That… that reminded him so much of Jinu — that awkwardness around others, especially in private. The first time he’d also offered him a pack of lollipops to help with that particular tic. He reached out a trembling hand toward the pack and took it almost ceremoniously. He felt tears sting his eyes again. But he couldn’t — not now, not in front of her.

He stood up abruptly, dropped the pack, and rushed out of the room. His breathing was too fast and in his panic, he even forgot his resolution not to leave Romance alone. But for now, he couldn’t. He had to get away from that girl as fast as possible. He had to run. Far, far from her. From the memories she brought back. The one who reminded him of his brother. The one he sacrificed himself for. The one he betrayed them for. The one he gave up everything for even though he’d only known her for a few months. He slipped on the floor, stumbled back up awkwardly and kept running? Walking? He didn’t know anymore — And those years spent together? Two years training and seeing each other every morning. Sleeping together in the same bed in their godforsaken apartment. Did all that mean nothing? He thought he loved him. But what if it was a lie? What if he’d been pretending all along? What if he mistook his dreams for reality? Letting them sink so deeply into his heart. So he could stab him without remorse? Without even looking at him. Is Jinu the only one or will Romance betray him too? Isn’t he good enough? What if he leaves him? And Abby? Mystery? Did they think the same? Is he the problem? —

His thoughts were cut off when he violently tripped and fell headfirst to the ground. He winced, bracing for impact, when something suddenly grabbed him by the collar. Unable to stop it, a small whimper escaped as his throat was abruptly squeezed by the collar, but he was quickly pulled upright.

The pink-haired huntress stood before him. She looked at him with a scowl, her nose slightly scrunched and a smug, almost mocking smile on her lips.

“So, demon baby, forgot how to walk?” She snickered lightly behind her boba cup and Baby’s face flushed slightly with embarrassment. Ugh — if his throat weren’t so tight, if he could speak, he’d totally tell her to go screw herself. He pouted and stuck out his tongue before walking away. He really wasn’t in the mood to deal with her right now…

Mira raised her eyebrows, surprised. She could’ve sworn the little demon would’ve at least insulted her before leaving. He’s weird… She shrugged and turned away to enjoy the couch. Maybe go visit Zoey? She still hadn’t come out of her room since they got back, and it was starting to worry her. Baby wasn’t her problem anyway.

He keeps walking faster without looking back. His arms lift to wrap around himself, his head lowered, trembling, his breathing still too rapid. He needs to calm down. He has to calm down — He passes absentmindedly by a half-open door. A half-empty broom closet. He doesn’t think twice and slips into the small space. He weaves between brooms and a few buckets without knocking anything over and curls up into himself.

He rests his forehead against his knees and buries his hands deeper into the sleeves of his hoodie. He breathes deliberately and slowly, hoping to chase away the panic still simmering in his chest. In his heart, still beating too fast. He inhales gently, holds it, counts four seconds, and exhales slowly. He repeats the process once. Twice. Four times. Six. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

He bites his lips. It’s not working. Nothing, nothing, nothing is working. He feels the sting of tears again. It’s like he’s running out of oxygen. His chest is too tight. He’s exploding from the inside. Everything is collapsing within him. He bites his lips harder, searching for some kind of anchor in the pain but nothing works. Nothing works —

Suddenly, the light from the hallway spilling into the dark broom closet is briefly blocked by a shadow. It’s quickly replaced by the soft sound of footsteps and the creak of the door opening wider. He doesn’t lift his head, still focused on trying to breathe, but his shoulders are tense. He catches a glimpse of the purple-haired huntress’s shoes. His posture relaxes, just barely.

He doesn’t trust her, but at least she hasn’t killed any of his brothers. The huntress breathes softly into the still air, a stark contrast to his erratic breathing. She sits down, leaning against the same wall as him, only separated by about fifteen centimeters due to the narrow space. From here, he can almost feel the warmth radiating from her, and if he closes his eyes and imagines hard enough, he could almost picture Abby right there, sitting beside him, seconds away from wrapping him in her arms. Or Mystery, silent companion of his troubled nights, always ready for a good cuddle. Romance, who knows how to stay quiet and simply enjoy the calm with him, there until the end of the night. Or just Jinu —

The thought makes him inhale sharply and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, curling up even more. He can’t think about Jinu. Not now — But this huntress. He had trusted her. He sacrificed everything for her. He doesn’t know if he should hate her for that or trust her because Jinu did. Ugh — Even in death, Jinu gives him a headache —

The huntress shifts slightly beside him, her shoulders rising a bit, still curled up. He doesn’t look at her, still can’t, but his body aches internally from the lack of contact — it’s been so long…

She inhales, like she’s about to say something. He doesn’t really know what to feel.

“Just… uh, you did good, Baby. With Romance, I mean…” Rumi says awkwardly, unsure how to start a conversation with the demon curled up like a child at the back of a closet. But what she says is true — few people would’ve fought so hard for a family member with such determination — even if she doesn’t know whether Romance and Baby are actually related by blood, it’s still a bit unclear, she’ll ask him when he’s more comfortable with them — But Baby had thrown himself at them, probably to buy time, and yet… it was suicide. If she and the girls hadn’t already agreed not to attack him, they could’ve easily hurt him. And after seeing what their weapons can do to demons — seeing the state Romance was in — Rumi is less convinced that they’re just sending demons back to hell. No, they… kill them… And isn’t that a terrifying thought?

Baby inhales a bit more sharply and lifts his head. He looks simply… exhausted. In every sense of the word, if that’s possible. She can see his misty eyes like he’s seeing her for the first time, a tear slips down without him seeming to notice and his face crumples. He buries his head between his knees again, hands pressed to his face, and his shoulders shake with sobs. Rumi bites the inside of her cheeks, surprised and slightly panicked. She doesn’t know what triggered such a strong reaction. She hesitates, instinct pushing her to hold him, to cuddle him like she does with Zoey after a nightmare, protecting her in her embrace. Or to wrap him in a tight hug like she does with Mira when she’s overwhelmed. But then she remembers Baby’s reaction when Zoey barely touched him — he literally had a panic attack and she still doesn’t know if it was about the touch or just Zoey…

She moves her hand slightly closer, hesitant.

“Can I… touch you?” she asks, uncertain. At least with the girls she knows what to do, but this is all new. She’s afraid of making another mistake. He doesn’t respond, his shoulders shaking harder as he sobs too quietly, seemingly not hearing her. She breathes softly and brushes his back with her hand — he doesn’t really react. She deepens the contact, keeping her hand light but moving it in gentle circles over the fabric of his hoodie. She feels his muscles relax slightly under her fingers and he leans almost instinctively toward the touch. Reassured by the movement, she slightly intensifies her gesture, trying to keep it firm yet gentle. Firm enough for him to feel it and anchor himself in the moment, but still light enough that she can pull away at the slightest sign of discomfort.

She continues the circular motions on his back, gradually gaining confidence as the minutes pass. The young demon slowly begins to calm down and soften, leaning into her touch like a starving cat. Rumi says nothing, simply follows his lead. Baby eventually moves closer, shrinking the space between them until their shoulders brush, his forehead still resting on his knees but curled up less tightly. Slowly, his head tilts toward her, eyes closed — he doesn’t seem fully conscious but not quite asleep either. The fatigue must be weighing heavily on him, especially since she doubts he truly trusts her — not yet.

She gently moves her hand from his back, slowly up toward his head to softly ruffle his hair. Despite the lack of care, it’s surprisingly soft under her fingers. Suddenly, he lets out a small whimper and literally rubs his head against her hand. He leans even closer, his eyes now half-open, seeing her without really seeing. He lifts his head and leans in further. So much so that Rumi fears he might fall — instead, his head finds refuge against her shoulder and he stays there. He closes his eyes completely and breathes softly. Rumi continues stroking his hair as best she can in this slightly awkward position and realizes after a few minutes that he’s fallen asleep.

He’s fallen asleep on her shoulder. She really doesn’t know what to make of that but… seeing him like this… Baby looks so… vulnerable… He reminds her so much of Zoey when she falls asleep… he looks so exhausted. So tired of everything. So Rumi doesn’t move, she adjusts Baby, gently laying his sleeping head on her lap to settle him into a more comfortable position. He doesn’t wake up, she sighs in relief and continues stroking his hair and massaging his scalp. He deserves this break, and even though she knows she’s probably not the first person he’d come to for rest… well, he has no one left — she pushes aside the little voice in her head telling her it’s her fault, now’s not the time for self-pity — because Baby clearly needs someone. And seeing him like this, Rumi wants to be at least one of those people by his side to keep him from falling apart. It won’t be easy, but god, she’s going to try!

He deserves to rest…

Chapter Text

Awakening doesn’t come all at once. It’s soft and fragile. A butterfly lifting off its flower. His eyes flutter gently, not fully awake yet. It’s so warm, warm inside like a blanket wrapped around the heart. Like hot milk in winter and the crackle of embers caught in sleepy retinas. A warm, calloused hand is buried in his hair, warm against his skull. He squeezes his eyes shut tighter and presses into the soft thing beneath his head, a gentle growl vibrating in his chest. He’s almost certain he’s purring. A similar purr answers him, and a lazy smile spreads across his face. The hand in his hair resumes its soft strokes. The scent of fresh cinnamon fills his nose.

“Jinu?…” he mumbles, unable to stop himself. But a distant voice in his head tells him no. Cinnamon doesn’t mean Jinu. Jinu is gone. But gone where?

“Where are you..?” His brows furrow slightly and the sensation of the hard floor beneath him becomes clear. Something uncomfortable digs into his calf, and the hand on his head is far too small to belong to any of his brothers. He sits up abruptly, eyes wide, and his purring cuts off in a static crackle. A soft smile greets his startled gaze, and it’s a tired-looking huntress with violet hair watching him. As if she’d spent the night sleeping in that broom closet. — A quick glance toward the hallway, now bathed in the gentle light just before dawn, confirms it — He blushes suddenly, realizing he spent the night sleeping on his enemy’s lap —

“Huntress—” His voice is hoarse, probably from yesterday’s crying, but he’s simply relieved he can speak again. He hates the blockages.

She smiles softly, her eyes glowing as sunlight begins to seep into the closet facing the large window.

“You can just call me Rumi, Baby.” She chuckles gently, almost like a whisper. She doesn’t comment on who he mistook her for, nor on the purring — which she responded to, and he tries not to think about it —. He doesn’t quite know how to interpret it, so he simply shifts away a little to gather his thoughts.

He moves slowly to sit up straighter, but a sharp pain knocks the breath out of him and he doubles over, hands flying to his side.

“Ugh — Ow — What the—” he groans in pain, then realizes something sticky is coating his hands. Blood. His wound has reopened.

Rumi is instantly alert when he groans, her hands raised as if to help but she doesn’t move forward. He bites his lip again.

“Baby… are you okay? Can I help you?” she asks, still gently. A flash of anger shoots through him — how dare she pretend to care now? It’s all her fault! But another part of his brain, the part he wishes he could banish forever, whispers that she stayed the whole night. Without moving, just to let him sleep… She could’ve left him — walked away and no one would’ve blamed her. No one would’ve known. But still… she stayed, and he really doesn’t know what to think anymore. She’s worse than Jinu when it comes to giving him a headache. He teeters between wanting to spit insults at her and just curl back up on her lap and forget everything that happened —

“Listen — I really want to help, and that wound on your side might get infected if you don’t treat it. Can I at least show you how?” she asks again, stepping back to give him space. He hadn’t realized how cornered he felt until she moved away. He chews his lip absentmindedly, not caring about the taste of blood he swallows before it drips down his chin. It stings, but at least it grounds him — and he can’t help doing it —

He finally nods, as if he’s finished weighing his options. His hands are still pressed to his side, where the wound continues to bleed despite the pressure.

“Okay — Just show me. For later.” He speaks, uncertain, jaw tight, reaffirming the huntress’s words — Rumi, her name is Rumi. She simply nods in understanding and stands. Her hand reaches out to him almost automatically, like a reflex. She blushes slightly, embarrassed for doing it without thinking. Baby doesn’t like that. Not that she offered her hand. No — but that she looked like she regretted it.

So he takes it. Without hesitation. He leans on him to stand up as well. Fine. She wants to help? Then she’ll help. He accepts. Graciously, of course. She owes him that much. He grips her hand a little tighter, as if anchoring his decision. His fingers are still slightly stained with blood, but Rumi doesn’t seem to mind. She glows, her smile lighting up her face. He almost has to squint to look at her. Ugh — It’s too bright. A pout crosses his face, why is she smiling too —?

“Do you remember the way to the infirmary?” she asks, her smile far less forced than yesterday’s, seeming to linger naturally. He shakes his head — in his panic, he’d gotten a bit lost in the massive penthouse. Rumi says nothing and begins humming a tune as she guides him through the white hallways, the windows enormous, and he finds himself marveling at the view as the sun timidly rises in the sky.

It’s only when they’re nearly at the infirmary that Baby realizes he still hasn’t let go of her hand. It doesn’t seem to bother Rumi — in fact, she doesn’t even seem to notice. Her hand is warm and soft against his, calloused and with a grip that’s felt even though she’s not squeezing. He doesn’t want to trust her. But he decides to stay like this. Just so he doesn’t get lost, yes, that’s it. A totally valid and justifiable reason.

He steps into the infirmary, which is really just another wing of the penthouse. Romance is settled in one of the rooms at the back, equipped with the most advanced medical gear due to his injuries. Rumi gently leads him to another room, this one stocked with more standard supplies for more common wounds.

“Do you want to sit down? It’ll be easier to treat you.” She turns to him without letting go of his hand. He pouts when he realizes it’s up to him to pull away. He nods silently and releases her hand reluctantly. Rumi doesn’t comment, and he goes to sit on one of the chairs. Rumi rummages through the cabinets and pulls out a large box with the familiar red cross logo. She sets the box on the low table beside him and opens it, pulling out a few gauze pads and some disinfectant.

“So, these are sterile gauze pads, and this is disinfectant — a kind of alcohol made to clean wounds.” She explains, and he frowns.

“I know what disinfectant is.” he interrupts with a sulky pout, and Rumi pauses mid-explanation to look at him.

“Oh, right? Sorry, I just thought that being a demon for several centuries, you might not know how to use modern medical supplies. I should’ve asked.” She bites her lip and rubs the back of her neck, looking genuinely apologetic. He figures it’s an easy mistake to make. He shrugs and starts taking off his hoodie — frankly disgusting and sticky with blood — wincing slightly as some dried blood peels away with it.

“I’m not that old.” he mutters, finally pulling off the grimy hoodie with a disgusted grimace. She watches him for a moment, and he realizes he’s now shirtless. It’s not like he’s particularly modest, but her gaze on him makes him uncomfortable. He covers his chest with his arms and winces slightly as the movement pulls at his wound.

She eventually looks away, seeming just as flustered as he is. She hands him a clean cloth to wipe away the dried blood and the mess around the wound. She laughs nervously. “Sorry about that.” She washes her hands before starting to unwrap the gauze. “Would you mind telling me, um… your age?” she asks, not quite meeting his eyes. He rolls his eyes, slightly amused by her awkwardness.

“Demon years or human years?” he asks, playful. She looks up, brows slightly furrowed as if she’s about to retract the question — until she sees his teasing expression. She can’t help but smile back, her posture relaxing.

“Would you mind telling me both?” She soaks the gauze in disinfectant and moves closer to him, silently asking if she can touch him. He nods before continuing.

“In human years, I’m 17. In demon years, I’m 21.” He winces slightly as the gauze presses a bit too hard against his wound and hisses at her.

“Wait — Oh my god, I’m sorry!” she exclaims, startled, and apologizes for the rough touch. She swaps out the gauze for a fresh one. The disinfectant stings a little, but thankfully he doesn’t need stitches — the wound is wide, yes, but not too deep.

An awkward silence settles. He shifts slightly under her care, but Rumi finishes disinfecting the wound and steps back to grab something to dress it.

“I thought you were older,” she says, trying to fill the silence. He just shrugs. “You’re not the first.”

Silence again. Normally, silence doesn’t bother him much, but here, alone with her… it’s unsettling.

“And those bruises? They’re too fresh to be from… the fight —” she trails off, voice slightly dark at the memory, but still curious, trying to fill the quiet. He freezes at the question. He chews his lip, lowers his head, hiding his eyes behind his hair. He really doesn’t want to think about it. Rumi stops when she realizes he’s not answering and sees his posture. She presses her lips together, realizing she probably said something insensitive. She finishes dressing the wound and pulls out a cream for the bruises but doesn’t dare approach while he’s still tense.

“I — I needed meds for Romance… It’s not free.” he says, not looking at her, and she inhales sharply when she realizes what he means. Guilt crashes over her before she can brace for it. Her hands tremble slightly, and thankfully Baby can’t see her from where he’s sitting. It’s — it’s just awful —

“I — I’m sorry…” she whispers into the fragile silence, and he only nods without looking at her.

She doesn’t know what to do now. She closes her eyes and takes a slow breath in, holds it, and exhales gently. She needs to stay calm. She won’t be able to help if she panics too. Even if the situation is horrible, she has to keep a clear head — she can hyperventilate later. She mentally gathers all her guilt and self-loathing, stuffs it into an imaginary box, and locks it tight. Once that’s done, she already feels more present. Okay, now what?

Help Baby relax, and keep him from spiraling into another panic attack or worse, if possible. She gently sets the cream down on the low table and crouches so she’s just below Baby’s eye level. That way she’s not looming over him, and he can see her. She lifts her head to try and catch his gaze, and when he finally meets her eyes, she tries to smile reassuringly.

“Would you like me to show you your room?” she offers just as gently. She doesn’t want to rush him, but she can’t ignore what he’s been through. She has to handle this with care. He gives a barely perceptible nod without moving. She extends her hand without touching him.

“Can I touch you? Just to guide you?”

He stares at her outstretched hand in silence, seeming not to understand for a moment. Slowly, he moves his own hand, still stained with dried blood. She winces internally. But she gently takes his hand — he tenses briefly at the contact before gripping her hand more firmly, holding it like he’s making sure she’s really there. Like he’s anchoring himself away from the thoughts clawing at him. Rumi gives him a moment before slowly rising to her feet. Baby stands with her, swaying slightly, but his grip tightens and he manages to steady himself. A shiver runs through him. Rumi scans the room quickly and finally spots what she’s looking for — she grabs a blanket, soft pastel pink, and drapes it over Baby’s shoulders. He curls into it immediately, still holding her hand.

She gently leads him through the hallways. He still stares blankly ahead. One hand clutches the blanket to keep it from slipping. Only her hand in his tells her he’s still following. She walks slowly, careful not to rush him, and avoids the corridors Mira and Zoey usually take. She doesn’t want to risk a run-in between them and Baby — not now. Eventually, they reach the bedroom wing. Even though only the three of them live here, there are three extra rooms for friends and occasional guests like Bobby or Céline. She decides to take Baby to the room that’s been used the least — the one neither Bobby nor Céline ever stay in — to give him more privacy. The room is at the end of the hallway, the first door at the very end. They finally reach it, and Rumi leads him inside.

The room was painted in a soft pastel blue. It had a large window and even a terrace. A private bathroom and a mini fridge tucked into one corner — empty and unplugged — and a TV mounted on the wall. The bed was massive, taking up a good portion of the space, but there was still enough room for a large desk and a wardrobe stocked with the essentials. That meant a few pajamas, joggers, and various sweaters and hoodies in soft colors to suit any taste. For now, she decided it would be enough.

She glanced at Baby, who, thankfully, had started looking around with a vaguely curious expression.

“This is your room. There’s a bathroom, and the keys are in the drawer of the nightstand. There are clothes in the wardrobe that should fit you, but if you want, we can either swing by your apartment or get you some new ones later, okay?” she explained quickly, and he just nodded, not seeming to really listen. She didn’t take it personally.

“Hey, um, Baby… if you want, I can take you to a center. For screening. They’re discreet, and you don’t have to talk about it. You don’t even have to decide right away. It’s just… it’s important, okay?” That seemed to pull him out of his thoughts, and he curled in on himself slightly. Rumi bit her lip again — had she pushed too hard? Maybe she should’ve waited to bring it up —

He eventually nodded softly. He gave her hand one last squeeze before letting go and pulling it under the blanket he’d draped over his head. Like a quiet attempt to hide from the world.

“I— I’m gonna shower—” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. Rumi pressed her lips together but agreed to give him a moment. He didn’t seem panicked, and she knew there was nothing dangerous in the bathroom — just a toothbrush, shampoo and conditioner, and a bit of soap. No razors or sharp objects —

“Alright.” she agreed gently and finally headed toward the door. She turned back one last time. “Come join us for something to eat, okay? The living room’s just down the hall — turn right, then straight ahead and you’re there.”

He didn’t respond, and Rumi took that as her cue to finally leave Baby to his own space.

He stayed still for a while. His brain struggled to catch up with thoughts that felt too slow. After about ten minutes of just breathing, Rumi’s words came back to him. A screening center, huh?

He pulled the blanket tighter around his frame and stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind him and letting the blanket fall to the floor. The white tiles were cold under his bare feet — when had he taken off his shoes? — A mirror stood directly in front of him, and he took a moment to examine his body. A few scrapes lingered, his ribs slightly visible, and bruises scattered across him — ones he refused to look at for more than half a second. His wound, bandaged at his side, was the most noticeable. Washing without soaking it was going to be a challenge. He didn’t want to ruin Rumi’s work—

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. Trying his best to ignore the harsh white light. Okay. Shower. Wash off the blood. Take care of the hygiene he’d neglected for too long. Then go eat. That sounded like a good plan.

Alright. Yeah. He’d do that.

Chapter Text

Zoey can’t sleep.

The night dragged on, slow and torturous. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him. Just him. Afraid. Terrified.

Of her.

But she meant well! Demons had to be killed! People had to be saved — So why is everything falling apart? Why does it keep haunting her? She… she was just happy to see Mystery’s face — She didn’t mean for it to look like that — Is that so wrong? Has she killed that many demons in cold blood? Was her smile… cruel? Sadistic? Baby seems to think so.

Is she a bad person?

She rolls to the other side of the bed. The wrinkled sheet sticks to her damp skin. Her head sinks into the warm pillow, and her fingers dig into her tangled hair, tugging slightly with each movement. Now, the nightlight’s glow is in her face, and she can’t help but stare at it too hard. Her eyes burn.

Is she a bad person?

Is she just pretending to be kind? Rumi and Mira would’ve told her if she were mean, right? Would they? Or do they just accept it as a strange personality trait? Or are they also secretly cruel? Or is it just toward demons? But that’s even worse! Are they cruel to a minority just like that? Are demons just punching bags for their darker impulses?

But that’s what Céline taught them! Demons don’t feel!

Tick. Tock. The mocking clock echoes in the silence.

But Baby? Rumi?

They’re demons… Rumi is technically half-demon, but she loves her! She loved her before and even after her secret was revealed, and forgave the way she and Mira treated her!

And Baby is terrified of her mere presence — her touch —

How could he not feel?

Why was Céline wrong?

…

Is she a bad person?

Morning arrives with Mira, who knocks gently at her door. She knows it’s her — Mira has a prim, almost formal way of knocking, unlike Rumi who shakes the walls every time.

The sound echoes again in the dark room. Zoey still hasn’t closed her eyes all night. She’s pretty sure Mira tried to check on her at some point, but she can’t remember when.

With an audible groan, she slides off the bed onto the floor. Her hair is a mess and she doesn’t want to stand. So she crawls. The carpet is soft beneath her knees. She finally reaches the door and opens it. She stays seated on the floor, and judging by Mira’s look — one eyebrow raised, arms crossed — she must look awful. Her lip trembles, her eyes sting, and she just wants to cry. Hasn’t she cried enough already tonight?

Mira seems to notice her expression and her face softens. She kneels to meet her at eye level, looking worried and slightly overwhelmed. Zoey doesn’t know, and her vision is too blurry to care. She throws herself into Mira’s arms, and Mira instinctively holds her without a word. Zoey doesn’t know why she’s crying. Part of her hates herself and the other part doesn’t care.

She just wants a hug. And hot chocolate —

“Hey Zo’, wanna go drink some hot chocolate?” Mira whispers in her ear as she gently strokes her back. Zoey hadn’t realized tears were streaming down her face until Mira spoke. She nods, still buried in her shoulder.

She wraps her legs around Mira’s waist, and Mira exhales softly under the weight, amused, then stands up with her in her arms. Zoey stays curled up as tightly as possible, eyes closed, breathing in her warm, spicy scent. Just Mira’s smell calms her, and she doesn’t care if she’s acting like a child — if it means getting the best hot chocolate in the world.

Mira carries her to the living room without a word. The sun begins to rise slowly, spilling through the window. A stray beam lands on her cheek and she takes a moment to enjoy the gentle warmth. Suddenly, she feels herself drop — before she can even yelp, she lands on something soft. The couch. Mira dropped her on the couch. She lifts her head to see Mira smirking playfully, sticks out her tongue, and Mira tosses a blanket at her face.

Zoey pouts, more playfully than anything, and curls up in the soft blanket. Mira is already in the kitchen, preparing hot chocolate and reheating Rumi’s leftover crêpes from the day before.

It feels so distant. Just yesterday morning, the three of them were laughing without a care about the demons they’d let slip away. So sure everything would be fine. Her brows furrow at the memory and she buries herself deeper in the blanket. She regrets not bringing Pulpy, her giant turtle plushie. To scream into its soft fabric. Anyway, Pulpy’s been through worse.

Everything was simpler before — But then they were suffering in silence — Romance — Baby — because of them —

Suddenly, a mug of hot chocolate is placed on the table with a thud, making her jump slightly. She pokes her head out from under the blanket where she’d instinctively hidden. Mira looks at her with a blank expression, her own mug in hand. She’s probably left Rumi’s in the microwave to keep warm.

“I see you hiding under there like a turtle. What’s bothering you, Zoey?” Mira asks, sitting down with a casual air — but Zoey knows her well enough to tell she’s genuinely worried. Two parts of her clash: one that doesn’t want this attention because she doesn’t deserve it, and the other that melts at Mira’s sincere concern — her sister, if she dares to call her that —

She takes the mug, searching for words. Mira knows her well enough by now to give her time to gather her thoughts. The mug is hot in her hands, almost burning, but Zoey relishes the sensation — it helps her stay grounded and keeps her thoughts from scattering.

She doesn’t really know where to start, so she goes with the simplest question.

“Do you think Céline was… wrong?” she asks softly, eyes still fixed on the creamy milk. Part of her fears Mira’s reaction, while the other is just curious. She’s tired of this constant duality. So she closes her eyes and drinks the scalding milk. The burn on her tongue and throat is almost refreshing — it clears away most of her thoughts.

Mira presses her lips together. Her fingers tap against her thigh as she thinks.

She… isn’t sure. Honestly, she just doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t want to ask the question.

And if Céline was wrong about demons? What else might she be wrong about? Was she also wrong about Mira’s right to have a real family? Then maybe Mira was wrong to believe she deserved this life. This home. These sisters. This family she finally allowed herself to love. No —

It’s better to believe demons don’t feel. Some might be exceptions, but only a few. Rumi, Jinu, and Baby are her exceptions.

So how is she supposed to treat Baby now? Like a human? Like Rumi? But Rumi is her sister and only half-demon. Baby isn’t human. Or was he? Ugh — it gives her a headache, and she doesn’t want to think about it. But Zoey needs an answer.

“I… I’m sure there are exceptions. Among demons. Céline studied them her whole life. She can’t be wrong about everything…” she finishes, but her tone is clearly unconvincing, and Zoey picks up on it. She lifts her big grey eyes toward her, still wrapped in her thick blanket.

Mira can see Zoey isn’t handling the situation with Baby well at all. She must feel really guilty. Even if she acted out of urgency — Mira only knows the broad strokes, but it’s enough — it’s not her fault.

She opens her mouth to at least try to reassure Zoey when the landline rings. That’s strange — only Céline uses that line, and she has no reason to contact them now… So who?

Her eyes widen. She exclaims at the same time as Zoey:

“Bobby!”

She leaps over the couch and rushes to pick up the phone. They’d forgotten to call Bobby to update him on recent events. He must’ve gotten the notification that they’d called in the medical team he hired — just in case they ever got seriously hurt during one of their demon fights. They’d explained everything to him after Rumi’s “demonic coming-out.”

He must be worried sick.

“Hey Bobby—” she tries to sound casual, twirling the landline cord around her finger, when she’s abruptly cut off.

“Mira! Oh my god! Are you okay? Are Zoey and Rumi okay? I’m on my way! Even with the private jet, it’ll take a day at most! Should I call in reinforcements?”

Mira winces. Bobby was supposed to be on a relaxing vacation to recover from all the stress they’d put him through. He was meant to rest for at least a month, and they’d promised they could handle things. But here they are, just a few days later, worrying him again.

“No — No Bobby, calm down. Zoey and Rumi are fine.” She glances at Zoey, who’s watching her curiously, still wrapped in her blanket and sipping scalding hot chocolate. Yeah, things should be okay.

“Then who used the intensive care room? And why did you call the medical team?” he asks, a little less frantic but still clearly concerned. Mira grimaces again.

“Uh, remember the Saja Boys? The demon team sent to destroy Honmoon?”

“The ones you killed live on stage in front of thousands of fans, and I had to fight with PR for two days? Yes, I remember.” His tone is flatter now. He really didn’t enjoy cleaning up that mess — but thankfully, Bobby being Bobby, he managed to smooth it over.

“Well… we found two of their members. Rumi’s convinced they’ve turned good, and one of them — Romance — is pretty badly injured, so we had to call the team to treat him.” She speaks a little too fast, like she’s trying to justify herself to a disappointed parent.

Bobby lets out a long sigh through the receiver, and if Mira could grimace harder, she would — but she’s pretty sure her face has reached its physical limit.

“I’m coming.”

“You don’t have to! We’ve got everything under control, don’t worry!” she raises her voice, and Rumi, who’s just walked into the room, gives her a strange look.

“You’ve got one injured demon and another who, I assume, is unstable after you wiped out the rest of his team. Mira, I’m coming.”

Okay, he’s not wrong — but still, it’s no reason to ruin his well-earned vacation—

“My vacation doesn’t matter. I’ll take another one when things calm down. Besides, it could cause a scandal if people spot two Saja Boys members in your penthouse.”

Ugh, she said that out loud—

“Right, I’ll be there in two days. Don’t blow anything up in the meantime, okay?”

She pouts but mumbles a soft “Okay,” and Bobby hangs up. She sets the phone down and turns to her two sisters, who are watching her with wide eyes. With a sigh, she walks over to Rumi and gives her the usual morning hug.

“Hey Rumi.” The latter looks exhausted. Like she slept on the floor all night. But she smiles softly.

“Bobby?” she asks playfully, hugging her back before turning to grab her own hot chocolate from the microwave.

“Mmmhp, yep. He was worried, I explained everything, and he’s coming in two days.” Mira pouts and flops dramatically onto the couch like she always does, grabbing her now-cooled hot chocolate. Rumi sets the Nutella on the coffee table to spread on the reheated crêpes.

“Bobby would kill us if he saw us eating on the couch.” She laughs softly but sits beside Zoey. The latter slumps completely against Rumi and buries her head under her arm. Rumi adjusts her position naturally.

“He can’t kill us if he doesn’t know.” Mira shrugs, sipping her chocolate. Rumi smiles gently, and Zoey nibbles on a plain crêpe from her spot under Rumi’s arm, looking perfectly content.

“Also, uh, I talked a bit with Baby. I got him out of the infirmary and set him up in the back room — you know, the one no one uses?” Rumi says calmly, though the slight crease on her forehead betrays her concern.

Zoey tenses slightly at the mention of Baby, but no one comments. Mira just raises her eyebrows, surprised.

“Baby? I ran into him last night. He nearly face-planted on his own, I caught him. Didn’t touch him — don’t look at me like that, Rumi.” She rolls her eyes under her sister’s pointed stare. “I grabbed him by the collar and he didn’t seem panicked. He just left after that and I let him be.”

Rumi presses her lips together.

“I found him having a panic attack yesterday — I’m not sure why, but I calmed him down and got him to sleep.” She closes her eyes like she’s replaying the memory, then opens them again. “Just… try to be nice to him, Mira. I know you don’t like him but… yeah.” She trails off, unsure how to phrase it. Mira just smiles, amused by Rumi’s awkward attempt to ask her not to insult the baby demon.

“You know me. As long as he doesn’t start something.” She shrugs again. Rumi gives her a sideways look and rolls her eyes, mock-annoyed but clearly entertained. She tightens her arm around Zoey, still curled up beside her.

“And you, Zo’? You sleep better today?” she asks gently, and Mira keeps sipping her chocolate, relieved that Rumi’s handling Zoey — she’s really not good at comforting people.

Zoey pouts and shakes her head, fingers fiddling with her hair, and Mira notices she’s not wearing her usual necklaces. Normally, she never leaves her room without them.

“Mmmh.” Zoey mumbles without really speaking, focused on Rumi’s sweater, her fingers now wrapped around the fabric, playing with it absentmindedly. Rumi frowns slightly at the lack of response.

“Zoey…”

Suddenly, someone enters the room. The living room entrance is directly in front of the couch, so Baby’s arrival doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s wearing an oversized pastel blue sweater, his hair damp, and he looks a little more rested and clean. He stiffens when he sees them, his blue eyes slightly wide, and the faded markings on his skin pulse briefly.

All three girls turn to look at him, and he seems to shrink under their gaze. Mira just raises an eyebrow, and Zoey stares at him like she’s never seen him before. Baby’s eyes land on her, and he bites his lip. Mira can tell — from the scabs around his mouth — that it’s not the first time he’s done that. She glances at Rumi. She looks worried, almost ready to get up and go to him.

It’s true Rumi said they’d grown closer, but Mira doesn’t think it could’ve happened that fast.

Rumi finally stands and walks gently toward the young demon. He steps back slightly, looking scared.

“Uh— I— Sorry, I’ll leave you alone—”

He mumbles quickly and pulls his hood over his head before fleeing. Rumi doesn’t chase him right away and sighs softly, looking truly exhausted.

“I’ll go find him, I won’t be long. Will you wait for me?” she turns briefly toward them. Zoey has retreated deeper under her blanket, only the tip of her nose visible. She still nods. Mira shifts to sit beside Zoey and half-pulls her onto her lap, grabbing the remote at the same time.

“Go get your baby demon, Rumi. We’re not waiting for you to start the movie,” she says without looking up, already browsing for something to watch.

Rumi just smiles softly, grateful her sisters are on board, and rushes off to find the young demon in the penthouse. Of course, to speed things up, she heads straight to the control room to check the surveillance cameras. That’s how she found him yesterday. The cameras are only installed in the hallways and in rooms that aren’t used for everyday living. That means not in the living room, the kitchen, the gym or workout areas, and obviously not in the bedrooms.

He’s on the roof.

Rumi doesn’t know what she’s imagining, but panic grips her instantly and she bolts in that direction. Sprinting through the kitchen, she spots the pack of lollipops from the day before. Without thinking, she grabs it and keeps running toward the roof.

Hoping she’s just overthinking — Everything’s fine — Everything was fine — It can’t go wrong now — Not when things are finally okay —

She’s just overthinking — That’s all —

Chapter Text

The gentle morning wind brushes his cheeks, and the sun scatters its rays across him. The ground is uncomfortable, a few stones digging into his thighs. Cold begins to creep up his legs, seeping through the thin fabric of his black joggers. His still-wet hair clings to his forehead, creating an unpleasant sensation, stuck to the hood pulled over his head, covering even part of his face.

But his heart feels hollow. A gaping void where feeling was supposed to be. There, without being there. He doesn’t move — not to warm himself, not even to shift into a more comfortable position. Everything feels so far away.

And staring into the void is a good feeling. Hundreds of meters below, the city stirs back to life. The sidewalk looks so far, yet so close. And the humans, like ants twitching about. Some too colorful, others not enough. The crash of noise doesn’t even have the strength to reach his ears, and yet, he can still hear the city’s hum vibrating in the air.

His toes dangle over the edge, curled up at the rim of the roof with no railing. He considers, for a moment, trying again. Feeling free one more time. A fall that lasts longer than half a second. But look what that brought him…

He stares at his clawed hand, where his demonic markings flicker briefly, as if mocking him. He wants to scream. Instead, he goes back to chewing his lip.

His thoughts drift toward the girls. The ones who helped him… in a way — But Rumi was so kind, and they treated Romance — He doesn’t want to trust them —

He can’t trust them. They — They killed his brothers —

Why not him? Why can’t he just die once and for all and stop feeling?

Why do they always leave him behind?

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around himself. Guilt and shame, so familiar, shiver through his gut. He wants to throw up. He wants to die. He clutches his stomach tighter.

He can’t blame them — It’s not their fault. It never was. Mystery… He — is — no — he can’t say it — he sacrificed himself to protect him. Why did they leave him alone?

And Jinu? It’s his fault, isn’t it? If he hadn’t saved Rumi from Gwi-ma’s flames, he’d still be here. They’d all still be here. But he died. For that girl. And in doing so, he killed them all with him.

He doesn’t completely hate Rumi — He doesn’t want her dead — But is it wrong to wish she’d traded places with his brothers? She was so kind — Does that make him a hypocrite? He’d kill her a thousand times if it meant seeing his brothers again. Even Jinu, just to punch him in the face —

But did… Jinu really love them? He sacrificed himself for a girl he’d only known a few months. Why did he die for her? Why not for them? Didn’t they matter more? Baby himself is ready to kill Rumi despite her kindness if it means getting his brothers back. But Jinu? —

He betrayed them —

Betrayed them without a glance

Betrayed them without a word

He left. She was the last thing he saw, and he condemned them all.

Did Jinu really love them?

Or was he just pretending all along? Two years spent training together? Baby knows Jinu’s ultimate goal was to erase his memories, but he thought that with time — No — He doesn’t know what he thought —

Four hundred years is a long time. Did Jinu just lose the ability to love somewhere along the way? Is Baby just imagining things? Do… the others think the same? But Mystery — Mystery left for him! Doesn’t that count? He can’t spit on that sacrifice! And Romance? What will he say when — not if, never if — when he wakes up? Baby saved him! He can’t be worthless in his eyes! … Right?

The wind blows harder, nudging him slightly backward, pulling his hood off in the process. The cold wind rushes through his damp hair and he just wants to feel it.

He doesn’t want to think anymore. Not about gentle mornings. Shared laughter. And yet, was it all fake? Their chaotic breakfasts? Their game nights? Friendly fights? Soft, lazy cuddles on the couch? Sleepovers? Movies? Games? Love?

Did it never exist?

He feels tears sting his eyes. He wipes them away angrily — he’s tired of crying! He wants answers! Crying does nothing! So weak and pathetic! Look at him! Sitting on the edge of this roof like some suicidal wreck — He hates himself — He wishes he’d died in their place —

The rooftop door creaks open. Baby winces at the sound. He knows who it is.

The only person who bothers to chase after him. She never left him alone when he needed someone. She came every time. She barely slept for him. Barely ate. She even left her friends behind to chase… him.

He’s not worth it. Can’t she just let him drown in his grief and hatred in peace? But that would mean rejecting her efforts to help — Ugh, why did Jinu have to fall in love with someone as complicated as him — Because he was in love. But Baby doesn’t want to think about that. That would be worse —

“Rumi.” He announces her presence without looking at her. Because she deserves it, even if he doesn’t want to. The playful wind carries his words away, and for a moment, he doubts she heard them.

“Baby.” she replies and comes to sit beside him. Still at a respectful distance, not as close to the edge as he is. “Can you come closer to me?”

She asks almost timidly. And Baby knows what she’s thinking. What they’re all thinking.

Oh, the poor thing. I need to help him. He’s on the edge. He’s going to jump. Kill himself because his life is too miserable.

He clenches his jaw. His posture tightens as he curls further forward. He doesn’t want to listen. It’s childish. It’s irresponsible. But he blames being stuck in a 17-year-old’s body.

“Baby—” She doesn’t dare stand or move closer. She extends a hand, worry burning in her chest, flaring like a blaze. No — No —

“Please… Can you — Would you just… come talk with me for a bit?”

He growls softly at her tone. Why does she pity him? He knows he’s pathetic! But seeing people treat him like that —! She was supposed to be the enemy! She shouldn’t care! No one should!

“Why do you care!?” He stands abruptly, turning his back to the void. But he feels it behind him. Gravity tugging at him. It would be so easy to let go. Just one step back.

Romance needs him. And that’s the only thing keeping him here — but she doesn’t know that.

“Baby—” She stands too. Her legs tremble beneath her, from stress or exhaustion? Her hair is undone, and the dark circles under her eyes run deep. Why such pity? She should care about herself! Why does she care about him?

“Why do you care?” he spits, bitter. Because anger is easier than grief. “Am I just another one of your stupid charity cases? You pity me? Is that it? Say it — I know you do!”

He bares his teeth, feeling his markings pulse beneath his skin. That’s what he is. A demon. A monster.

Rumi’s markings begin to pulse too, and her eyes shift to a soft yellow. A sign she’s starting to let her emotions reach her. A sneering, disgusting, cruel smile spreads across Baby’s face. A vile part of him revels in her loss of composure. Good. Let her drop him. At least if she’s the one who pushes, he won’t have to feel the slightest bit of guilt.

“So? You don’t see me, Rumi?” He spits her name like an insult. He doesn’t know where all this hatred is coming from, but he doesn’t care. He’s tired of caring! Can’t she just let him fall?! “Don’t you see what I am? Look at me!” He gestures to himself. He knows his eyes are glowing bright yellow. That his markings are flaring menacingly across skin that’s turning grey. He knows his fangs have lengthened, his claws are out, sharp and threatening, and the smile on his face is that of a monster.

“Go save your world, Huntress,” he hisses without moving, and Rumi stares at him, eyes wide. As if stunned by the sheer force of his hatred.

But then her face twists. Rumi’s eyes glow a vivid yellow, and her markings pulse too. Good. She can’t help but bare her fangs in return.

“That’s what you think? That I’m trying to save you to ease my own guilt?” she tries, her hands trembling.

“Isn’t that it?” he asks, tilting his head. His smile fades, his face darkens. He feels grief burning beneath his ribs, right next to the hatred. He grimaces. He won’t break — not now. He clenches his teeth harder. His fangs ache.

“No — No — That’s not it — Baby — You’re worth it — I don’t know what you think, but you are worth it!” she shouts into the howling wind. It spins around her, her hair flying wildly.

Baby wants to growl, but his voice fades in his throat. Not a blockage. No — it’s grief. A wave, a tsunami of sorrow crashing into him all at once. Like a punch to the gut. He doubles over. His hands clutch at his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie. He feels it tear beneath his claws.

The void gives way to the abyss.

He stumbles back, stunned, his eyes flooding with tears he can’t control. The ocean spills from his chest. He bursts. Ashes from the blaze.

Rumi stares at him. Frozen in shock. And gently, like a feather in the wind, he tips.

She should let him fall.

The ground vanishes beneath his feet.

No —

No — No —

No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no —

Not like this.

It’s not supposed to end like this.

He didn’t mean to —

Not again —

He doesn’t want to fall again —

He remembers the pain. The crack of his head against the pavement —

Not again —

Please —

The sky fills his vision. The wind rushes through his hair, and the sun mocks him with its gentle rays.

He could laugh.

Two large brown eyes fill his view. It’s Rumi.

He wants to scream.

She’s here.

She caught him.

Her hand in his. His claws dig into her forearm, he feels the blood trickle down. He doesn’t notice the pain.

“Rumi—”

“Don’t you dare die in front of me,” she growls. From the weight or the rage? But she says it with such fierce resolve —

“I—Ru—”

“No — I refuse. I refuse to lose you too.” He feels a tear fall onto his cheek. It’s not his.

Rumi is crying. “You’re worth it,” she sobs, her face twisted in anguish.

With a ragged grunt, she pulls him back onto the roof. They collapse together, just meters from the edge. Him on top of her. They breathe. In sync. For minutes, they just breathe without moving. The air is too cold, seeping into their lungs. Slightly damp — the storm is coming.

He curls up against her, his hands reach for his hood to pull it back up, and his face buries into her chest. He hears Rumi’s heart pounding. Feels her breath too fast. The tension in her muscles.

Why — No — He —

“Why didn’t you let me fall…” He doesn’t ask. He murmurs it like a final cry. Why would he be worth it?

Rumi’s arms wrap around him. She doesn’t ask. It’s the first time she hasn’t asked to touch him. But it feels right. She holds him tighter, staring at the sky without seeing it, tears still streaming down her face. She says nothing.

He trembles in her arms. He doesn’t want to die.

“You’re worth it.” That’s all she says. But he wants to know why. Out of selfish desire? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anymore. He wants to know and not know all at once.

“Why?”

He asks again. Like a broken toy. A child too curious. He asks why for all the times he never got an answer.

She tightens her arms around him. Long minutes pass. The wind returns to play with their hair. Teasing, then leaving again.

“I—I…” She searches for words. Stammers. Her voice is hoarse. Baby wasn’t expecting an answer — why would he get one this time? He never has before.

“I don’t want to lose you. I want to get to know you. And I—” She stops, uncertain. She doesn’t look at him, he doesn’t look at her. Still lying on her back, him curled up on her stomach. She stares at the sky, tears still on her cheeks.

“I want to know Jinu through you. I want to keep him. And you, too.” She finally admits, almost ashamed. But Baby can’t feel anything. And even if he wanted to, he doesn’t think he can.

“I’m selfish, in a way.” she confesses. She moves one arm to cover her eyes. Trying to hide. From him or the world? That, too, he doesn’t know.

“I want—I refuse to see you die. I refuse to let you die. I want to see you as you. I don’t want to fix you. I—I want to see you—” She inhales sharply, like she’s lost for words. “I want to see you shine… Does that make sense?”

She removes her arm from her eyes and cranes her neck to look at him. He lifts his head slightly and can’t help but smile at the double chin the angle gives her. Not a big smile, just a curl of his cracked, chapped lips.

His shoulders shake. He laughs without really laughing. Like the sea is still pouring out of him. So heavy on his chest. So heavy in his bones.

“No. No, not really.”

Rumi smiles. A little rough. Not soft — wild, in a way. Like something she rarely lets show. Her oversized canines peek through. And her markings pulse one last time.

The ocean crashes over him again. All at once. A new wave. A new hole in his heart. He curls tighter and clings to Rumi as best he can.

He sobs again.

“They—They’re gone—” It’s all he can say. Their smiles. Their voices. Their faces. Their games. Everything—Everything—

He misses them so much — A hole in his heart and an ocean of grief in his lungs. How can he have so many tears? How can he feel so much sorrow? How hasn’t he exploded under the weight of it? Under the tsunamis crashing into him? Why? How?

He has no tears left, but it’s still wet inside. Rumi wraps around him like she’s trying to shield him from the world. But the pain is inside. Deep inside. It hurts so much. A hole in his heart. Where his brothers belong. Where are they?

He regrets death for a moment.

He buries deeper into Rumi’s too-soft hoodie and screams. He screams his grief. The pain and the ocean. He screams until his voice gives out. He screams until it breaks, like him.

And Rumi is still wrapped around him. Warm. She’s here. She didn’t let him fall. He didn’t want to trust her, and now here he is, crying in her arms. Trying to save himself from himself.

Which of them is selfish? Certainly not her —

He has no voice left. No strength or breath. But… he doesn’t want to disappear. Just stay a little longer. Just like this. And forget… He doesn’t want to die —

“Hey Baby…” she begins, humming softly, more to soothe herself than him. She sounds tired. On the verge of falling asleep right there on the rooftop. “Want a lollipop?”

She pulls a packet from her pocket. Colorful and definitely sweet. He recognizes it. And he doesn’t know what to do. This — this isn’t Jinu offering it this time. It’s Rumi. Entirely and only Rumi.

He doesn’t know what to say. He reaches out and takes the packet. Opens it, the crinkle of plastic loud in his too-sensitive ears. He picks a cola lollipop — his favorite — and a strawberry one. He unwraps the cola and pops it into his mouth, then does the same with the strawberry, which he unceremoniously sticks into Rumi’s mouth. She chuckles a little at the gesture, clearly too tired to care.

He doesn’t want to move. But she needs sleep. So, reluctantly, he gets up and pulls her with him. Just enough to sit upright. Unable to help himself, he curls up under her arm. Rumi lets him. She plays with the lollipop stick before pulling it from her mouth to speak.

“I like lemon better.”

He sniffs without replying, and they just stay like that, watching the sun — half-hidden behind the clouds — rise into the sky to light up the city. The storm clouds are still far away.

They have time.

He doesn’t want to die. He just wants to stay. Just enjoy the warmth. For a moment. Just like this.

It’s enough.

Chapter Text

They stay on that rooftop for a long while. Lost to the world and lost in their thoughts. Rumi has started to doze off despite the cold, and Baby shivers a little. His hair is still damp and his hoodie is torn at the chest. He also has a few scratch marks on his forearm, right where Rumi caught him.

The moment she saved his life.

He shivers again and chews on the stick of his lollipop. He’d forgotten how much lollipops helped him, to be honest. He snuggles deeper under Rumi’s arm, who mumbles something in her sleep. She must be really tired.

He can’t let her sleep like this. On a cold, uncomfortable rooftop. He pouts, knowing they’ll have to move soon.

The sky darkens, and Baby feels a familiar tension crawl under his skin. The city itself seems to take one last breath before the storm. That kind of silence, right before everything shifts—he knows it too well. He wonders, just for a moment, if clouds can feel what they carry—if they know they’re about to burst, about to drown the world below.

He looks up at Rumi. Still curled under her arm. He wishes this moment could last a little longer. Just a few more minutes before reality catches up. He breathes in deeply, as if to imprint the scent of the wind, the weight of her body against his, and that strange warm calm vibrating quietly in his chest. He stares at the sky for a few more minutes. The storm clouds are rushing in on the horizon and he shivers again. Alright. Yeah. Time to go.

He sits up a little and grabs Rumi’s hand to pull her. She doesn’t really move, so he shakes her arm a bit harder. She groans and opens her eyes, looking at him with an annoyed expression. Her lollipop hangs from her mouth and she’s even drooling a little. Baby wonders how she managed to fall asleep like that, but he smirks. He shakes her arm again, making the rest of her body tremble. Rumi groans again but ends up smiling. Baby doesn’t have time to react before Rumi suddenly pulls him onto her. He falls with a surprised yelp and lands on her. She holds him tighter, like he’s some kind of plush toy.

“Hey! Let me go!” he shouts, sulking, squirming without much effort. Part of him enjoys the casual hug. Rumi, holding him from behind, snorts amused and shakes him in return. His cola lollipop falls from his mouth and Baby lets out a dying-animal cry.

“My lollipop!!” The lollipop in question now lying on the ground, covered in dirt and dust.

“How dare you!” He struggles harder in Rumi’s arms, careful not to hurt her, trying to flip their position. Rumi laughs but still doesn’t let go. No, what she does is release him with one hand and grab a new lollipop from the packet that had fallen nearby. She picks one at random and, without unwrapping it, shoves it into Baby’s whining mouth. He groans and spits it out, unwraps it, and puts it back in his mouth. Mmh, apple flavor—not bad.

“Done throwing your tantrum, baby?” she snickers while finally letting go of him. He grumbles and scoots out of her arms, still sulking, but despite all his efforts, a smile keeps creeping onto his face. Rumi yawns, and Baby remembers his original mission. He gets up and takes her hand to pull her up. This time, Rumi takes it without a word and stands. She yawns again without covering her mouth. Baby grimaces, disgusted.

“That’s gross,” he says, starting to pull her toward the rooftop door.

“Mmh? What?” she asks once she’s done yawning, following him with half-closed eyes.

“You yawn without covering your mouth. It’s gross.” He tries to pull the heavy door, but it’s locked. He bares his fangs and growls at the door, stubborn. He tries again, harder this time, but it still refuses to budge.

He’s about to punch the door and see if it dares stay standing against the force of a demon—weak, sure, but angry—when Rumi suddenly pulls him back, amused by his battle with the stupid door. He sticks out his tongue and pouts. She rolls her eyes, amused, and pulls a card from her pocket, swiping it in front of the door. It opens effortlessly.

Baby sighs. Rumi snorts. He sticks out his tongue again and takes the opportunity to grab her hand once more and lead her down the stairs. Rumi lets herself be pulled, looking oddly proud of herself.

“We’re never speaking of this again,” he grumbles without looking at her.

Rumi laughs out loud but decides to keep to herself the fact that the rooftop has cameras. She’s totally saved that footage for her blackmail files—

They head down the stairs without rushing. The cold no longer keeping them as alert as it did on the roof.

“For what it’s worth… I’m glad you’re with us now…” Rumi breaks the silence, and the tension returns, slightly softened by the earlier lightness.

Baby slows down, his face darkening, but Rumi can’t fully see it since he’s walking ahead of her. He chews on the stick of his lollipop. Rumi bites hers.

“I—uh, it’s not… the first time—” He stops completely, still not looking at her, and Rumi freezes. The silence is almost sacred.

“There was no one to catch me. And no lollipop after.” He laughs darkly. “Just fangs, markings, and Gwi-ma in my head. A hellish promotion.” He stops and chews harder on the lollipop stick, leaving deep marks in it.

He takes a deep breath and turns his head to look at her. His eyes are yellow from emotion.

“That’s how humans end up becoming demons. We kill ourselves out of shame.”

Rumi freezes. Her thoughts sink, fatigue weighs on her muscles, her mind is foggy, and Baby just told her he killed himself.

“I—What—” She doesn’t really ask. Her brain can’t keep up. She thinks she heard Baby say he committed suicide.

He shrugs, looking vaguely embarrassed. He pulls up his hood with one hand. The other still holds Rumi’s hand.

“It’s fine. It’s kind of an open secret among demons. It’s just… uh, awkward to say out loud.” He tries to explain while chewing harder on the lollipop stick. It’s starting to bend under the pressure of his sharp, repeated bites.

“You died.”

That’s all she can think about.

Dead. The word bounces around in her head. Echoes like a scream. Dead. Baby is dead. He’s already dead.

He lifts his head. Looks at her, almost confused. As if he doesn’t understand the weight of what he just said.

“Yes.”

That’s all he says. And it freezes reality. Rumi can feel his words echo in the air. Like they’re branded into her retina and her heart. The silence becomes too heavy. Too heavy for the air. Too heavy for the oxygen. Weighing down her thoughts. Like a weight crashing onto her—and unable to bear it, she crashes with it.

She blinks. She doesn’t know if she’s standing or floating. The ground catches her before she feels it. Her bones vibrate under her skin from the impact. She’s down. The air escapes. The walls close in. The stairwell is too dirty. She’s breathing more dust than oxygen. Her heart implodes under the pressure.

“Rumi!”

Her vision is blurry.

“Rumi—”

Her sight crumbles like her lungs. Dying under the weight of oxygen.

Her ears buzz. The pressure pressing down on her.

“…Touch—…?”

She hears it from far away. Her arms go limp. She’s either trembling or falling. Inside. Within herself. Lower than the ground. Lower still—

A hand shakes her shoulder. She jolts violently. The hand pulls back and she lifts her head. Her vision blurs. Blue fills her sight. Teal blue. Blue in hell?

“Rumi—… I—… Touch—…”

The words break apart. Muffle. Move in front of her eyes instead of entering her ears.

She barely hears. It’s all static. Buzzing in her ears.

Suddenly, she’s wrapped in an embrace. She tenses for a moment but eventually relaxes. The hug tightens. Presses her face against something soft and slightly rough. Her own chest is compressed by something else. Hands on her back. Too strong. And strangely, the thin oxygen reaches her more easily.

The soft thing beneath her head moves.

One. Two. Three. Four.

A rapid thumping against her ear. The heart too fast. Is it hers?

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The taste of strawberry fills her mouth. It’s sweet. The lollipop. She thought she’d lost it. A weight presses against her head. Her lungs are still compressed by two arms too strong. Her head rests against the familiar pastel blue fabric.

“B-Baby?” she croaks, not really understanding what she’s saying. Her hands spasm and she buries them into the fabric of her sleeves.

“Rumi! You scared me! I mean—no—You’re here?” he stammers, not knowing what to say. He shifts slightly and takes her face in his hands. He looks worried and overwhelmed. His eyes are wet.

Oh. She made him cry.

She lifts a hand to try and wipe his tears. He doesn’t move, letting her do it.

“Sorry,” she whispers. The hard stairs press into her back and legs uncomfortably. She shifts slightly and Baby follows her movement, crouched at her level.

“Y-You—don’t need to apologize, idiot!” She feels like he wants to yell but he’s whispering almost furiously into the silence. Rumi appreciates it. She doesn’t think her aching head could handle a louder volume.

“W-Why are you panicking? Is it something I said—? You—You’re supposed to be the enemy! Why are you panicking!” He murmurs again, louder this time, also sounding panicked. Rumi is tired, but she can’t ignore what just happened.

“You died,” she says again. It hurts. In her chest and lungs. But she focuses on the feeling of Baby’s hands gripping her shoulders. She strokes his cheek absentmindedly. He looks so confused. Small.

He bites his lip. He’s probably broken the stick of his lollipop. Rumi really wishes he’d stop hurting himself. She places her thumb on his lip to stop him. He does.

“Yes… Yes, I’ve already died.”

He speaks softly. His eyes drop as if he doesn’t dare look at her, but he can’t hide under his hood.

“We’re going to have a long conversation, you and me.” She says it seriously, though she’s too tired to pay attention to her expression. But it’s true. They’re going to talk deeply and thoroughly about this. Later. And also ban access to the roof. Just in case.

“I—yeah okay. If you want.” He mumbles. Rumi can’t quite read his tone. She’s almost sure his eyes are closed. Ugh—Why is she so tired? Everything’s blurry.

She feels her body being lifted off the ground. He moves awkwardly beneath her, trying to position her comfortably on his back. He wobbles slightly and Rumi feels herself slipping for a moment before being caught again. He swears under his breath and adjusts. He finally stands, trembling under the weight. But with enough movement, Rumi groans. She half-opens her eyes.

“I can walk,” she tries to slip off his back. He wobbles slightly but keeps descending the stairs bravely.

“Says the girl,” he grumbles, clearly referring to her loss of control. Or her panic attack? It’s still pretty fuzzy.

“You almost fell,” she mumbles and lets herself rest on his back. Just because if she moves too much, they might both tumble down the stairs.

“You caught me.” He pauses for a moment after that. As if thinking about what to say next. He keeps descending, his foot slipping on a step. He yelps in surprise before catching himself quickly. He moves more cautiously. One arm supports her while the other grips the railing this time. Rumi tightens her hold on him to help.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. She’s not sure why.

Rumi laughs. Not really a laugh. More like a sigh, the stress slowly fading. She closes her eyes again.

“You’re welcome, demon baby.”

She doesn’t hear the indignant cry, but it makes her feel better. She exhales softly and the smile stays. Mira is going to absolutely lose it when she sees her passed out on Baby. She chuckles again. That’s a problem for future Rumi.

Chapter Text

Baby is pretty sure he’s lost. He grumbles under his breath and repositions Rumi on his back, who’s starting to slip again. God, she’s heavy—what does she eat? He sighs again and keeps walking through the hallways. Thankfully, he got out of the stairwell leading to the roof fairly quickly. He doesn’t clearly remember his sprint up there. Everything feels a little blurry. That’s been happening a lot lately.

And that headache pulsing in his skull, pounding against his forehead in sync with his heartbeat. On top of that, he’s pretty sure his stomach is eating itself alive.

Rumi is sleeping more deeply on his back. He can feel her soft breath against his neck. She must be really, really tired… Especially after staying up all night to watch over him… He still doesn’t know how to feel about that, honestly. Sleep has always had… a certain value to him. When he was little, he could never sleep without lowering his guard and regretting it afterward. But with his brothers… They only started really sleeping together a few months after meeting. And sleeping with people he trusted really helped him—He doesn’t even think he can sleep without one of his brothers beside him—

Maybe that’s why the fact that Rumi stayed with him all night hit him so hard… She could’ve just left him unconscious on the floor until morning. But she didn’t. She stayed.

And just like his brothers watched over—watched, past tense. They’re gone—he watched over them. That’s all he can do to help Rumi… Anyway, it’s just to repay his debt to her. Nothing more. And to get more lollipops. That’s it. Rumi is his free lollipop dispenser. That’s a good enough reason to keep her around.

The hallway stretches on and starts to feel a little familiar. He passes a door he recognizes. It’s the broom closet! That means he’s close to the living room! He remembers. Straight ahead and then left. So much has happened since… since yesterday? Wow—it felt longer. That’s weird—He feels like he’s betraying his brothers by bonding so quickly with a huntress—or rather, his lollipop dispenser. But—Rumi isn’t just a huntress. She’s also a half-demon. And Jinu liked her. And she didn’t kill any of his brothers. He doesn’t really care about the other demons she might’ve taken out before. He’s probably killed some himself when Gwi-ma ordered him to.

His thoughts drift to his brother who’s still alive—if he can call it that—It really stresses him out that Romance is left alone. What if he wakes up and Baby’s not there? Ugh—but what if he keeps an eye on the girls? Yeah, that’s it. If the pink-haired one and the other—he refuses to say her name and doesn’t know the pink one’s—are still in the living room/kitchen, he can watch over Rumi until she wakes up and keep an eye on the other two so they don’t go near Romance, and then he can go stand guard in his brother’s room. Maybe even grab something to eat with him or something sweet for when Romance wakes up!

The hallway slowly opens into a larger space. He smiles slightly as his plan finishes forming in his head. Finally, they’ve arrived—Rumi is so heavy, ugh—

He finally enters the same living room as this morning. The pink-haired huntress is sitting at the end of the couch. A lump wrapped in a green blanket is sleeping on her lap. He tenses slightly at the sight. He bites his lip for a moment, exhales a little, and keeps walking.

He drops down with Rumi a bit harder than planned onto the couch. The pink huntress jumps slightly and instantly narrows her eyes at him, suspicious. He tenses and pouts as he sits next to Rumi.

“What did you do to her?” she growls, trying to stand. But the weight on her lap keeps her from moving without jostling Zoey. Mira grits her teeth, staring at the demon carrying an unconscious Rumi.
Her instincts waver between grabbing her weapons, checking on Rumi, or staying with Zoey since she hasn’t slept all night.

The demon rolls his eyes. There’s a bit of blood dripping from his chin, probably from chewing his lips like gum again, his hoodie is torn at the forearm where she can see traces of dried blood, and at the chest, the fabric is more frayed and scratched down to the threads than ripped. A quick glance at Rumi shows she doesn’t have a single mark from any kind of fight. Even better, she mumbles and groans before turning over on the couch, looking for a better position. She’s asleep. Phew—

But why is she sleeping on the baby demon?

The demon watches her as she finishes her inspection. He still hasn’t spoken. Seemingly waiting for her to draw her own conclusions. Mira grumbles again under her breath.

“Well?” she asks again, raising an eyebrow and shooting him a dark look.

He rolls his eyes and grabs a blanket lying on the floor to cover Rumi. Mira narrows her eyes even more at the gesture. If looks could kill, this demon would be burning in hell again.

“She was tired.”

His voice is hoarse, a sharp contrast to his usual tone. Mira doesn’t want to dwell on it.

“And she slept on you?”
She shifts slightly on the couch and adjusts Zoey’s head more comfortably on her lap so her sister doesn’t wake up with a stiff neck. The demon shrugs.

“She was going to sleep on the roof if I left her there,” he says and pulls a lollipop from the fourth dimension before popping it into his mouth.

Mira has way too many questions.

“What were you doing on the roof? And where the hell did that lollipop come from?” she asks again, frustrated by the lack of answers.

He shrugs again and sinks deeper into the couch, looking bored. Mira wants to growl, kick the demon out, and send him flying. This is her space. She wants him away from Rumi and Zoey. She exhales, but Rumi would be upset, especially after all the effort she’s put into helping the demon.
And then… part of her brain can’t help but replay the moment she saw Baby protect Romance from her—

She shakes her head and shoots another dark look at the teal-haired demon like it’s all his fault. In a way, it is.
Mira is about to restart her show. A series about three young pop stars who are secretly warriors from another world protecting Earth, when a low rumble echoes.

She turns her head toward the source of the sound and finds a demon with a face red from embarrassment, sinking as deep as possible into his hoodie.

The silence hangs heavy for a moment. As if he’s trying to merge with the couch.
She opens her mouth. Closes it. She doesn’t know what to say—What do you do when a demon you saved from himself just two days ago, who used to be your enemy under Gwi-ma’s command, is now in your living room with your sister asleep on his lap and clearly starving—?

Ugh—Rumi’s going to kill her if she lets her baby demon starve, right? She sighs and her fingers tap rhythmically on her thigh while the demon hides deeper under his hood. Only the stick of his lollipop sticks out from under the fabric. Why does Rumi love collecting stray demonic animals so much? First the blue tiger and the weird magpie—she still doesn’t know where those two went—and now a baby demon? What is her life?

She should probably feed him? It’s not right to let people starve—or demons, in this case. It’s kind of like feeding Derpy—Zoey insists on calling him that—she doesn’t need to get attached. Yeah, just give him food.

Do demons eat kibble? She throws another glance at the demon and absentmindedly strokes Zoey’s hair. Mmh. Probably not. Maybe an omelet? And hot chocolate. She doesn’t really want to admit it, but he looks genuinely exhausted. And the girls always say her hot chocolate is the best. This demon should be honored she’s even thinking of offering him some.

With a satisfied smile, Mira stands. She gently lifts Zoey’s head and places it on a pillow before straightening up. The demon lifts his hood slightly to see her. Looking curious. If he weren’t a demon, Mira could almost say he looks cute like that. All bundled up in his hoodie, ruffled like a kitten trying to look threatening. Mira can see where Rumi saw the charm. But he’s still a demon.

Mira turns without a word and walks into the kitchen. The demon can stare at her all he wants. She doesn’t care. The tiles are cold under her bare feet. It’s almost refreshing.

She carefully picks the eggs from the fridge. She takes three. He must be hungry. And anyway, she doesn’t want to have to feed him more than necessary, so she might as well make enough. She grabs tomato sauce and crème fraîche. The tomato sauce always adds a little extra flavor, and the crème fraîche thickens the egg mixture. She mixes everything in a bowl with some spices—more pepper and chili than necessary, apparently he likes that—and salt.

She heats the pan and tidies the counter at the same time. She glances toward the living room. Zoey and Rumi are still asleep, and the baby demon is watching her without moving. He doesn’t seem like he’s planning to cause trouble. She supposes that’s already something.

Once the pan is hot enough, she adds butter and pours in the egg mixture. She sprinkles grated cheese on top—because cheese is always good—and puts the lid on so it cooks evenly on both sides. Once that’s done, she starts making her hot chocolate. Milk, obviously, and the secret to making it creamy is to heat it well and never use powdered chocolate. She takes a fresh chocolate bar from the fridge and melts it into the milk. There are also a few crêpes left. Mmh—it would be a waste to let them rot in the fridge. She reheats the remaining crêpes in the microwave. The Nutella is already on the table, so she figures if the baby demon wants it, he can help himself.

She turns off the stove and places the well-cooked omelet—because runny yolk is gross—on a plate. She pours the hot chocolate into a large glass, with a generous dose of sugar. It’s not her fault the baby demon seems to love sugar so much. The crêpes are warm, she puts them on a plate too. To finish it off, she adds a fork and knife. And places everything on a tray to avoid spilling. She quickly wipes down the counter, puts the pan in the sink to wash later, and picks up the breakfast tray.

She finally leaves the kitchen area. Her toes are happy to feel the soft carpet again. She pushes aside the empty hot chocolate glasses and crêpe plates from earlier. She finishes by sliding the tray of food toward the baby demon, who pretends not to look at her.

A surprised look crosses his face as he tenses slightly when she gets closer. He seems to puff up a little. She steps back to give him space—she has no desire to get bitten and catch rabies.

He stays frozen for a moment while Mira returns to her spot near Zoey. Steam rises gently from the dishes. He stares at the food like it’s a dangerous enemy. Mira rolls her eyes. Is he planning to let it all go cold or what?

“Are you going to eat?” she finally asks, frustrated to see her work judged like this.

“It’s—for me?” he finally asks, his voice still hoarse, making Mira grimace slightly.

“No, it’s for your spider friend on your shoulder.” she replies sarcastically and chuckles lightly when he jumps and checks his shoulder. Realizing there’s no spider, he turns to her and shoots her a dark look. She smirks—he really doesn’t look threatening.

He ends up looking away and mutters a quiet “Thanks.” Mira could be annoying and ask him to say it louder just to mess with him, but she feels like that would cross a line she’s not ready to cross. She throws one last glance at the baby demon, who’s started sipping his hot chocolate. Of course that was his first choice. She smiles and resumes her show.

“You’re watching that… on purpose?” She has to turn her head again toward the demon who dares interrupt her show.

“Yes, and what of it?” She raises an eyebrow and pauses the show. Right at the perfect moment to see Iris frozen mid-jump.

“No, it’s fascinating. Is it to boost your ego, or just because the girls in the show fight better than you?” He keeps sipping his hot chocolate, looking smug behind his cup. His eyes narrow, playful. Mira lets out a sly smile and turns fully toward him on the couch. Oh, the kitten wants to play? Well, he’s poked the wrong tiger.

“First of all, it’s Lolirock, not just some trash show, and second, I’ve taken down demons uglier than those girls. Don’t test me, baby demon.” She grins as she sits up straighter.

“Are you sure they were demons and not just your reflection in the morning?” He laughs, still hiding behind his cup like the coward he is.

“I’m better than you, Mister I-spill-everything.” She points at him, especially at the specific chocolate milk stain on the front of his hoodie. He widens his eyes and sets down his drink to try and wipe the stain, but it won’t come off. The hoodie’s already torn anyway, so it’s not a big deal. But Mira can’t help but snicker.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure your hot chocolate is trying to poison me. I’m going to die from a sugar overdose.” He grumbles, looking a bit grumpy and having only made the stain worse.

“You just have a larva’s palate.” She rolls her eyes and props a pillow against her stomach to get more comfortable. Zoey snores softly, still tucked under her blanket, and Rumi shifts on her side of the couch. One of her legs falls onto Baby. He groans but adjusts it.

“I do not have a larva’s palate! Right now, I just feel like I’m drinking a blended unicorn!” He hisses but picks up the hot chocolate again and resumes sipping the apparently too-sweet drink. Mira smirks, about to comment when the baby demon opens his mouth again.

“I’d rather eat pickles for breakfast than drink this horror.” He continues, and Mira notes absently that his voice isn’t as hoarse as before. The hot chocolate must’ve helped. Even if the gremlin keeps criticizing her hot chocolate and pickles.

“Pickles are warriors. They survive in vinegar. Like me.” She growls, pretending to be offended. He looks at her, disgusted, then squints.

“You mean you have the personality of a fermented vegetable?” He smirks and seems to have finished his hot chocolate. He sets the cup on the table and picks up the omelet, cutting into it without taking his eyes off her.

“Better than being a mushy marshmallow.” She snickers and tries to keep a straight face as the baby demon gives her a deeply offended look.

He growls and quickly swallows a bite of omelet.

“You half-cooked pickle! I bet that’s why you’re so sour!” He snaps. Mira blinks once at the absurdity of the insult, but a wild grin spreads across her face.

“I’d rather be sour than look like dry, bland tofu left in the fridge!” She snaps back, whispering a bit louder, afraid of waking her sisters.

Baby squints, chews his omelet too aggressively, and starts talking, his cheeks still full, making him look like an angry chipmunk.

“I feel bad for pickles. They must be ashamed to share DNA with you!” He whispers just as furiously.

“You’re the kind of person who thinks putting ketchup on crêpes is the ultimate combo!” She crosses her arms while he widens his eyes.

“It’s a good combo, but the best is hot sauce instead of ketchup.” He shrugs.

Mira freezes for a moment.
“What—?” She asks a bit too loudly. Rumi groans and she goes back to whispering too loudly. “You realize you just insulted two entire cultures? I knew it, your taste is heresy.” She declares, purely disgusted. He sticks out his tongue.

“That’s exactly the logic of a savory muffin that thinks it’s the main course,” he states plainly, as if what he said made perfect sense.

“Failed vegetable soup,” she hisses.

“Shriveled pickle,” he snaps back without missing a beat.

“Tofu marshmallow.”

“Broccoli soda.”

“Foie gras chewing gum.”

“Vinegar in cereal.”

“You’ve got the gaze of a tuna flan.”

“And you’ve got the charisma of a curry yogurt!”

“Your logic is that of a camembert milkshake!”

“You’ve got the soul of a vinegar cookie!”

“And you’ve got the face of a moron who likes chili crêpes!”

They could’ve gone on like that forever, but a sudden wheeze stops them. Rumi twists on the couch, her face buried in a pillow. Worry floods Mira, but Baby is faster.

“Rumi?! Are you okay?—” he asks, genuinely concerned, but Rumi keeps going, seemingly not hearing him. Her shoulders shake violently and Mira realizes—she’s laughing.

“Y-You,” she wheezes through clenched teeth, her laughter too strong to contain. A few tears cling to her lashes. “Y-you idiots!” That’s all she manages to say before bursting into laughter again. She’s still clutching her stomach, laughing uncontrollably.

Baby lets out a quiet chuckle and rubs the back of his neck. Mira notices he’s finished his omelet during their ridiculous insult exchange and is now nibbling on a crêpe. It really is stupid. In the best possible way.

Rumi laughs so hard that Mira can’t help but laugh too. She doesn’t really know why, but it just feels right. She laughs louder. And sometimes, it’s just good to let go.

Chapter Text

She doesn’t dare open her eyes.

She’s been dozing on Mira for a while now, unable to truly let sleep take her. She hears, without registering, two people arguing above her. Her half-asleep brain wonders who it could be. Rumi maybe? Has she come back?

Her back is awkwardly positioned. She groans a little and shifts. She feels a gentle hand on her back while still under the blanket. The laughter around her quiets. She hadn’t noticed when it started, but its end feels almost abrupt. Like a curtain falling. She lifts her head and opens her eyes. The blanket is still over her head, so she shakes it off. The light stings and she squints until her eyes adjust. The first thing she sees is Mira’s face, smiling softly. Zoey returns the smile and props herself up on one elbow, yawning.

She slowly turns her head. Only to meet a pair of teal eyes shifting to yellow. Her eyes widen. Her heart skips a beat.

She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. The air feels frozen. She can’t look away. He’s there. Motionless. Like petrified.

He bites his lip. His irises shrink, yellow spreading. A silent alarm screams in her chest. The moment stretches—painful, unbearable. A few seconds. An eternity.

He looks away first. His hair falls over his face and he seems to curl into himself. Rumi stands behind him, the laughter long gone. She looks concerned but gives him space. Mira has slipped behind Zoey, her hand resting on her shoulder like an anchor. Zoey feels tears prick her eyes.

Again. Why? Why? Why is she crying? Why can’t she speak? Why can’t she say a word? Paralyzed by someone she scared. Traumatized. Why is she the one afraid? Why is she like this? Why? Why? Why?

Baby suddenly stands. He clenches his fists and gives Rumi a strained smile.

“I’m going to check on Romance. I remember the way.”

And without another word, he leaves.

The sob escapes uncontrollably. Tears roll down her cheeks and she curls into herself. Her shoulders shake under the force of violent sobs.

“I-I’m sorry,” she sobs, her breath hitching, and she no longer knows what she’s apologizing for. For being a bad person? For being a monster without realizing it? For being useless? For having enjoyed exterminating?

“I’m sorry—S-sorry,” she can’t take it anymore. She shouldn’t be asking for their pity. Why would she deserve it? She wants her sisters. Does she deserve them? Please—She’s a monster—

Two arms wrap around her. She doesn’t deserve it. But her body has never been able to reject a hug. She curls into the warm body holding her. Tall, too strong, and soft. Rumi. She buries herself deeper into her sister’s hoodie. She doesn’t deserve any of this.

Rumi gently bites her lip as she holds Zoey tighter. They really need to have a conversation about the guilt Zoey carries. She hadn’t realized how deeply affected Zoey was by the events of the past few days—She should’ve helped sooner—seen the signs earlier—But she also needs to check on Baby. He can’t be handling this well either, right? But she can’t leave Zoey—And she can’t bring her along, that would only add to the tension.

Rumi glances at Mira. The latter is looking at Zoey with a distant expression. A hint of sad regret in her eyes. Rumi catches her attention with a nod and gestures toward the hallway where Baby disappeared.

“Will you go check on him?” she whispers, almost pleading with her most stubborn sister. Mira’s lips are tight, nearly clenched. But she nods nonetheless.

“I’ll be back soon. Take care of her.”

Rumi doesn’t need to reply as Mira quickly heads down the hallway toward the infirmary. Rumi wishes she could split herself in two, but unfortunately—and despite her demonic heritage—that’s not something she can do.

She turns her attention back to Zoey, still sobbing in her arms, and holds her a little tighter. Trying to comfort her as best she can.

Mira disappears down the hallway, heading toward the room she hates most. The one housing one of the demons she least wants to see. And no, it’s not Baby. To delay the inevitable, she quickly stops by her room. To grab a notebook, some pencils, and books to keep Baby occupied. She knows he won’t be easy to pull out of Romance’s room and he’s bound to get bored. And a bored cat is always trouble. She’s not eager to test that with a demon.

Once she’s gathered the supplies—far too quickly for her liking but she can’t stall any longer—she leaves her room with a sigh. She takes the longest route to the infirmary wing but eventually arrives. She enters the hallway dedicated to medical rooms and equipment. There are only three, large enough for multiple people, each designated for a specific level of injury. The first is just the infirmary for minor wounds, not too deep and not requiring medical assistance. The second is for observation—Romance’s room—with basic medical supplies. The room at the end of the hallway contains the heaviest equipment, mostly used for surgeries or more complex injuries, and is soundproofed.

She heads toward the second room, her slippered feet making no sound on the white tiled floor. She knocks once before opening the door, just to avoid startling the baby demon inside and getting attacked because he’s too on edge. She enters without ceremony, and her gaze first lands on the injured demon.

Romance. She grimaces slightly. He looks much better now after nearly two days of care. His face has regained color and the bruises on his skin aren’t as pronounced, his pink hair has been carefully combed back and detangled—she knows exactly who took care of that—But his chest is exposed and the large white bandage covering half his torso contrasts with his otherwise healthy appearance—She feels guilty—She doesn’t want to see the extent of their… her actions—Because it was her who did this. She caused this much pain—She’s the one who—

“Huntress?” Her thoughts are interrupted by the other demon in the room—it’s going to get confusing if she keeps calling them both demons. But she doesn’t care—

“Why do you call me that and Rumi by her name?” she asks, trying to distract herself. She notices the baby demon hasn’t taken his eyes off her. He’s sitting at the edge of his chair, like he’s ready to pounce at any moment. But pretending to be relaxed. She glances again at Romance. The baby demon follows her gaze, his eyes narrowing—a silent threat.

So the kitten protects, huh? Mmh, she can respect that. She steps back, and the baby demon seems to relax. He pulls his hood back over his head, looking almost embarrassed but refusing to show it.

“Then why don’t I get that privilege?” she asks again, partly to avoid lingering on his earlier reaction. He sticks out his tongue, looking more playful than a moment ago. She’s starting to figure out how to draw him out of his shell. She can’t help but smile at the realization. And she mentally locks away Céline’s harsh voice telling her not to get attached to the baby demon. She’s not getting attached at all, thank you very much.

“I didn’t bother remembering it,” he hisses in a whisper, his face slightly red but trying to look nonchalant. Mira can’t help but look offended and teasing.

“Really? Is it because your brain can’t handle too much information?” she smirks.

“No, it just means it wasn’t worth remembering.” He grins mischievously for a moment before his face darkens again. “But I guess I didn’t think it was important back then.” He shrugs and hides behind his hood again.

Mira presses her lips together but eventually sighs.

“I’m Mira. The one with black hair is Zoey, and I assume you already know Rumi,” she finally says.

“I know… About the other hunt—girl, I mean—” He finally mutters, still hiding, still visibly uncomfortable.

Mira figures that’s the best answer she’s going to get. She steps forward, careful to keep some distance from the bed where Romance is resting—both for herself and to help the baby demon stay relaxed—and places a few novels, the notebook, and pens on the coffee table. Baby watches her without moving and gives a subtle nod of thanks.

Anyway, the baby demon seems to be doing as well as he can. Might as well let him have his moment. She’s sure Rumi will come back to check on him.

Besides, it’s not really her problem anymore.

She does wonder, though, if he likes lasagna.

Baby watches the huntress walk away. Mira. It’s a pretty name. He doesn’t dwell on it and grabs the notebook she left him. He takes the pen with it and opens it. He doodles a small character without thinking, trying as much as possible to steer away from his thoughts.

The scratching of the pen on paper echoes through the room alongside the beeping of the heart monitor. It creates a strange kind of symphony. It makes him want to write. He doesn’t know what. Anything. To untangle the knot inside his gut. Dark and viscous. He feels like throwing up.

‘Who is the monster?’

He writes it once. Crosses it out. Writes it again. It’s a good line.

‘Who is the monster?’

‘You or me?’

Ugh no—It’s starting to sound like a tragic love song. He crosses it out again. He chews on the tip of his pen.

‘Who is the monster?’

‘She smiles. Blood on her cheeks.’

No—Too real. Too recent—He can’t write that. He rips the page out, crumples it, and throws it away.

‘Who is the monster?’

Okay, and then? Why did she look so shaken? Why—Why was she afraid? Why does she feel? Why—Why does she cry!?

He grits his teeth. Leaning closer over the notebook. Beep. Beep. The sound pulses in his ears, rhythmic. Did she want his pity? No—No—That’s not it. It’s wrong. It feels wrong.

‘Who is the monster?’

‘Why does she laugh?’

He remembers. Her smile. It haunts him. So why does she cry? Killing with laughter and crying for the living? Where’s the sense?

‘Blue lilies stained red’

Lilies are for the dead, red for her heart. Blue and red make purple. Mystery.

Why does she cry? Why did she laugh?

Killer and monster. And at the same time… not.

‘Who is the monster?’

‘Laughing killer?’

‘Ash is my blood on your face’

‘Blue lilies stained red’

‘Do you believe your tears can wash away/ The footprints you left behind / Like rain dissolving into the shore?’

‘Who is the monster?’

‘Laughing killer?’

‘Or my demons? Me and them?’

‘Who is the monster?’

He writes it all in one go. Without really thinking. The pen presses too hard. It tears one page and crumples another. But he doesn’t care.

He rereads… It’s really bad — Well, he guesses he can keep a few lines, but it all needs rewriting. And he doesn’t even have the tempo yet. But who would he sing it with—No. He can’t think about that now.

He chews harder on the pen tip. He forgot the lollipops in the living room and finished his last one while Mira was making breakfast.

It cracks under his teeth and a sour liquid floods his mouth. Ugh—what now—He pulls the pen out and sees the tip has completely burst and ink has spilled out. He grimaces. Gross—That’s disgusting.

He pushes the notebook away and sets it on the coffee table, careful not to stain it too much with ink. Then he gets up and heads straight to the small bathroom attached to Romance’s room. He doesn’t bother closing the door behind him, his feet cold despite the thick socks he’s wearing.

He turns on the faucet and starts scrubbing his hands frantically with soap. The ink stains turn red. Blending with memories he’d rather forget. He scrubs harder. The stains don’t fully come off. No—Calm down—Breathe. The beeping still echoes. He forces himself to focus on it. He closes his eyes. Now’s not the time to fall apart.

Calm down. Stop thinking about it. No, uh—think about the amazing music he’s writing—Or no—No, no, Rumi is a safe topic—But her connection to Jinu—Ugh no—Lollipops! He loves lollipops! And hot sauce! On crêpes! Yes, hot sauce on crêpes. The sweet/spicy contrast is incredible. Ketchup’s okay too but not spicy enough for his taste. Oh—A chili lollipop! The ultimate perfect combo! He could live off that for the rest of his life!

There. Random, comforting thoughts. His breathing slows and the weight on his chest lifts a little. He leans harder on the edge of the sink, eyes still closed, but the dim light filters through his eyelids. Red—Ugh no. He takes a deep, slow breath. Fills his chest with as much air as possible, inflating again and again until it hurts, then releases it gently. Think of Avatar. He’s an airbender. There. He inhales again, less deeply to avoid a headache, and exhales once more. He imagines taming the air leaving his mouth, making it dance in fun shapes.

After several minutes, he finally notices the lingering sour taste in his mouth. Oh right, the ink. The black, disgusting ink still on his tongue. He hopes he didn’t swallow any. That would be even more annoying—He rinses his mouth and, just to be safe, brushes his teeth twice in a row. Rumi had left a toothbrush here for him. Once he feels like his mouth is finally clean, he tries to scrub the remaining ink off his cheeks and lips. His lips—cracked, scraped, and chapped. Wow—They look worse than he thought—He’s not touching them for now, afraid of reopening the scabs.

He sighs again. He avoids looking at himself in the mirror for too long. He doesn’t like the reflection staring back.

He leaves the bathroom, drying his hands absentmindedly on the towel. He wonders what he should do now. Maybe read the books Mira brought him.

“Baehan?—”

His head snaps up so fast at his name, he’s sure something cracked. But he doesn’t care. He’s here. The voice is hoarse, dark circles under his eyes. Half sitting up but wincing in pain. One hand resting on the wound in his chest. His eyes sting. He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t remember when he moved. When he got there, how he got there. But he’s in his arms. His scent surrounds him, and for the first time in days that felt like centuries, he hugs him back. His long, thin, strong arms wrap around him and hold him close. One hand rubs the back of his neck, right where he knows he likes it. He sobs and the beeping speeds up. He doesn’t care.

“Ryo-meong,” he whispers under his breath.

“Yes?” Romance asks softly, his voice low from disuse. His arms move gently across Baby’s back, doing everything to comfort him.

“Don’t leave again—” He cries softly, buried as deep as he can go. And for now, that’s all he needs. All he wants. His brother in his arms.

Chapter Text

“You’re okay—” Romance breathes out. Relief crashes over him like a wave. He’s okay. Baby is okay. Baehan is okay. He—he doesn’t even know what he was thinking—but the last thing he remembers is Abby—

He tightens his embrace around Baby, the one he sees as both a brother and someone to protect. The youngest member of their little family. He has so many questions—but he gives Baby time to recover. The latter still quietly sobbing in his arms.

Romance buries his nose deeper into Baby’s hair. Mmh, freshly washed. He hadn’t really had time to see him before Baby threw himself into the hug. As much as he wants to keep Baby in his arms forever, he also wants to see his face again.

A few knocks at the door. Romance stiffens instantly. His eyes widen and scan the room around him. A hospital room. How did Baby manage this? Did he forge documents? How? How much time has passed?

Baby gently pulls away, wiping his tears quickly. It’s the first time Baby has ever clung to him like this… Usually it’s just casual touches, loose hugs, and one or two breakdowns, and most of the time it was Mystery or even Abby who stayed with Baby. Sometimes they were all together, but that quickly overwhelmed the youngest.

“Bae—Baby, who is it? Where are we?” he whispers, careful not to alert whoever’s at the door. They seem to be waiting for permission to enter.

“Don’t worry, Romance. Just… let me handle this, okay?” Baby switches back to their stage names. Jinu had explicitly told them—and even trained them—to only use those in public. Real names were for private moments. Jinu—ugh, he doesn’t want to open that Pandora’s box right now—

“Come in,” Baby finally says, pulling away completely. Romance can finally see him fully—and what he sees doesn’t sit well with him. Even with the thick sweater he’s wearing—torn at the forearms and chest, stained with coffee (?) and black ink—he looks thin. Too thin. How long has it been? His face also shows ink smudges, partially scratched off, and his hands too. His face is slightly hollow and pale, and his lips—Romance grimaces. He thought he and the rest of their little family had helped Baby overcome that particular tic, but it seems he’s fallen back into old habits. He really needs to address that as soon as possible.

Baby stands and walks around the bed to face the door. Romance tries to sit up, or at least straighten himself more, but he hisses in pain as a particularly sharp wound pulses beneath the bandage wrapped around his chest. It itches terribly too. Baby gives him a brief, worried glance, but the door finally opens.

Pink. A color he loves, one that represents everything he cherishes. But it’s her.

Mira.

She enters without really looking at the room. A steaming plate in her hands. A soft scent of tomato sauce and chili floats in the air. Baby doesn’t move from his spot in front of Romance’s bed, but Romance can see his posture relax ever so slightly. Romance himself cannot.

“You,” he hisses, low and dangerous. Hatred as thick as the pain in his raspy voice. He really needs water. But not now. Not when the threat stands before his little brother. Not when he’s here, injured and useless to protect him. Not when the threat walks in with a plate of lasagna clearly not meant for her.

Mira lifts her head. Surprise flickers across her face for a moment, and maybe a hint of guilt—but Romance swears he imagined it. Her expression quickly turns neutral.

“Romance. Glad to see you’re awake.” She greets him with a stiff nod. Her gaze shifts to Baby, and Romance wants to growl to keep her away. But she softens. Imperceptibly, but enough for Romance—someone raised among the bourgeoisie of his time—to notice the difference.

“Baby. Feeling better? I made lasagna. If you want some, I guess.” She shrugs, but her eyes shine, like she’s eager for Baby to taste her dish and like it.

Baby shifts slightly, uncomfortable, but reaches out and accepts the plate.

“Can Romance have some too?” he asks, almost timidly. Romance doesn’t understand—Why is Baby timid? Why is he negotiating with the huntress? What have these girls done to him? He shoots a dark look at the pink-haired girl. He can’t do anything for now, because from what he’s gathered, their survival depends on the huntresses. Or at least, they’re being held here. Neither option is good. What do they want from them? Nothing good, especially after—after what happened—

He really needs more information. Then he can manipulate them, earn their trust, and flip the situation. Especially if they seem open to conversation. That’s it. A good plan. For both their protection. Now he just needs to know if Baby is being coerced in any way or if he’s been swayed by their pretty words. Look what it did to Jinu. He won’t fall into their traps.

Mira shrugs. He shoots her another dark look but tries to tone it down. He has to start gaining their captors’ trust somewhere.

“I suppose so. I’ll talk to his doctor and Rumi, so it might take a bit, okay?”

Baby nods, and with one last glance around the room, she leaves.

“Baehan.” Romance finally speaks. His voice still too sharp. Baby stiffens and looks at him, clearly scared but trying to hide it. Romance realizes what he’s done and takes several deep breaths to calm himself. He rubs his knuckles, guilty for frightening his brother, and continues in a softer voice.

“Sorry… Could I have a glass of water?” He asks more gently, and Baby seems to relax. He nods and sets the lasagna plate on the coffee table. Then he walks over to a cabinet at the end of the large room to fetch a bottle of water and a glass. Romance takes a moment to better analyze his surroundings.

The room isn’t very impressive. Fairly large, yes, but mostly empty. A door stands open directly across from his bed. Not fully closed—he remembers that’s where Baby came from earlier. Must be the bathroom or at least the toilet. The room has a chair that looks comfortable, a blanket tossed carelessly over it. Romance assumes that’s where Baby stayed to watch over him. His heart tightens and a warm feeling rises from his stomach. If he could purr right now without alerting their captor, he totally would. Just to show Baby his gratitude and love. He should probably apologize again for losing control of his emotions earlier…

His gaze shifts to the coffee table. Baby is still rummaging through the cabinet. Right next to the still-warm lasagna plate is a small stack of books and a notebook with a few ink stains. He picks it up, curious, and opens it. The pages are crumpled, signs of tearing visible.

Who is the monster?

A hand rests on the notebook. Baby. Romance notices with a jolt that one of his pinky nails is missing. He lifts his head. Baby gives him a soft smile, almost apologetic, and gently takes the notebook from his hands. He replaces it with a glass of water. Then he tucks the notebook into one of the drawers of the coffee table. Romance feels his throat tighten. But he doesn’t dare ask. Not now.

He takes a slow sip of water. The coolness hits his dry throat instantly. He drinks slowly, careful not to gulp too much at once. He’s not even sure how long he’s been asleep. He absently notices a thin translucent thread trailing from his arm. He’s not familiar enough with modern technology to know what it is. Either way, if the huntresses had wanted to kill him, they could’ve done it while he was unconscious. He decides to leave the uncomfortable device where it is.

He finishes the glass and lets it rest between his hands, playing with it, trying to reorganize his thoughts. Baby sits back down in the armchair and scoots a little closer. He picks up a strange remote, and the bed beneath Romance begins to slowly rise. His heart skips a beat, but the bed stops moving almost immediately. Baby looks calm, so Romance decides to stay calm too. Besides, his semi-upright position is just a bit more comfortable now. He nods toward Baby, silently thanking him and trying to hide his earlier unease. Baby nods back, still looking a little shy. Romance hates seeing him like that…

“H-How long?” Romance finally asks the most pressing question. Baby straightens slightly and rubs the back of his neck. Romance sees him clearly chewing the inside of his cheek. He leans forward—thankfully Baby had moved closer, otherwise the gesture might’ve hurt more—and taps his cheek. Baby looks up at him and instinctively stops chewing. It’s an old habit they developed. Each brother had a different version. For Baby, it was a tap on the cheek to stop him from compulsively chewing his skin.

“So?” Romance asks again, helping Baby refocus. Baby nods, pouting slightly. Part of Romance feels relieved. There’s a glimpse of the Baby he knows.

“Uh—six days? Or four? I’m pretty sure it’s five,”

Baby finally says, uncertain, counting on his fingers.

“It’s blurry. Especially at the beginning. Right after—uh, you know?” He lowers his eyes, looking vaguely ashamed. Romance can’t help but frown. He rubs his knuckles, partly to ground himself. This isn’t good. Baby’s stammering, and why does he look ashamed? Romance only vaguely remembers the number of days since the final fight. What happened in between?

“What happened while I was unconscious?” Romance finally asks, drawing Baby’s attention again. He lifts his head.

“Y-You almost died…” Baby lowers his gaze, fiddling with his fingers. Romance takes one of his hands in his own. To encourage him. To comfort him. Baby lets him, and Romance gently rubs his knuckles.

“You were in bad shape after the fight—and—I tried—I swear I tried. But nothing worked! I gave you medicine! I did everything I could to get it but nothing helped—and—and I held on but I was weak—we were going to run but—I couldn’t—” Baby, defeated, looking like he’s about to cry again.

But before Romance can pull him into a hug to calm him down, Baby seems to collect himself. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, then exhales slowly. Romance lets him, still worried. Where did he learn to do that? But he understands his younger brother must have endured so much—alone, trying to protect the only family he has left. Romance grimaces. He knows it’s not his fault he ended up so badly hurt, but that doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at him.

“I—I’m sorry. I lost my composure,” Baby says in a flatter tone. Romance wants to reassure him, but he senses Baby isn’t done. Baby takes another deep breath.

“Anyway. The girls found us. I’d lost track of the days—maybe two or three. Rumi offered to bring us here to treat your wounds. She’s half-demon and Jinu liked her—so I thought it wouldn’t be so bad—She promised to let us go once you’re healed. She—she’s not that bad…”He finishes, lifting his head and looking at him with those big puppy eyes. As if pleading Rumi’s case—that huntress—but it clearly matters to him.

“I trust you, Baehan. If you thought it was the best choice at the time, then I believe you.” He finishes, trying to reassure his brother. He strokes Baby’s cheek. Baby melts into it like a cat leaning into a caress. Romance strokes his cheek exactly the way he remembers his governess—the woman he considered more of a mother than his biological one—used to do for him.

Still, Romance isn’t convinced. Not because he doesn’t trust his brother. He’d entrust him with his life—he did the same with Jinu, and how did that turn out? No—not now. He won’t think about the traitor now— But because he sees in Baby’s eyes that heavy, aching fatigue that makes hearts vulnerable. And Baby’s story shows that not only was he forced into an impossible choice—kill him and let Romance die, or follow them—but they also manipulated him with sweet words. Just like they did with Jinu. But Jinu didn’t have the excuse of trying to protect. Romance doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive him. He clenches his teeth harder. He’ll play their game. For now. But he’ll do everything to protect Baby—and maybe try to find the others. After all, demons don’t stay dead for long.

But first…He’ll find out what these girls want from them, and then figure out how to either destroy them from the inside or vanish far beyond their reach. His brother remains the priority.

“Don’t worry, Baehan. I’m here now,” Romance assures, his words sealing an invisible vow. Baby smiles softly, his chapped lips curling in a way that almost hurts.

“I know, Ryo-meong.”

Chapter Text

The moment lasts about ten minutes. Baby seems perfectly content just staying like that, his cheek still pressed against Romance’s palm. He’s moved closer to the bed and Romance can stroke him too, in a soft, repetitive motion. It slowly calms them both. Baby even purrs gently, seeming so relaxed that Romance just wants to join him. But despite everything, he can’t relax enough to do so.

The soft growl, more of a languid rumble that makes Baby’s chest vibrate, is the loudest sound in the room. All demons purr. The sounds may vary depending on their forms, but it’s generally the same for everyone. The hum of the machines vibrates and makes the air shiver, and an annoying beep-beep still echoes in the room.

A new person knocks. This time the sound is louder, almost making the door tremble under the excessive force. Romance grimaces but Baby just chuckles, slowly opening his eyes. They’re a mix of his usual teal blue and the orange-yellow of his demonic transformation, showing that his emotions haven’t settled yet.

How Romance just wants to hold him and wrap around him forever. He’s really tired, he just wants to sleep — He sighs and takes a moment to mentally prepare himself to face another hunter or, hopefully, the doctor. Baby gets up to open the door himself this time.

Romance tenses slightly when he sees how far Baby has moved away from him. He scratches his knuckles and his blunt nails drag across the back of his hand. He presses his lips together, his wound pulses beside him and he’s still attached to the machine by several wires. His eyelids are heavy and despite the clarity of his thoughts, he still feels strangely detached from them.

He’s not in a state to protect. All he can do is analyze the situation and pray.

Baby finally opens the door. Long purple hair tied in its unmistakable braid appears. Dark circles under her eyes, pale complexion, a few strands escaping her usually impeccable hairstyle and her lips slightly chapped. Rumi. The half-demon, the one who turned Jinu against them. The most dangerous of them all. He clenches his teeth, his chest vibrates with a silent, angry growl. Baby is too close. Too relaxed.

She raises her hand and ruffles her brother’s hair without him moving. He can only see her back but he doesn’t tense in any way. Romance hisses. How dare she? Bloody images form in his mind. Plans to just annihilate those girls. Make them suffer like they made him suffer and especially like they made his brother suffer. He wants to kill them.

His bloodlust must be too heavy and he blames the medication he’s probably on. The hunter looks up, and despite her fatigue her eyes are clear, sharp and dangerous. She seems to soften when she sees him, covering her face with a jovial and polite mask. Baby turns, too close to her. Back to her. Too careless. This isn’t good —

He suppresses the urge to growl again. He has to play along. He doesn’t like it. Not at all. But he has no choice. Ggrr—

“Romance?” Baby asks, looking a bit worried. Romance realizes he’s probably disturbed his little brother again. He restrains himself internally. He can’t make the same mistake twice! But the hunter is still watching them. Baby has his back to her, he’s moved away a bit but not enough for Romance to protect him. Anyway, even if Baby were close enough, Romance has no way to protect him. The hunter just has to draw her sword and it’s over for both of them. He hates this feeling so much.

To calm his growing panic, he observes Baby more closely. Taking in his tired and hollow features yet still so familiar. The hunter remains in his field of vision. Motionless. Like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Romance really needs to calm down.

“I’m fine. I just hurt.” He makes up a fake excuse to not, no longer worry Baby. It’s not entirely false but pain would never make him react like this. Baby looks at him skeptically, not fully convinced. Warmth rises inside Romance, so soft and tender despite his stress. Baby knows him so well! Of course he wouldn’t be convinced by his pathetic acting! But the hunter isn’t, and since she can’t see Baby’s face, because he’s facing away from her, she can’t know, which serves his plans. He nods toward Baby and the latter understands not to comment. Romance is glad to see that even though Baby is clearly under the hunters’ influence, he’s not yet fully under their control. One more point for their side.

“I’m really hungry too. Do you think you could go get me those famous lasagnas? But careful, I don’t handle chili as well as you do.” He forces a fake smile onto his face — easier to do when he’s looking at his brother’s sweet face —. Baby looks at him unconvinced. He glances at the hunter behind him. Romance hates that they seem to be exchanging silent words. How dare this hunter steal Baby from him again? How dare she pretend? His smile sharpens and his face tenses. Luckily he has much more experience keeping his cool as a demon. It helps him better hide his marks that are starting to flicker and his overly yellow eyes.

“If you want…” Baby looks at him one last time. Romance clearly sees the desire in his eyes to stay or at least kiss him before leaving. But apparently he doesn’t dare in front of the hunter. Romance doesn’t really know what to think. Does Baby trust the hunter or not? Or does he just not want to embarrass Romance? But Baby knows he would never be embarrassed to kiss his brothers. Even in public — they just didn’t do it before under Jinu’s orders to preserve their boy band image —. Is he afraid to show open affection in front of the hunter? It’s clearly not embarrassment. Fear then? But that doesn’t seem to be the case either.

But before he finishes his reflection. Baby heads toward the door. “I’ll be quick,” he finally announces in an unreadable tone. Romance is torn between joy that his brother is now away from the hunter — he pushes away as much as possible the voice whispering that two other hunters are somewhere nearby — and fear of now being alone in this situation. But that feeling is easier to manage. He just has to remember who he’s doing all this for. Baby. His brother. Mystery and Abby… He misses his family — Jinu too… but Jinu isn’t part of it anymore —

Maybe he could manipulate Rumi? No — the spark in her eyes is too bright. Too intelligent. She won’t be fooled so easily. She seems to care for or even love Baby, judging by the affectionate gestures she shows him. The other one, Mira, also seemed eager to gain Baby’s affection. Do they want to turn him into some kind of pet? Tame him like a common animal? A part of his mind growls dangerously at that. But he could still turn that against them. Use their apparent ‘good heart’ to extract information. He doesn’t yet know the status of the dark-haired one — Zoey — to determine if he can turn her against her group. That would benefit him, and weaken Honmoon enough to open a breach — and try to recover the rest of their family. But that plan still has many flaws. For example, would Gwi-ma be merciful enough to give Abby and Mystery a physical form again after their crushing failure? —

“Romance. Could we talk?” the hunter announces as she approaches. Romance tenses. What an idiot! He got too lost in his thoughts! He can’t afford any more mistakes — His vision blurs briefly but adrenaline surges again. Not now. He’ll sleep when Baby is back and he’s relatively safe.

“Rumi.” He simply states. He doesn’t know her well enough yet to know what she might respond to most favorably. But if he’s too open from the start, it would immediately make him suspicious. He’ll play the card of apparent coldness that quickly cracks. Mmh, yes that’s more believable.

“I—I mean, I wanted to talk about Baby and something he told me…” She lowers her gaze, looking awkward. Romance narrows his eyes, clearly unconvinced. He’d be damned if he fell for such an obvious façade.

“Oh?” He softens his voice anyway, inviting her to speak. If she wants to keep playing this role, then she’ll have to talk a lot—especially if he looks like a gentle, attentive listener.

“Yes, and it’s—uh, worrying…” she sighs, seeming to test Romance’s patience by dragging out the suspense. She’s good, he’ll give her that, but he’s better.

“Is it about your heritage?” He avoids mentioning Baby. He doesn’t want to draw the huntress’s attention back to his brother, and the topic of Rumi’s half-demonic heritage seems like a safe lead—and something that might give him more information.

Rumi lifts her eyes for a moment, surprised, before recovering and blushing slightly, then lowers her gaze again, fiddling with her fingers. She’s very good, Romance fully admits. It doesn’t even cross his mind that this might not be an act.

“Baby told me that demons—that ‘demons kill themselves out of shame’ and I—I don’t know what to think and I have so many questions—I—” She seems to pull herself together. Romance can’t help but be impressed by her performance. But he needs to dig into that last point quickly before she shuts down again. Act or not, it gives him a serious weakness to exploit.

“Yes, that’s true. It’s a secret that’s never really spoken aloud because demons hate talking about their shame… I wonder why he told you?” That last line is a risky move. It brings Baby back into the conversation but also opens a very important question: how did this huntress get close enough to Baby?

She grimaces and bites her lips and the inside of her cheeks. An interesting tic. Stress? What is she hiding?

“He told me after—after I found him on the roof.” She lifts her head, but that sentence freezes Romance. He doesn’t know if the sharp worry gnawing at his gut shows on his face, but the huntress seems to pick up on his silent fear and concern.

“He didn’t mean to. At least… I think. But he fell, I caught him. It happened early this morning.” Romance feels like the world has gone blurry and grey. Baby almost died.

Again.

While he was sleeping peacefully in the hospital room. Baby almost died. The huntress no longer matters.
Baby—

What kind of brother is he? He knows he had no control but—He should’ve—Fought harder, been more—No—no. He can’t think like that. It’s useless. He needs to calm down and take control of this conversation and make sure that accident never happens again.

He realizes too late that he’s growling. He stops with a grimace as Rumi looks at him, awkward, sad, and curious all at once.
But she seems to think of something else and lowers her gaze again. Romance doesn’t know what to make of it—
No. No. He knows exactly what it is. There’s something worse.

“I have a question. Before I talk about the thing that’s troubling me most.” Rumi seems to regain her composure. She takes a deep breath and looks him straight in the eyes. Her markings pulse with an ethereal glow and her eyes fill with golden flecks. Romance knows the signs of emotions too strong, triggering the young demon’s transformation. Demons, after all, are beings of pure emotion.

“If I had died. If—if I had hypothetically asked someone I trusted to kill me before I became a full demon? If I’d asked them to kill me because of my demonic heritage out of… out of shame. What would I have become?” she says, looking slightly shaky.

And isn’t that an interesting question? The huntress says it as if it really happened. But apparently she made it through. Romance wonders how he could use that. Shame, even when accepted, never fully disappears. So the huntress is ashamed of her demonic heritage? Even better if that ‘trusted person’ she asked to kill her is still willing to do it. Clearly not one of her friends. Then a mentor? A mentor who hates demons and taught this huntress to hunt them despite her heritage? A mentor willing to banish all demons regardless of the consequences for his protégé?
Romance smiles—sharp, predatory, cruel. The huntress doesn’t see it, her eyes lowered, offering him her throat. Oh, she has no idea the weakness she just revealed. And Romance is ready to exploit it as much as possible. He can almost taste the thrill rising in his chest, between his ribs, just beneath his lungs at the clear advantage he’s just gained.

But for now, the role.

“You’d have fallen under Gwi-ma’s influence, I suppose. Jinu told us you couldn’t hear him—lucky you.” He winces internally at the mention of Jinu, but the name remains a useful crack to exploit, especially if the huntress still likes him as her last pet. He lets his voice take on a slightly sarcastic tone, a sliver of his excitement slipping through, but the huntress seems too lost in thought to notice.

“I—I see…” She stays in the same posture for a moment, seeming to think deeply. Her hands tremble slightly around her faintly curled-up form. Romance tastes the sweet satisfaction of seeing such a predator literally beneath him and trembling after just a few words. But curiosity and concern return quickly when he remembers what the huntress said earlier. If it’s not about Baby, he doesn’t care. He prays to any pathetic, irrelevant deity that it’s not about Baby—

“And the other thing?” Romance asks gently, his voice smooth as honey. Heavy and curious, with a slight touch of sincere concern that he allows to slip in to make it more believable.
It seems to pull the huntress out of her thoughts. She straightens her shoulders, seeming to put her mask back on—but now Romance knows what’s underneath. He’s not intimidated in the slightest.

“It’s about Baby.” The huntress tenses slightly, grimacing with what looks like compassion, and Romance’s worry boils harder. He knows he shouldn’t be so obvious about his bond with Baby. Especially in front of the huntresses—it could be used against him. But he also has to protect his brother. The dilemma is impossible, but Romance already holds a powerful advantage over the huntress. He hopes using it will help him shield Baby.

“I—ugh—I don’t know how to say it.” She stumbles over her words, once again awkward but now more uneasy and somber. Like she’s about to deliver bad news. Hypotheses swirl in the back of Romance’s mind. He forces himself to ignore them. He can’t afford distraction—

“Just know you’re not alone and we’re here, okay?” The huntress delays the inevitable again, and Romance’s anxiety only climbs higher.

“Huntress. What is it?” He bares his fangs slightly, stress making him edgy. It’s also the first time he calls her that aloud, letting his mask slip just a little. He hopes his sincere worry and anxiety will serve him later in deceiving her more effectively—

“Baby was assaulted—uh, touched—and I don’t think it was consensual… I tried to talk to him but—”

Romance doesn’t hear anything else. A deafening ringing fills his ears. His vision blurs, anxiety spikes too high. Worry, shame, rage, frustration—all melt into a black, empty haze.

A shrill beep-beep drills into his eardrums. Too fast. His heart races to match. His muscles lock up. The fatigue weighs too heavily. He can’t see. Can’t breathe.

Because Baehan was assaulted.

Baehan—

People rush into the room. Chaos in a blur. Some approach him. Everything is hazy—their faces, their movements. All he sees is the white of their coats. White layered over black.

“Sir—”

Nothing. Nothing reaches him, nothing could—

Because Baehan—

No—No

He has to find him—do something—don’t—

A sudden wave of calm crashes over him. Beep-beep. It’s quieter. A strange coolness flows into his veins. No—no Baehan—

His eyes close without his consent. No! No! No! Not now! Please—

“I’m sorry—”
That’s all he understands. The heavy regret weighs down the words until they’re no longer comprehensible.

Sorry?—

No—

Chapter Text

Baby casts one last glance at the room. Romance looks at him strangely, as if he’s waiting for something, his gaze shifting between him and Rumi. Baby can feel the tension in the room.

“I’ll be quick,” is all he says. Rumi gives him a small grateful look and Romance keeps staring without blinking. It’s starting to make him uncomfortable. He quickly heads into the hallway. He feels a little guilty for leaving Romance alone, especially with someone he probably still sees as an enemy. But Rumi is kind… she managed to convince him, she helped him and she’s taking good care of him and Romance… That’s nice—

And if Rumi manages to get close to Romance, that means he doesn’t have to feel guilty for liking her, because Romance will too! That would be great! Like having a new sister! Well yes—not too soon. Romance has to accept her first. He’s always like that. Analyzing people deeply before letting them into his bubble. Baby never felt like he was being analyzed, but he knows there’s a clear before/after between when he was just hanging out with the guys and when they all collectively decided to welcome him into their little family or pack. He doesn’t really know the right term. It took so much time, growling and sulking before the guys stopped seeing him as the “baby” of the family and started treating him as an equal—which is a tough task when facing demons several centuries older—

The memory makes him shiver. His heart tightens slightly at the thought… They’re gone now… Only Romance is left—He guesses it’s normal for him to be wary…

He shakes his head. Right. He has to go get lasagna for Romance and come back as quickly as possible. After all, it’s been several days since he woke up! And even with the machines—which Rumi explained to him—that feed/hydrate him, he must want something more substantial, right? And lasagna is soft and light enough for a first meal. Well, he supposes.

He keeps walking through the semi-familiar hallways. He only takes one wrong turn before backtracking, and from there he easily finds his way to the living room and kitchen. He doesn’t really know where Mira might have stored her famous lasagna, but he’ll just have to search, right?

He finally arrives and his nose guides him toward a soft, warm, and diffuse smell, sweet too… is that chocolate?
He steps cautiously into the lit kitchen. It’s the only source of light in the pre-storm gloom that’s starting to settle. And like a moth, he finds himself irresistibly drawn to the warm, cozy-looking light source.

It’s Mira. Dancing among the dishes and aromas. She moves from one corner of the kitchen to the other, seeming to follow a tempo in her head. Her head sways as she expertly handles a baking dish, quickly switches to a piping bag, and fills another mold. Always in motion, a dance without song but full of performance, right there in front of him.

It’s almost beautiful. He admits it reluctantly, still frozen at the kitchen threshold. The huntress, Mira, still caught in her hypnotic dance, doesn’t seem to notice him right away. He could just stay here and watch her while enjoying the soft smells that blend together, reminding him of a time so sweet, sensations so gentle under his skin that he wants to catch them and keep them forever. But he has a mission. Feed Romance!

He steps into the kitchen, almost timidly. His hands sink into the long sleeves of his worn-out hoodie. When he thinks it’s only been a day since he started wearing it and it’s already ruined—But that’s a thought for later. Focus.

She suddenly stops, a break in the performance. He almost feels guilty for interrupting her, but he has to continue his mission. He opens his mouth, ready to speak, but Mira beats him to it. A soft smile settles on her face but quickly shifts into something more teasing and mischievous. Something he’s more used to.

“So, did you like my lasagna? You want more, is that it?” She teases lightly while absentmindedly putting some utensils in the sink to wash later. The sink is really starting to fill up.

He sticks out his tongue. His mood lightens in response to the playful teasing. He thinks the kitchen’s atmosphere really helps too. It’s soft—Soft, soft and cozy. It really helps him calm down and forget the earlier tension. But he can’t help thinking about it. And it eats at him, but he can’t quite organize his thoughts in a logical way to sort everything out in his head. It’s blurry and confusing and his conflicting feelings only make the mess more tangled.

“Mmh, I haven’t tasted it yet,” he mumbles, suddenly feeling hunger gnawing at his stomach. He really wants to eat the lasagna, but Romance comes first and he wants to get it over with quickly. “I’m going to eat it with Romance, is there any left but with less spicy sauce?” he asks hopefully, widening his eyes just enough. A foolproof technique against all his brothers.

Mira seems to freeze at the gesture. She steps back, surprised, before her expression softens into something almost strange on her. Her eyes shine, lit by flecks of supernatural light.

“Too cute,” she notes, a smile of pure joy on her face. She reaches out and pinches his cheek. Like she’s trying to pamper him. Ugh! He pouts and tries to bite her fingers for the presumptuous gesture.

“Hey! I’m not cute!” he whines as she dodges and laughs lightly, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Whatever you say, baby demon.” She chuckles as she steps away and opens the microwave, pulling out a still-warm dish. He blushes at the nickname but steps closer to see what’s inside. Lasagna!

“Stop calling me that, it’s embarrassing,” he mumbles, no longer fully focused on the conversation but rather on the dish that still smells divine. Well, it’s missing chili but he guesses it’ll be fine for Romance.

He really hopes he’ll like it—What if he’s angry? He did leave him alone with Rumi—But everything should go fine, right? Even if Romance is wary—What if he also decides Baby isn’t worth it? Like Jinu?—No—No, he can’t start thinking like that—Romance would never abandon him! Right?

Doubt gnaws at him and a sharp stomachache slowly starts spreading in his lower belly. Ugh—Is it stress? It’s never done that before—

“D-Do you think he’ll like it?” he asks more softly. He’s not even sure if he’s asking about the lasagna or… something else…

Mira turns slightly toward him. The lasagna dish still carelessly placed on the table in front of her. He hadn’t realized how close they were. He can almost feel her pink strands brushing his neck. And isn’t it lame to be a few centimeters shorter than her? He already feels so small—He doesn’t like it—Well, almost doesn’t—He just wants to curl up against Romance. Or not—What if he doesn’t want that? And Rumi too—Well, he likes her but will it be okay? But Romance hasn’t said yes yet—He just wants—Just—He doesn’t really know—This kitchen makes him weird. He doesn’t want to doubt so much—It’s unfair—It was simpler before! When he knew exactly who to be with and when—He wants Mystery—

“It’s not about the lasagna, is it?” Mira leans slightly toward him, interrupting his frantic thought spiral. It’s strange. She understands? Or not—He’s not really sure—But—can he try? Just this once? He apologizes mentally to Romance but he really needs to sort out his thoughts. Is it really so bad to share them with Mira? But she’s the one who hurt Romance in the first place—Ugh—Stop! Stop! Stop! Why can’t he stop thinking and doubting? He hates it! He really, really hates it!

He lowers his head, lips tight and trembling. He bites his lip instinctively, the slight pain helping him return to the physical plane. He realizes Mira has fully turned toward him. Looking at him with concern. He doesn’t need pity! No—
He gathers his courage and tries to stop thinking.

“What if he leaves? What if he abandons me? What if—What if it’s like Jinu?” he asks, more shaky. Because that’s the knot. The heart of his doubts and thoughts. The thing that terrifies him every hour of the day and that surged like a tidal wave since Romance woke up. What if Romance sees him as a burden? What if he leaves? What happens then? He knows he had planned, that if he lost Romance before, he’d go fight the huntresses, consequences be damned. But that doesn’t seem possible anymore. Will he become an empty shell? Something left on the roadside because he’s too hard to love?

“You’re not a burden… Baby.” She speaks softly, almost too softly. But in the comfortable silence of this place cut off from the world, the words echo gently, like the clink of a spoon in the quiet. And isn’t that a strange comparison? But it feels oddly fitting right now.

“But—if I’m not the problem then—then why?—” He lowers his head, more nervous. He doesn’t know why. Why does she understand? Why does it feel important? It’s weird—

“Because I was scared too.” She sighs and slides down to the floor, leaning against the lower cabinets. She doesn’t look at him but lets her gaze drift around the kitchen. Messy but still so full. Baby watches her, slightly puzzled. But he’s curious, for lack of a better word.

He settles onto the floor too. Carefully, it feels… right. In a way, and for the first time tonight.
Not too close, just enough. Just enough to feel the warm furnace that is Mira and the scents clinging to her skin and hair.

She glances at him—he’d dare say shyly—before closing her eyes, seeming to think of something else.

“I—I’ve been rejected for a long time. My whole life. But I found something. Something small, but something I can now call family.” She pauses, weighing her next words. Baby clings to her lips, almost spellbound. He doesn’t really know what to think. So he doesn’t. He just listens. That’s good.

“And I know it might not be the same for you. But I can promise you that you’re not hard to love, or whatever you think in that vein. Romance loves you. He loves you deeply, and I saw it from the very first moment.” She finishes, her eyes dropping to the floor where she’s still tapping her thigh in a rhythm only she hears.

He doesn’t know what to say. Still. Why does he feel so out of place?

“And what if—what if it’s not true? What if you’re wrong? Look at me—” Because yes. Look at him. Look at the demon. The mute monster. The orphan no one wants. Look at him.

He curls up tighter. His knees draw closer to his chest and his head lowers. He wants to pull up his hood. Hide, just for a moment, from the world that looks at him with too much pity. Is it so wrong to just disappear? But the gesture feels too big. Too visible. Too cowardly. So he stays still. Paralyzed inside, hiding not from the world but from himself.

“I see you. I saw you. You’re the exception.” She says softly, her hand resting on the floor. It immediately catches Baby’s attention. Her hand so close to his. He feels tingling in his fingers. His stomachache fluctuates and returns in waves. He feels slightly nauseous.

“The exception?” He scoffs. Empty and too harsh, flat in a way. But he doesn’t care. He’s not an exception. He’s never been anything. He’s just—him. It sucks—

“Romance loves you. And you love him. What more is there to say?” She asks again. But he has so much to say! It’s not that simple! He—He doubts—Doubts Romance. Still. Why? Romance loves him—right? Or not? If he heals, will they leave? Will Romance leave alone? Ugh—He bites his lip harder.

A hand rises and taps his cheek. He freezes and looks up. It’s—it’s so familiar. He stops biting in his stress. His mouth is slightly open in shock. Why does he feel like crying? Not now. Not again. Again. Again. And again. Why is he so weak? Doesn’t she see it? So pathetic. She’s supposed to—not like him! She’s the enemy! But at the same time it feels so wrong. She was! The one who ruined everything! So why? Why does she understand? Why is she here? Why—why does he want her to be here?—

“I—I’m sorry—You keep hurting yourself. I just—reacted?” She says, as if it’s nothing. As if it’s normal. Is it? As if she hadn’t just done the exact same gesture Romance did earlier. As if she didn’t resemble his brother so much, it’s strange not to trust her. Guilt crashes over him. But warmth rises too. The mix is incongruous. Strange and unsettling. But he’s tired of thinking. Tired of crying.

“I—I need to get lasagna. For Romance.” That’s not what he means. No, it’s such a strange request. So out of place, but it’s the only thing that comes out of his mouth at that moment. Because he has a mission. And—it’s weird, again, but he’s starting to accept that this is just his life for now. Everything is weird and offbeat, and strange. But it’s okay. In a way.

Mira laughs. Softly, not too loud. As if she senses the pressure easing but doesn’t want to break the moment. She seems oddly relieved.

“I thought you were going to cry for a second. I’m terrible at that—” She says, casual and awkward. And it’s so not the moment that Baby has no idea how to react!

He says nothing. She doesn’t wait and stands up, instinctively offering her hand. Like Rumi, just this morning. It’s so strange! And he’s tired of repeating that same word. So he takes her hand. Almost too warm against his. Damp and gross. But it’s good—In a weird and still strange way, but it’s good. Mira pulls him up from the floor a bit too forcefully. He groans at the abrupt gesture and she lets go of his hand. He pouts slightly but wipes his hand on his dirty hoodie. The dampness is disgusting. Mira notices and rolls her eyes, mocking but without comment.

She picks up the now slightly cooled lasagna dish.

“Do you think Romance can eat something hot?” She asks Baby without looking at him, as if the too-soft and too-tense moment had never happened. It’s nice. To forget and not feel judged.

“No, it should be fine like this.” Partly because he’s already been here too long and partly because his own lasagna plate is probably cold by now in Romance’s room and it’s a mini revenge against his brother. He doesn’t regret it at all.

“That’s good then.” She smiles and places a light portion on a plate. Baby figures that’s fair. You should never eat too much right after a long period without food. He knows that well. She adds a fork and hands him the plate. The oven beeps and Mira rushes to it, putting on an oven mitt. She pulls out a steaming dish. Oh! The little cakes! The smell of chocolate fills the kitchen and blends with the lighter scent of tomato sauce and ground meat from the lasagna.

She sets the dish on the counter, probably to let it cool, and drops the oven mitt in a random corner.

“Should I come with you? To get Rumi?” She offers, her face once again impassive and only her sly smile remains. The company seems pleasant, for lack of a better word. For now. So it should be fine. He nods. He feels like his face is too tense and heavy to return her teasing smile. He doesn’t really feel like laughing right now, even to pretend.

Without waiting any longer, she steps toward him, and Baby takes it as a signal to move forward too. She stays by his side as they leave the kitchen. Rain is falling outside now, and the sky is darker. He doesn’t really know what time it is, but is it already that late or are the clouds just too heavy?

They walk side by side. Baby knows the way and doesn’t feel like Mira is trying to guide him in any way. Even when he slightly takes the wrong direction, she keeps walking, waiting half a second before continuing. That’s nice too. He doesn’t feel like she’s trying to mother him, or lead him. Just being there. That’s nice. Really nice.

The lasagna dish is still slightly warm in his hands when they enter the infirmary wing. The tiles are too cold under his feet. His socks make no sound, just like Mira’s cozy slippers. They reach the door and he’s about to enter when Mira suddenly places a hand on his chest. Stopping him cold. He gives her a confused look, but she simply makes a gesture for silence with her finger. Her brows furrowed.

“… If—if I had hypothetically asked someone I trust to kill me before I became a full demon? … out of shame. What would I have become?”

Rumi’s voice comes out trembling, the door slightly ajar, allowing only a glimpse of her curled-up form. Baby stays silent. This—he’s not supposed to hear this. He glances at Mira. She’s frozen, shocked. She wasn’t supposed to hear this either—

He feels like he’s been stuck, unable to think or hear for too long, when Romance’s voice grows louder. He hears the beeping of the heart monitor pulsing a little faster. The worry is clear in his brother’s voice.

“And the other thing?”

“It’s about Baby.”

No—No no no—She can’t say that—She can’t talk about that!

“I—Ugh—I don’t know how to say it.”

She has to stop! Romance isn’t supposed to hear this! But he’s frozen. Shock or fear. His thoughts struggle to catch up with his body. He’s trembling, shivering under invisible touches. His stomachache returns, folding him nearly in half from the pain—

“Just know you’re not alone and that we’re here, okay?”

“Huntress. What is it?”

The rhythm of the beeping rises. Accelerates. Is it Romance’s heart or his own? She—She doesn’t hear? Doesn’t see? The sound pulls him out of his trance. He rushes toward the door. He can’t let this happen. No—for Romance, for himself, for everyone. This secret isn’t ready to be revealed!! Not now! Never, never, never!

“Baby was assaulted—uh, touched—and I don’t think it was consensual… I tried to talk to him but—”

NO!

The heart monitor explodes. Thunder cracks outside and he jumps. He bursts through the door, not caring about anything else. Romance!!

He feels someone holding him back from behind. The dish is no longer in his hands and all he sees is Rumi. The betrayal pierces his heart like a blade. She twists and turns. Why? He feels like the world turns red before him. He’s so angry, so angry. How dare she!?

It was never supposed to—No—no no no—

People rush in front of him. White coats. Gathering like a swarm of insects around his brother. The sight twists something inside him. He’s still being held back by someone behind him. He struggles, he has to get to Romance!

“Stop! They’re helping him! They’re helping, Baby!” The voice echoes in his ears but rage still buzzes in his blood.

Romance convulses on the bed, clutching his chest.

“He’s having a heart attack!”

“Sedatives! We need sedatives! Quickly!”

His eyes fill with painful tears. Rage, pain, and hatred give way to a hollow emptiness. They—they’re helping—

He stops struggling. The scene moves too fast and not fast enough. Rumi is still there. She steps forward. Her eyes are too blurry for him to see the expression on her face. He doesn’t care—

She raises a hand, a slow and gentle gesture to place it on his shoulder. He pulls away abruptly. He—Not now—It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—This—ARGH!

He doesn’t want to justify himself anymore! He doesn’t want to love her! He doesn’t want to want a hug from her! Because it’s all her fault! Romance was supposed to be okay! It wasn’t supposed to happen like this!

He bares his fangs and steps into the room. The doctors are doing final checks. He feels like throwing up. Romance is hooked up again, an oxygen mask on his face. He wants to scream or cry. It’s too much—Too much—

They leave. All of them. Someone says something to him. But he’s too far gone. Only Romance remains. Unconscious again—Everything was supposed to be okay—He—He thought it would be okay—That it was fine—

He sniffles. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—

There’s no one left. Just him and the sound of machines keeping his brother alive. Again.

He takes off his filthy hoodie, staying shirtless. He doesn’t care and crawls next to Romance. The bed is big, he nudges him slightly and slips under the blanket, rearranging his brother’s arms around him. Just to pretend. To pretend everything’s okay. That everything is like before and he’s just sleeping next to Romance. He closes his eyes and curls up deeper against his brother’s ribs. The bandage on his chest is rough against his nose, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to care anymore. The beeping continues to echo. Awful and comforting.

He sniffles again and buries himself deeper. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this—

He falls asleep curled up warmly against his brother. His cheeks damp with silent sobs. Exhausted by everything and no longer wanting to think. Unconsciousness falls over his mind and finally… he stops thinking.

Chapter Text

Mira watches the scene with a dark look. Nothing is right—

Baby no longer sees her; she’s taken the lasagna dish from his hands and placed it on a small table a bit farther away. Rumi tries to approach him, but he growls at her. She clenches her jaw—Ugh—

She casts one last glance at the room. The doctors are still working, though fewer now, and Baby just stares blankly, not trying to do anything. It tightens her chest to see him like that, but for now she has no choice. She grabs Rumi’s hand—she looks stunned. As if she doesn’t understand the scene unfolding before her, but also worried and tired.

Mira gently pulls her, careful not to startle her, and Rumi follows with a quiet step. The two girls slowly move away from the chaos of the infirmary and walk slowly through the dark hallways. The rain falls harder outside, and thunder cracks from time to time. She doesn’t know what to do. Or how to sort her thoughts. It’s a mess, a field of ruins in her head. Everything! Absolutely everything! She knew they shouldn’t have let those two demons into their lives—She instantly regrets that thought. She can’t say that. Not like that. It’s wrong—So wrong—

But one thing is certain. She and Rumi are going to need one hell of a long conversation. And a therapist. For everyone, because she’s absolutely not qualified for that role—

There, the kitchen light is still on, spilling a little into the living room corner that hasn’t been tidied since this morning. A soft varnish over the storm that’s coming. Or the one that’s already broken. She briefly thinks of Zoey—She went to see her just after Baby, and she had locked herself in her room. Mira of course left her a plate of lasagna and the snacks she likes, but she doesn’t know if Zoey ate them. She’ll have to check on her again later—And also see a therapist—

But for now. She needs to get her priorities straight. First, Rumi. She settles her sister—usually so confident—on the couch. Rumi doesn’t resist, seeming not quite present yet. Okay—Okay, she can handle this, right? She grabs a blanket from the couch and covers Rumi. Ugh—What next? She wraps her in another and covers both herself and Rumi. It’s simple, and good. At least she hopes so. She knows Rumi especially appreciates physical contact, especially after so long without being able to enjoy skin-to-skin comfort.

Rumi’s skin glows faintly, her marks like iridescent scars shining softly in the dim light. Like light passing through water. So different from the marks she saw on Baby. Does it change depending on the demon? Or is Rumi just special? Is it comparable to an emotional barometer? She’ll need to research that more. Maybe ask—but later.

The silence is strange. Heavy with unspoken words and things that need saying. Where to begin? There’s so much wrong—

Okay—Priority, priority? Where can she start? Mmh? Baby’s apparent assault? She grimaces, she’s going to throw up—Romance’s heart attack or the fact that Rumi literally admitted she wanted to kill herself out of shame??

Rumi snuggles closer against her. Mira instinctively holds her tighter. She trembles in her grip. Maybe silence is good for now? Just let things settle and think? They won’t leave this couch without a proper conversation. But for now, it seems good to just… breathe—

For Rumi, and for herself.

“This—this wasn’t yours to reveal, Rumi…” she begins softly, unsure how not to startle her sister. She’s not trying to give a moral lesson. Not now. But it’s so… wrong—And she knows Rumi is exhausted. She sees it. She sees how Rumi has pushed herself too hard, too long these past few days. Handling crisis after crisis, from Baby to Zoey, then Romance. Mira knows it and she sees it. But this isn’t the way—

Rumi trembles slightly, curling in on herself and sniffles softly. Mira’s eyes widen. Oh no—no-no, is she going to cry? No—She’s terrible at this! She doesn’t know how to comfort people in general, let alone when they’re crying! Well, she’s tried sometimes, but she’s not usually the one who handles that—She can give a hug, but that’s it—

Okay then. Calm down. For now, she’s apparently the only damn functional person in this penthouse—she’s eagerly awaiting Bobby’s arrival—

“I—I know—I know I know—but—I—” Rumi chokes, her thoughts tangled. What was she thinking? It wasn’t hers to say! Not like that! No—Then why did she do it? She gave everything. Was it enough?—And yet, everything’s falling apart. Why does nothing hold? Why does she always ruin everything! Things were getting better—They were supposed to get better—Why do all her efforts mean nothing? Why—She tries to help—But it’s not the right thing—The right way—the right outcome—Why does she always ruin everything?

“Why…?” she asks, feeling so—so small. Small under the weight of her actions and mistakes—First with Jinu—Then Mira and Zoey, Céline, Baby—Romance—

“Mmh?” Mira hums in her ear. She can feel her warm breath against her neck. Arms wrapped around her and the two blankets she’s pulled around them. She doesn’t deserve any of this—

“I ruin everything—I—Am I the mistake?…” Because it’s true. So why is she asking? Is she so selfish she can’t even face the consequences of her actions? Guilt and shame buzz just beneath her skin. Her marks flicker a soft pink-red. The familiar shame adds itself, deep blue mixing with the red. A purplish bruise under the skin glowing in the dark. Her marks burn.

“Rumi… You’re not a mistake.” Mira says it like it’s the only possible truth. But how? How could that be true! It’s not! It’s absolutely and completely false!!

“No—It’s not true. I know it’s not—” Because she can’t believe it. Because what if it’s not? It’s false! She closes her eyes. Truths no longer feel quite true, burning on her tongue.

“And I know it is. You’re not a mistake. And whoever told you that was wrong,” Mira continues, growling in a low voice, sounding angry but not at her. It’s Mira, after all.

“It’s Céline…” It’s so small. A piece of truth. Soft and real. She—she doesn’t really know what to think—If Céline never fully loved her? Is that so bad? But—what if she was right all along? What if it wasn’t just her demonic side that was the problem, but her entire self? She knows it—She’s always known it in some way. Never good enough, until Honmoon purified her marks. Céline never fully loved her. Not all her parts. Not the unnatural part of her being. It’s like… like a parent who knows, but doesn’t want to see. Who rejects what they don’t understand. Hides it because it’s shameful—A mistake—

But what if she was right?

“She’s wrong— She’s been wrong all along. About you and everything— You’re not a mistake. Is Baby a mistake to you?” Mira’s voice rises above the storm. Weak at first, but growing stronger. As if she were carving the words into something precious.

“No— But it’s not him— It’s me! It’s me!” Her eyes blaze bright yellow and her marks glow. The thunder seems to answer her flare.

“I’m the selfish one! The mistake! And even if Céline was wrong, so what?” She stands abruptly, throwing off the blanket and Mira’s arms. Because she doesn’t deserve any of it. And she knows she’s exhausted, that all of this is too much. But she needs to say it. To understand, to make it understood.

“I ruined everything! So what!? Look! Jinu! I trusted him and nearly destroyed the world! And then he sacrificed himself for me and it’s so much more complicated! And Baby and Romance! I try to help! And what did that bring!? We left them to die! I didn’t think, I didn’t reflect! Because of m-me Baby was— was—”
She can’t say it, not like that. She feels the world pulsing around her. Mira, still seated on the couch, seems to snap out of her daze. She raises her hands as if to calm her, but Rumi doesn’t need calming. No— She just needs to say it!

“I ruined everything! I destroyed Honmoon because of my damn emotions! My own fear! My shame!” Honmoon pulses around her, flashes of gold and pink.

“And the worst? The worst is when I destroyed what I’d built with you— I—” Her arms fall limp, her head drops. Eyes empty with dread and despair.

“I asked Céline to kill me— I— I thought the sacrifice was worth it— I— I’d already ruined everything. So— so I was the problem — But the worst— is that if— if she had really done it? I would’ve been— …the enemy— the demon— the evil—”

Truth. Again and again. Too true. It burns her throat and veins. Her marks pulse with the rhythm of her frantic heart. She feels Honmoon pulse one last time before calming. It’s not okay— She curls in on herself. It’s not okay—

Because even when she doesn’t want to be a burden. A shame to those she loves, she realizes she is… worse…

The abruptness of the hug startles her, both in strength and surprise. Mira. Always Mira. She doesn’t deserve her—

“You’re not a mistake, Rumi. You’re not a shame. You’re not evil. And most of all, you’re not the problem.” The arms hold her too tightly. She’s suffocating, the grip shifts and tightens around her trembling frame. It’s false— So, so false—

“And you’re my sister. You’re my family just like Zoey. I’ll never abandon you. Never, do you hear me? And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry — I love you, Rumi. Do you understand? Do you see it? You’re not a burden!” Mira takes her cheeks in her hands. Her eyes wide, on the verge of tears, panicked. Rumi feels awful— So awful— A nameless kind of awful—

“Say it—” Mira cuts in with a word. An order, slicing through Rumi’s thoughts.

“I—”

“Say it. For me… please—” Mira presses their foreheads together. As if she wants to melt into Rumi’s mind and erase all the bad thoughts. All the sadness and shame.

“I’m your sister,” Rumi obeys, ashamed. Not because she doesn’t love Mira, but because this—

“And I love you. All of you. Demon and human. I love you, my sister.” Mira looks her straight in the eyes. Tears hang from her lashes, unnoticed. Rumi feels her own eyes sting. Warmth rises too. Because Mira is a furnace. A furnace of love and heat, and beside her, it’s impossible to escape her love.

“I love you, my sister…” And even now, the words feel so false. Because how—?

Thunder cracks in fury and Rumi flinches. Mira pulls her tighter into her arms. She wraps around her, pulls the blanket over their tangled bodies. Rumi is pinned under the strength of her arms, slumped and tangled on the floor against the couch, on the too-soft rug.

She sniffles. The tears really fall— Why?— Why— why all this? Why doesn’t she understand anything anymore?—

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
And it’s so pathetic, but there in the warmth of Mira’s arms— her sister, sister in everything, everything that matters— Rumi lets go. It’s messy, ugly, and raw. But it’s… not good— almost, almost—

Mira gently strokes Rumi’s hair. The latter is buried against her chest, seeming to cry out the weight of the past few days. Her tense shoulders tremble and she sniffles harder, her sobs muffled by the sound of rain outside.

She feels ashamed— And guilty, but those feelings won’t help her. She can’t collapse here. Not when Rumi needs her. Zoey too.

She loves them. So, so deeply. Her family, small and dysfunctional at times, but she loves them. She loves Rumi completely, despite and because of her nature. She loves her tender strength, her too-strong arms, her too-soft gestures. Her impatience, her teasing, the morning kisses. The chaotic sleepovers, the awkward comments, the rehearsals that don’t always go well. The failed plans, the good ones, the things that go wrong and the ones that go right. She loves all of it. It’s annoying, even frustrating sometimes, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

But she needs to think. Her sisters need her first, but the two demons do too. She has to calm down. Think clearly and sort her thoughts.

She can’t help but think about Rumi’s revelation. Céline. Why? Why did Rumi turn to her for— for— that?— Did she really think Céline would do it? Would Céline really have done it? It’s so confusing — She’ll need to get to the bottom of it. Not now, but she fully intends to talk to Céline.

Another thought crosses her mind. Darker this time. Rumi sobs a little less in her arms. Mira kisses her gently on the head and snugly wraps the blanket around them both.

Baby. And that single thought, and everything it stirs, makes her boil with rage. Because she’s grown attached. She really likes that damn demon. She loves his shy little habits that shift completely when he’s more comfortable. She loves his voice, sometimes too soft, sometimes too rough. And when Mira loves, she loves deeply. She loves with the fire that runs through her veins, without chains and without fear. Because her love has no limits.

And then Romance doesn’t displease her— She quickly pushes that thought away. It’s not the time. Nor the priority. Anyway, she doesn’t really feel like she has a chance with him. But if he’s open… if she manages to find out who hurt the one she’s maybe starting to see as a little brother— Her blood boils and her mind hisses with satisfaction at the various revenge plans forming in her head.

And tomorrow is another day to come.

Chapter Text

It’s warm. Pressed close to him, held in his arms. His muscles tremble under the slight tension, his fingers tingle. He tightens them. So soft beneath his palms. Right against his chest, a weight not too heavy. A faint shiver against his ribs that tickles gently. A warm breath against his collarbone.

A hum takes over his mind. Heavy in his ears and unpleasant. Especially when everything is so warm. Warm beneath his body and across his chest. He lets his hands slowly drift upward, small back-and-forth motions over the soft surface. The scent makes his nostrils twitch. Chocolate, tomatoes, soap, disinfectant. Fresh post-storm air.

It’s good. So good he never wants to open his eyes. But his face itches and he feels a strange device over his mouth. A small whimper escapes his aching body as the morning light flutters against his eyes.

He frees one hand to remove the annoying device from his face and tosses it aside without much care. Then instinctively curls around the warm thing against his chest. His nose buries into a familiar tuft of hair and he closes his eyes again to sink into it. This is home. His family. His brother. He tightens his arms around him, ignoring the pain pulsing from his injured shoulder and chest. He opens his eyes, his face still buried in Baby’s hair. His own hair tangled on his head. But it’s not greasy and still smells like the coconut he loves. A pleased purr escapes him when he realizes it was his brother who took care of him while he slept.

His thoughts are still muddled. A mix of pleasant sensations and the soft hum in his chest. The light filtering through his closed eyelids, the smells and sounds.
He wants to hold him tighter. His little brother. The baby of the family. The youngest of their demon companions, but the fiercest of them all.

He cracks his eyes open again. Just to see him. To etch his soft, sleeping image into his tired eyes. Baehan is curled up against him. His blue hair tangled in a gentle mess and his face looks so… peaceful. Asleep. Or dead—
He inhales sharply at the sudden thought. Where did that come from?—

He focuses more on Baby’s breathing, the warm breath against his bare chest. It’s good. He’s alive. So warm. So soft in his arms. His sweet round face is hollowed. Fatigue etched into his features, his lips cracked and raw. Romance really needs to do something about that. He knows there are lip balms that help with this kind of thing. And lollipops. Lollipops really help.

Eventually, he realizes Baby is shirtless, the blanket half-slipped down to their feet. He must be cold. Romance grimaces and pulls the edge of the blanket up to cover both of them. He shifts slightly, just enough to get a clearer view.

And Baby’s body is marked. Bruises, small, thumb-sized. A wound on his side tightly bandaged. But it’s the unmistakable mark of… bite marks on his ribs that make Romance see red. Everything comes back. Rage clears his head like the sharpest cold shower.

Anger, pain, and hatred gnaw at his stomach, hissing with fury.

Who. Dared. ?

Baby shivers beneath him and Romance forces himself to breathe. Rage simmers just below the surface. A kettle on the boil. He has to control it. With one last soft hiss, too low to wake Baby, he repositions himself against his brother. The latter instinctively leans into the warmth he radiates. Romance allows himself to purr. Just loud enough for his chest to vibrate against Baby’s face. The younger joins the gentle concert, purring happily in his sleep by reflex and mimicry.
The sound truly helps Romance calm down.

He runs a hand along Baby’s arm. Staring blankly at the bruises, he brushes his thumb over them without pressing. Rubbing gently as if trying to erase them between his fingers. He just wants to wrap around him forever. Protect him from everything and everyone. But he failed—The simplest mission—He should have—

He growls softly. He can’t think like that. Baby whistles gently in his sleep, his eyes fluttering. His eyelids still closed and his breathing quickens slightly. Romance would’ve preferred his brother to enjoy the comforting embrace of sleep a little longer. But he’s instantly more alert when Baby stirs more in his sleep. He whimpers. A sharp, vile sound of distress.

Romance sits up a bit more and pulls his brother closer into his arms. Tightening his hold on his small body. But Baby whimpers louder. He gasps suddenly, as if jolted from a trance, and bolts upright. He shivers as if he’s too cold. His arms wrap around himself and he rubs frantically.

Romance groans slightly at the abrupt movement, his wound pulsing sharply beneath his skin.

“Baehan…” he speaks softly, voice rough and low. He sits up a bit more and positions the pillow behind his back to avoid pressing on his injury and to get a better view of his brother. Baby stares at him distantly for a moment. Not quite present. Romance wants so badly to hold him—And more than anything, he wishes Mystery were here… He was always the best at understanding Baby—Or… Abby… grief presses against his heart as he thinks of his lost love. But now’s not the time—

Baby blinks.

“Ryo… meong?” he mumbles, not quite there. Romance lets his hand hover, just beside his brother. Baby glances at it, still looking surprised. His posture relaxes slightly and he shivers again. Still shirtless in the cool morning air.

“Come here?” Romance asks gently, inviting his brother by opening his arms. He lets his chest vibrate again with a soft purr that hums among the machines’ beeping. Baby stares at him for another second before slowly sinking back into his arms. Romance adjusts the blanket and holds Baby. Wrapping him in the protective cocoon.
Romance’s purring intensifies, knowing the steady rumble is soothing and that Baby especially loves it. A second soft growl joins his. Baby finally responds, calming down. He buries himself deeper against Romance’s chest. The latter stifles a brief hiss of pain as his wound tugs slightly, but Baby doesn’t seem to notice. His head rests against the least injured part of Romance’s chest. He stares blankly ahead. Baby’s fingers find Romance’s and knead them absently. Romance gently squeezes and releases them in rhythm.

It feels like it lasts forever. A soft eternity of calm. Sunlight filters in, broken by the curtains covering the large windows. The room still smells a bit too much like hospital disinfectant, but it’s comfortable.

“You—You weren’t doing well,” Baby finally says, his eyes still lost in the void. The usual morning recalibration, Romance supposes.

“I’m better. As long as you’re here.” Romance replies without interrupting his purring. Stay calm, stay steady, and most of all, stay for Baby.

“But I wasn’t there—” Baby says in a tiny voice, shivering suddenly against Romance’s chest. The latter strokes his head and takes Baby’s fingers in his again to gently play with them.

“I missed you.” He says simply, because it’s true. He doesn’t want Baby to blame himself for anything, but he can’t lie and say everything’s fine. He presses his nose against Baby’s head.

“But it’s okay. I’m fine, thanks to you.” He closes his eyes, still buried in his brother’s hair. Because the words are starting to weigh heavier. Bringing with them the latent grief. He wants to beg him never to leave. Stay here forever. Don’t drift away. Stay safe with him. Because he’s all that’s left. His whole world is cradled in his arms. But it’s too heavy. His love is too big. He knows it. He’s really trying to control it, not to be obsessive, but what can he do when it feels like his brother always ends up hurt when he’s away?

Before, he could count on the others. But after, Jinu betrayed them. He never doubts Abby or Mystery. Never. But the doubt lingers. Not against them, no. But what about the others? If he can barely trust someone he considered family, someone he loved for so many years, how can he trust anyone else? He’ll protect Baby from everything, even from himself. From Baby himself and from himself if he must. And if Baby ever decides to betray him for some reason—

Romance will follow him or die. Because he is a creature of love, and without love, he is nothing.

“I—do you love me?”

The question knocks the breath out of him. Because why is it being asked? How can it even be asked? He inhales sharply, and Baby stiffens in his arms, seeming to take it as a sign of rejection. No. No and no. Romance will never, ever let his brother think that. He has to erase any misunderstanding from his mind as quickly as possible. The most suspicious part of his brain tells him this must be a trap set by the huntresses, that they’re the ones who planted these ideas in his brother’s head. But the more rational part sees clearly that Baby is probably just as shaken as he is by Jinu’s betrayal and the loss of the rest of their family. And Baby has abandonment issues.

“I love you. I love you so much. Please don’t doubt that,” he whispers, Baby’s hair tickling his nose.

“But I—” Baby stops. But Romance hears the unspoken words clearly. As heavy as a sentence.

“You’re not a burden. Have I ever lied to you? I love you.” He repeats it, because how else can he convey the force that overtakes him? The warmth pulsing through his veins? The silent rage against everyone who’s ever hurt his precious brother? How can he explain in words the depth of his entire being?

“…sorry,” Baby whispers, buried in his arms. But Romance feels his brother slowly relax. As if, with that one phrase, he had erased all his doubts and fears. Romance knows what the fear of abandonment does, and he understands it better than anyone.

“Don’t apologize, Baehan. I love you,” he repeats, because it can never be said enough. Because his brother needs to hear it and carve it into his memory again. Because Romance needs to say it so he doesn’t explode under the heat of his love.

It almost burns, rising in his throat like bile. Between his lungs and through his arteries. He needs to calm his emotions before they overwhelm him again. That thought brings Abby to mind. Again. All his thoughts circle back to him. Abby understands. Carries his fierce love without ever buckling under the weight, and even manages to soothe him when the love burning inside him becomes too much, even for himself. Abby was his everything.

“It’s just that… I miss them and—and if Jinu—” Baby interrupts Romance’s thoughts again. He realizes he’d been staring into space. Baby is still curled up against him.

“Jinu was a traitor,” Romance cuts in. His voice cold at the thought of the one who abandoned them.

“What if he was right? To leave us? What if he… doesn’t regret it? What if it’s better?” Baby continues, seemingly unable to stop. The cold rage returns to Romance’s veins. Hissing beneath his overheated skin.

“Jinu doesn’t deserve your love, Baehan. He betrayed us. He turned against us. His family. Making the same mistakes twice. We shouldn’t have trusted him in the first place. He got exactly what he deserved.” Romance hisses. If that traitor were still alive, he wouldn’t be for long. Romance would kill him again. The pain pulses sharply between his ribs. More psychic than physical. He ignores it, because anger is easier than betrayal.

“But is it bad—if—if I still love him? He left, but I—I don’t know why it hurts so much—” Baby stammers, struggling to articulate his thoughts.

“It’s normal…” Romance sighs softly into his brother’s hair. “Betrayal is the worst kind of pain. Because it comes from people you trusted. People you gave your life to—and would’ve given it willingly.” Romance knows. Baby knows. But the reminder still stings.

“And Abby and… Mystery?” Romance winces at the question. Of course, if Baby has started doubting him—which is normal after Jinu—he’ll also doubt the love Abby and Mystery have for him. Especially now that they’re—not able to be there for him…

“I’ve known Abby and Mystery far longer than Jinu. Don’t doubt them. They love you like I love you.”

“And me?”

That one, Romance has the answer to. But how can he explain, once again, that he’s ready to follow Baby to the ends of the earth? To destroy for him? To tear the huntresses apart if Baby truly wants it? How can Romance explain that he lives only for him? His brother. Especially now that he’s all he has left.

“I don’t doubt you. Ever.”

“You—You’re not mad at me, then?” Baby lifts himself slightly to look at him, and Romance shifts to give him space.

“Why would I be mad at you?” Romance asks gently, slightly confused by the question but always ready to reassure his brother. He gently plays with Baby’s fingers.

“Like for being—for having…” He gestures broadly toward his body, and Romance begins to understand where this is going. The dull anger starts buzzing again beneath his skin.

“But—it’s okay, right? I did it for you. To get the medicine—So it’s okay, right?” Baby lowers his eyes, looking ashamed but hopeful.

Romance’s entire world freezes.

“What?” The sound comes out strangled. Baby looks at him, confused, but blushes slightly, clearly embarrassed.

“For, uh—selling my services? Rumi told you, right? You needed medicine because the wound got infected but—I didn’t have any money.” Baby pouts, still embarrassed. Trying in vain to hide the shame he feels. After all, if he did it for Romance, it must count? A necessary sacrifice. It’s good. For his brother.

“Well it wasn’t that bad. It was quick… well, almost. And it was for you, because you needed it and if, uh—if I didn’t get the medicine you would’ve died. So—A necessary evil…” Baby waves his hands, trying to explain himself while Romance remains frozen in shock.

“A necessary… evil?” Romance mutters, his blank eyes turning blazing and locking onto Baby. His little brother. Why? How did he fail to protect him? Rage boils in his gut, hissing with fury. A dragon in his belly. Guilt knots his stomach so violently he’s going to vomit. The painful nausea too. Everything pulses. Beneath his skin, the heat becomes unbearable.

“No. No—No I refuse to—to believe that—why—how could you?” he hisses, emotions overtaking reason. Because how could Baby? How could his brother sacrifice himself for him? It’s Romance’s job to do that—not—not him—How can he protect him—

Baby curls into himself under Romance’s sudden anger. Shame gnawing at his aching insides. But it was for him—He could’ve died—

“You would’ve died otherwise—” he tries weakly, facing his brother.

“Then you should’ve let me die,” Romance growls, baring his fangs.

Baby freezes at that and stares at Romance, stunned. His expression darkens quickly. How dare Romance say that? How can he think for even a second that Baby would let him die? Does he think so little of him? He growls in return.

“Don’t you dare say that,” he hisses softly, kneeling on the bed to face Romance more directly.

“No.” Romance growls back, his arm lifting in a sharp gesture but he hisses in pain as the movement pulls at his wound.

“I did it for you!” Baby continues, a bit more gently this time. Worried, for a moment, about Romance.

“Well you shouldn’t have!” Romance exclaims, nearly frantic. The heart monitor beeps.

Baby feels the nausea rising again. The acidic bile in his stomach hurts.

“You—You can’t say that!” he stammers, uncertain for a moment but standing his ground. “I didn’t have a choice! I had to do it! For you!” His voice grows louder. The sound nearing a scream, his pitch rising in a way it rarely does.

“You can’t!” Romance’s voice cracks. He winces at the strain on his dry throat. “You shouldn’t have! You sold yourself! That—That’s not okay! Not for me!” He’s nearly shouting now, sounding half-panicked. Baby feels the nausea surge again. A sharp pain in his side.

“You destroyed yourself! FOR ME? What was the point?” Romance half-screams, his arms flailing. Baby flinches violently, backing away. At the edge of the bed, distancing himself from where Romance is gesturing wildly.

The pain folds Baby in half. A sharp stab directly in his lower belly. He gasps, his vision blurs, and his hands shoot to his stomach to hold it. He pants silently, eyes wide. This is definitely not just stress.

“Baehan?—” Romance’s voice, hoarse and raw, reaches him through the haze of pain.

The nausea hits all at once. All he can do is turn away—and Baby vomits bile onto the white floor of the infirmary room.

Chapter Text

He grimaces in disgust. Wipes his mouth with his hand and removes the acidic residue from his lips. Baby balances on the edge of the bed and slumps slightly, placing one foot on the floor—away from the puddle—to steady himself.

“Baehan!” Romance exclaims, snapping out of his shock. He leans forward in a desperate attempt to reach his brother and hisses in pain as he pulls on his wound again. Baby backs away from him.

“I’m fine,” Baby grimaces again at the taste in his mouth. He shivers slightly in the cool air, still shirtless.

“No, it can’t be fine! You just threw up! I’m calling the doctor!” Romance shakes his head, more frantic now. His emotions are raw, and he struggles to separate anger from worry. But he knows he has to act. He grabs the call button he was shown how to use.

“I’m fine—” Baby growls, his voice rough and low.

“No.” Romance hisses and presses the button. Baby’s eyes widen, shining with silent betrayal. Romance winces softly, guilt washing over him. But he doesn’t regret it.

Baby stands. He wavers for a moment, and Romance reaches out in a futile gesture to help. Baby manages to steady himself, picks something up from the floor—his old, still-dirty sweater—and puts it back on.

“Baehan…” Romance sighs, silently pleading for Baby to understand his action. Baby bares his fangs without replying and leans against the opposite wall without a glance. Romance figures he deserves it. And maybe that’s what hurts the most.

He shifts slightly, trying to find a less uncomfortable position for his wound. Time seems to stretch endlessly. Only the hum of the machines keeps the silence from feeling completely empty.

Someone knocks at the door. Without a word, Baby goes to open it. It’s the doctor—or rather, the female doctor accompanied by a young nurse. Baby quickly retreats to his corner without giving them another look. Watching silently from the background.

The doctor doesn’t comment and enters, followed by the nurse who rolls in a small cart carrying the warm scent of food. Romance’s stomach growls.

“Hello,” she smiles gently. Her long brown hair is tied up in a bun, and little metallic stars dangle from her glasses, sparkling in the sunlight. She radiates a soft aura despite her tall frame.

“I’m Dr. Hana Becker, but you can just call me Hana.” She smiles warmly as she approaches, picking up the strange transparent mask connected to a tube that Romance had carelessly tossed earlier. She rearranges the machines while checking the papers she brought.

“Romance,” he says his name, not really wanting to say more. This woman is suspicious—too warm not to be suspect. But at least she’s better than the huntresses.

“Saja Boys? A pleasure to meet you.” She keeps smiling, seemingly unaware that Romance has frozen, still staring at the papers in her hands.

She eventually looks up and notices Romance’s tense, rigid posture. She winces, realizing her slight misstep.

“Don’t worry, I’m bound by confidentiality—me and the entire team.” She tries to reassure him, and thankfully Romance seems to begin relaxing. Not fully comfortable, but enough.

“So how are you feel—” She’s suddenly interrupted by a crashing sound. The nurse is on the floor, trying to contain the damage from the fallen lasagna dish. He had been cleaning the puddle of vomit when he accidentally bumped into the low table.

“Nathan, can’t you be more careful?” Hana tries to look stern, but her amused smile betrays her. Nathan’s clumsiness is legendary in their team, but he makes up for it with his natural ability to put even the most anxious patients at ease with his relaxed attitude and small stature that makes him far less imposing or threatening.

“Sorry,” he groans, still red-faced, trying to clean up faster. Baby presses closer to the wall, growling under his breath.

Hana shakes her head, the little stars on her glasses swaying with the motion, catching the light like real stars in the morning sun. Romance looks away.

“As I was saying, are you feeling okay? Did you sleep well?” She refocuses on her patient. He’s propped against a pillow in a position that’s not ideal for the wound she spent hours cleaning just days ago. But he still doesn’t look very comfortable, so she figures she’ll let him be until he relaxes enough.

“It’s not me. Baby’s not okay, he just won’t admit it.” He blurts it out almost too quickly, turning his head toward the other boy standing in the corner. Hana had noticed, of course, but chose not to comment to avoid making either of them more guarded.

“Oh? What happened?” she asks gently, sitting down in a chair to appear less imposing. She knows her height can be intimidating. Baby, still in his corner, bares his fangs, arms crossed, but says nothing.

“We… were talking—” Romance hesitates slightly on the word before continuing. He doesn’t look at her, still focused on Baby. “And he suddenly started hurting and threw up. I think it’s happened before.” Romance finishes softly, looking at Hana with a mix of determination and concern.

Well, that could be worrying. Hana still hasn’t had the chance to examine Baby and knows very little about demon biology. All their data comes mostly from Rumi and a bit from Romance. Rumi had pulled her aside some time ago to talk about Baby’s injuries, and even though she was stingy with details, Hana understood there was more to it.

She turns her gaze toward Baby and Nathan. The latter has finished cleaning and is trying to start a conversation with Baby, who remains curled in his corner, arms crossed and brows furrowed.
She sees the gesture that changes everything—too late.

Nathan, animated while telling a cheerful anecdote, casually places his hand on Baby’s shoulder. There’s no sound when Baby suddenly stiffens, eyes wide. Nathan seems to realize his mistake, but before he can move his hand, he’s violently shoved backward.

Nathan crashes into the rolling cart with a pained groan, metal utensils clattering onto his head. Baby stands frozen, his breathing too fast, echoing through the room.

“Baehan!” “Nathan!” Two voices shout at once. Romance tries to get up, but Hana firmly holds him back before rising herself.

She rushes forward to check on Nathan, but she must look too urgent—or too imposing.

Baby bolts.

He didn’t want to.

Not really, not yet. But it was too much. His skin is too sensitive beneath the too-soft fabric of his sweater. He wants to scratch, to tear it off. His skin or the hoodie. He feels the touch on his skin again. Too warm. Too heavy. The sensations he’s trying to forget, the memories he’s trying to bury but that keep resurfacing again and again. It was for Romance! For him, for him, for him!

…

Why doesn’t that thought help anymore? Why is shame swallowing him whole? W-Why does Romance have to be such an idiot!?

He’s angry and sad at the same time. Guilty and ashamed. His stomach hurts, his eyes, his throat, his head, his side. His legs tremble, his belly growls, the nausea still lingers despite his empty stomach. The dizziness makes the white world spin. Or is it him moving? He runs.

He wants Mystery — wordless silences and arms around him. The scent of salty popcorn and wet dog clinging to his skin. A dark room and a purr too rough and jagged, closer to growling. The weight that holds him down, against him, the cool warmth—

He bumps into someone.

“Whoa—” A small cry of surprise escapes the person who wraps their arms around him. Fresh cinnamon and spices. Hands almost cold. Rumi. He sinks into her. Wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face against her chest to block out the light. He feels her arms tighten around him, making gentle back-and-forth motions along his spine, then up to scratch softly at his scalp. He whimpers, unable to say anything more.

He no longer knows what he feels. Everything is so blurry and he’s so angry and betrayed — But he doesn’t want to leave Rumi’s arms. She—She didn’t have the right. But he doesn’t care. Stop thinking.

“Baby… are you okay?” He wants to growl at the too-soft question, a whisper in his ear. Does it look like he’s okay? He growls without moving.

“Sorry,” she eventually murmurs, and Baby knows she’s not just apologizing for the question. He feels himself relax slightly. Rumi slowly climbing back up in his esteem.

“So what’s going on?” Another voice, flatter. Mira. He feels Rumi shrug. She shifts a little, her hand leaving his hair, and Baby could almost whimper at the loss. But Rumi gently pulls away, forcing Baby to loosen his grip just enough to see her offering him something. A lollipop. Okay yeah. He could forgive Rumi for now. But he’s still angry. Just a little less. He takes the lollipop and Rumi smiles, looking pleased that her offer was accepted and far less tired than the day before.

He nods and quickly unwraps the lollipop, popping it into his mouth. He pulls his hood up over his head and clings to Rumi’s arm, which she lets him do. His throat is too tight. Another block.

“Shall we go? I’d like to check on Romance, if you’re okay with that?” she asks while Mira watches silently from a corner. He bristles. He’s not fragile. He nods again. He hopes they just think he’s sulking or too angry to speak. He doesn’t really want them to know he physically can’t speak right now.

Mira grumbles and starts moving. That lets Rumi turn away from Baby to look at her. He relaxes slightly when all eyes aren’t on him. Rumi finally starts walking toward the room he just fled. He can’t help but hide behind her.

Mira knocks on the door too abruptly, and it’s instantly opened by a soft face flushed with embarrassment, chestnut strands falling from her bun. Nathan glances at Baby, who hides further behind Rumi. Nathan blushes and lowers his head before stepping back. Rumi gives the two of them a strange look before stepping into the room.

Dr. Hana is examining Romance and trying to calm him down so he doesn’t go chasing after Baby, when the latter notices them.

“Baehan!” He then notices the huntresses arriving and bites his lip, still worried. But Baby is clinging to Rumi’s arm, happily sucking on a lollipop without sparing him a glance. A strange warmth spreads through Romance’s body, a mix of protective rage and insidious jealousy and suspicion.

“Uh—I’m sorry,” Nathan breaks the heavy silence again. He bows in a sincere apology to Baby. “I’m sorry for touching you without asking and I’m sorry for making you panic. I know my gesture was presumptuous and I sincerely apologize for that!” He blushes, as embarrassed as he is ashamed, and closes his eyes, waiting for a response that doesn’t come. Nathan hesitates between standing up to end it or staying bowed—but if he stands, he’ll seem less sincere, and he really doesn’t want—

Something taps his head. He straightens, surprised, and meets Baby’s gaze. He’s still clinging to Rumi’s arm, the lollipop still in his mouth. He’s the one who tapped Nathan’s head without touching him, covering his hand with his sleeve. Baby shrugs and gestures for him to stand up without saying a word.
Nathan can’t help but smile brightly.

Rumi glances around the room. She already feels tired, but oh well.

“Hello Dr. Hana, Romance, Nathan,” she says softly, giving Hana a pointed look to prompt her to explain the situation. Hana nods.

“Hello Rumi, Mira, are you doing okay? I see you’ve brought Baby back with you.” She says, keeping her gentle smile as she adjusts Romance’s bandage, which he doesn’t seem to care about. His gaze remains fixed on Baby. Nathan steps back to stand beside Mira, who watches the scene silently from a corner—he barely reaches her shoulder.

Baby stiffens slightly when the attention shifts to him and hides behind Rumi.

“He needs to be examined.” It’s Romance, his voice still rough but a little less so, a sign he’s at least had some water. Baby shoots him a dark look. Rumi and Mira notice the obvious hostility between the two brothers. Rumi looks more worried than anything, wondering what could’ve happened between them—but it’s not her place to pry.

“Why do you say that?” she asks, curious and still concerned about Baby’s condition, with everything she knows…

“Romance thinks it might be related to an illness. But I haven’t had the chance to examine him yet or determine what it could be.” Hana raises an eyebrow at Rumi, clearly aware that she might know more. Romance follows her gaze. He stares at her, looking angry, but tries to hide it better. Rumi grimaces and silently apologizes to Baby.

“Well… I was thinking about the screening center.” She feels Baby tense behind her and winces when his grip on her arm tightens. Hana raises her eyebrows higher, Nathan quietly gasps, and Mira growls.

“What’s that?” Romance asks, confused and worried by the reactions around him. He hasn’t been in this era long enough to know what Rumi’s talking about.

“It’s ugh—” Rumi grimaces harder, searching for the words. Hana decides to take pity on her.

“It’s a specialized center for screening sexually transmitted infections. They also offer psychological support, especially after assaults of that nature.” Hana sighs painfully as the weight of what she’s saying—and what it implies—starts to settle.

Romance’s face darkens considerably. The silence grows unbearably heavy as the core of his anger begins to literally fill the room. Making the air too hot and heavy, suffocating everyone present. A volcano on the verge of eruption. But it lasts only a second before he takes a deep breath.

“We’re going.” He declares it as fact. A direct order, not open for discussion.

Baby bares his fangs and hisses at Romance, shooting him his fiercest glare. Romance hisses back.

“There’s nothing to discuss, Baehan, and sulking won’t change anything. We. Are. Going.” Romance growls, not realizing it’s the second time he’s said Baby’s real name out loud in public. It’s all too much, and it’s starting to weigh heavily on him.

The two brothers exchange dark looks, both tense as if ready to tear each other apart. Rumi has to step in quickly to calm things down before it spirals out of control.

“Baby, we’re not going to force you to go if you don’t want to. But if we wait too long, things might get worse. Could you at least try? We’ll be there with you.” Rumi asks gently, positioning herself in front of Baby to block his view of Romance. The latter growls but decides to let the huntress handle it. He doesn’t care whether Baby agrees or not, or whether he’s seen as the one being harsh. As long as Baby is safe. He tries his best to ignore the rage mixed with jealousy splitting his heart.

Baby reluctantly lifts his eyes toward Rumi, pouting. He glances at Romance behind her. He’s still angry, and even though he really doesn’t want to go, he understands it’s important. Anyway, it’s just to prove there’s nothing wrong. He nods, and Rumi exhales in relief.

Romance notices and tries his best to ignore the sting in his chest.

“Alright. That’s good. Shall we go?”

Rumi smiles, trying to lighten the mood, but it falls flat. Well, at least they have the outline of a plan. It should be fine… right?

Chapter Text

They walk silently through the bustling streets of Seoul. They left right after a quiet breakfast. Mira stayed behind with Zoey, who hasn’t been doing well for a while now. Rumi is worried about her, but Mira had assured her she’d take Zoey out for some fresh air and a change of scenery. If all goes well, they’ll meet up again at the end of the day—a movie night is planned to try and ease the tension a little. Even Nathan and Hana were invited so Baby and Romance wouldn’t feel isolated or left out by the three girls.

Baby is still clinging to Rumi’s arm, wrapped in a thick navy blue hoodie and loose jeans. A cap pulled low over his head hides his face, and with the hood up, he’s nearly invisible in the crowd. Rumi tucked her hair under a dark hat, her long black coat trailing behind her. A white sweater, a dark beanie, tinted glasses, and a mask complete her urban camouflage.

Romance follows a few steps behind, slightly lagging. He insisted on coming despite his injury and Hana’s recommendations. A black scarf supports his right shoulder—not because he can’t move it, but to prevent the wound from reopening. Beneath the collar of his long beige coat, a strip of white bandage peeks out from under his sand-colored sweater and itches with every movement. His gait is stiff, his torso slightly tilted, and his left hand rests on his side, as if trying to contain the pain. A black mask, beige hat, and sunglasses help conceal his face.

Rumi leads them through the city for about thirty minutes. The crowded, noisy streets gradually give way to narrower, quieter, almost deserted alleys. The chaos of Seoul fades behind them, replaced by a more muted, heavier atmosphere.

They finally arrive in front of a plain building, like so many others. Simple, almost dull. Nothing eye-catching, nothing worth lingering over. Only a small, discreet sign, nearly faded among the colorful storefronts, reads: “Health Center.”

Without hesitation, Rumi pushes the door open, pulling Baby along with her. Romance pauses for a moment at the entrance. Rumi holds the door for him, silent. He takes a deep breath, then steps inside.

The tinted windows didn’t allow much of a view from outside, but the interior is quite plain. There’s a reception desk in one corner and chairs for waiting in another. A clearly plastic potted plant gathers dust, the floor is white, and the walls are beige. Nothing here clearly indicates the purpose of the place, aside from the small sign outside.

Rumi walks calmly toward the woman at the reception desk. Pulled along by Rumi’s firm grip, Baby moves without really walking, still clinging tightly to her. Romance stays a few steps behind, silently scanning the space.

Without further hesitation, Rumi pulls out a card and slides it toward the receptionist.

“For a confidential screening. No appointment.” She pauses for a moment, glancing at Baby, who doesn’t seem to be listening. “A woman, if possible.”

The receptionist looks at Baby for a moment before nodding knowingly.

“Go straight ahead, then all the way to the right—it’s the first door on the left.” As Rumi thanks her and heads in the indicated direction, Romance steps closer and leans toward her ear.

“Are you sure this place is… safe?” he murmurs softly. Not really out of discretion, but more to preserve the unsettling calm of the space. Baby doesn’t seem to be listening, staring at the floor, lost in thought.

“Yes, don’t worry. It’s underground and specialized for people who want to stay anonymous,” Rumi explains without going into detail, and Romance nods. It’s not like they have much choice anyway—and as long as Baby is safe…

They finally reach their destination and enter a small room. There’s a bed in one corner and a few chairs that look comfortable. They settle in silently, waiting for the doctor to arrive.

“Anyway, it’s nothing.” It’s the first thing he’s said since the argument. Baby goes back to biting his lip despite the lollipop he’s fiddling with between his fingers. Romance instinctively leans in to tap his cheek. Baby shoots him a dark look and Romance stiffens before retreating to his seat. He slumps into the chair but stays perched on the edge, as if ready to get up at any moment. Rumi has taken the seat closest to the bed, where Baby has climbed up and is swinging his legs over the edge.

“It’s just to make sure you’re really okay, Baby,” Rumi tries, as much to reassure him as herself. She really doesn’t want to start imagining what might come out of all this…

Romance glances at her from the corner of his eye. Rumi can’t tell what he’s thinking. His face is carefully blank, and only his slightly tense posture and tight shoulders hint at any discomfort. But she’s not sure if it’s because of his injury or everything else. Probably a mix of both?

She gently takes one of Baby’s hands—he lets her—and she plays with his fingers. She knows he used to love wearing nail polish. Maybe she should buy some for him again? For him and for Romance. And also, find a better setup for Romance. He can’t stay in the hospital room forever. He could take Céline’s room. It’s the closest to Baby’s, and it’s not like Céline comes around often. Honestly, Rumi doesn’t want to see her anyway.

Someone knocks at the door, and without really waiting for an answer, a small, round woman enters with a gentle smile. A stack of papers tucked under her arm. Baby freezes instantly and seems to shrink into himself. Rumi stands up out of respect and to take the lead, while Romance remains seated in his chair, looking more alert. His eyes practically dissect the woman, who doesn’t seem particularly bothered.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Soo-Min Who. I’ll be taking care of you today.” She smiles warmly as she introduces herself and steps into the room.

“I’m—” Rumi starts to introduce herself, but hesitates at the last moment. Dr. Who raises a hand and shakes her head.

“I don’t need to know your names, only my patient’s.” She smiles gently and warmly. Baby curls up tighter behind Rumi. She glances at him and sighs softly before moving toward him. She bends down to his level and whispers something in his ear. Baby pouts but eventually nods. Rumi smiles and straightens up under Romance’s inquisitive gaze.

Baby raises his hand and gives a small wave, and Dr. Who’s gaze shifts toward him.

“Alright. First, would you prefer to stay here or go somewhere with fewer people?” Baby shakes his head a bit frantically at the suggestion, his hand gripping the sheets beneath him more tightly.

“Then you don’t mind if I ask you a few questions here? You can just nod or give more details if you’d like. Is that okay?” she asks gently, observing Baby’s still slightly curled-up posture. He nods silently, looking sulky—but it’s more to hide his embarrassment than anything else.

“Are you in pain anywhere? If so, how long has it been and where?” She flips through her papers while waiting for the answer. Baby bites his lip and places a hand on his stomach.

“It burns,” is all he says, but it makes the doctor’s brow furrow slightly.

“Alright. Can you tell me approximately how long it’s been?” Baby holds up two fingers.

“Two days?” He nods.

Romance watches the exchange from side to side. His posture is tense, as if ready to intervene—or even pounce on the doctor if she makes the slightest wrong move. His leg bounces against the floor. Rumi stays close to him and places a hand on his shoulder. Romance looks up at her and, against all his instincts, forces himself to relax. He’ll be no help if he panics more than Baby. And for now, the huntress—ugh—is helping. Might as well consider her a temporary ally for the moment. That’s all he can do.

The doctor notes it down on her papers.

“Good. Now I’m going to ask a few questions that may be sensitive. I’m not asking for details. It’s just to help determine your condition before we move on to the exam. Is that alright?”

Baby nods, looking shaky. He reaches a hand toward Romance, opening and closing it in a clear signal to come closer. Romance’s heart tightens, but he stands up anyway, leaning on Rumi, and approaches his brother. He sits on the bed next to him, and Baby grips his uninjured hand tightly. Romance squeezes it back, unable to find anything to say.

The doctor watches the scene with a soft expression but doesn’t comment. She waits for Romance to settle before continuing.

“To make things easier, you can raise one finger for yes and two for no. I’ll adjust the questions accordingly. Is that okay?”

Baby raises one finger. Dr. Who nods and rearranges her papers without looking at them.

“Has someone touched you in a way that made you uncomfortable? I’m not asking whether it was wanted or not—just whether it made you uncomfortable.” She clarifies, knowing that the question of consent in cases like this is often blurry, especially for victims who blame themselves.

Baby pouts and grips Romance’s hand tighter before raising one finger.

“Was it someone you know?” Baby raises two fingers. Then frowns and lowers one.

“You know this person a little? So not a complete stranger?” He raises one finger.

“Was the contact more physical or verbal? One finger for physical, two for verbal.” Baby raises one finger. He grimaces for a moment before lifting his hoodie and the shirt underneath to show the bruises, then quickly pulls them back down.

No expression crosses the doctor’s face as she remains impassive, but her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly before she softens her features again. Only Romance notices.

“Do you remember if it happened more than once?”

Baby pauses for a moment, as if thinking. Romance clenches his jaw harder. It happened more than once?? He wants to scream and hit something. Preferably the excuse for a human being who dared to touch his brother.

Baby raises his hand and shakes it.

“You don’t remember?” she asks, looking concerned.

Baby shakes his head, then raises two fingers to indicate no. He doesn’t seem willing to speak to clarify.

“Did it happen multiple times in a single evening?” the doctor asks again. Baby raises one finger, and Romance inhales sharply. Baby doesn’t look at him, his gaze fixed on his colorful sneakers, shaking the dangling laces. Rumi places a hand on Romance’s forearm and rubs gently. Romance hates that the gesture actually helps him refocus.

The doctor seems to give them a moment before continuing.

“Did you experience any bleeding afterward or during? Or pain when going to the bathroom? Raise one finger for the first, two for the second, and three if it’s both.” The doctor asks gently, knowing the questions are entering a more sensitive zone.

Baby curls up even more, slumping against Romance as if trying to fuse with him or disappear into the floor. He raises three fingers. Rumi’s hand tightens on Romance’s arm.

“Alright. We’re almost done. Just two more questions.” She smiles, encouraging, and Baby squirms in his seat. Romance wraps his uninjured arm around him.

“Did this person use their hands? Their mouth? Something else? One finger for the first, two for the second, three for the third. If it was all three, raise four fingers. If it was none of those or something else, just raise your hand.”

Baby grimaces and raises one finger, then three. Romance takes a deliberate, deep breath to control the rage boiling toward the world—and toward himself.

“Okay. And now the last question before we move on to the exams. Did the contact happen externally or internally? One finger for the first, two for the second.”

Baby bites his lip harder. His hands rise to rub his arms as he curls tighter against Romance. He shakes his head—not in denial, but more like trying not to remember. His shoulders tremble silently as his breathing quickens. Romance holds him tighter, shooting a dark look at Dr. Who, who looks concerned. Rumi stands and grabs the blanket from the bed, gently covering Baby, who continues trembling in Romance’s arms.

“I think that’s enough questions. Thank you for answering.” The doctor bows slightly. She glances around the room, her eyes landing on Baby’s trembling form under the blanket with genuine remorse.

“I’m sorry for this. I’ll give you a moment. Would you like me to ask a nurse to bring you something?” she asks softly to Rumi. Rumi shakes her head, apologetically.

“Alright. I’ll be back in about ten minutes, and we’ll proceed with the tests if he feels ready. Otherwise, we can reschedule. Please let him know, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you for your understanding,” Rumi finally sighs as the doctor leaves the room with one last glance.

Rumi then moves toward the bed and sits on the other side of Baby. Romance barely glances at her. His head rests on Baby’s, who has thankfully stopped trembling.

“It’s going to be okay, Baehan…” Romance murmurs softly into Baby’s ear. Because despite Rumi’s presence in the room, it just feels wrong to use Baby’s stage name in this moment. “I—We’re here for you.” He stumbles over the word. It still feels wrong to tell Baby he can count on the huntress—Rumi—but unfortunately, and against all odds, she genuinely seems to care about his brother. He saw the money she spent on this center. And more importantly, he saw how she takes care of his brother. She can be the exception for now, even if he still doesn’t trust her.

Rumi smiles warmly at him. He presses his lips together, refusing to acknowledge her. Baby doesn’t pull away from him; he’s slid down slightly, his head now buried against Romance’s stomach. Romance lifts the blanket slightly to see his brother’s face. His eyes are closed, and he seems to be dozing off. Romance smiles at the sight. His heart fills with a gentle warmth at the peaceful image. Baby must be so tired. And even though the soft warmth of love wraps around his heart, rage and guilt still churn in his gut.

“I should’ve done more—I should’ve protected him—” he whispers softly, careful not to disturb Baby’s sleep. He doesn’t know why he’s talking. Why he’s confiding in this huntress he still doesn’t trust. But it weighs so heavily on him that he feels if he doesn’t let the words out, he’ll implode and take everyone around him down with him. He already did that this morning—with Baby himself. He can’t help but hate himself for it.

“He needs you now. And you’re here. I think that’s enough,” Rumi tries to reassure him, gently playing with the edge of the blanket, her eyes never leaving Baby’s peaceful face.

“But I should’ve—I have to protect him. He’s all I have left—” he says in a half-voice. Grief nearly overtakes guilt before guilt reclaims its rightful place, burning through his veins.

“I know he’s strong.” He inhales, running a hand over his face. “I could say Baby is the strongest of us. He’s totally capable of handling things on his own and getting through it but—” He stops and gently scratches his knuckles. “I just don’t want him to have to. And I know it’s suffocating. That my love is an obsession I can barely control now that I’m alone. But I don’t know how to be any other way, and I hate myself for it.” He hisses softly and freezes when he realizes he’s said too much. He’s not used to opening up like this. But right now, it’s—probably too much…

He just hopes she’ll ignore it and not respond.

“Romance.” Damn—He lifts his head, and she’s looking him straight in the eyes. It unsettles him more than he’d like to admit. “You don’t have to let go completely. Just give him space, especially if he asks for it. And let him be around other people without constantly overprotecting him. I saw the looks you gave when he clung to me earlier.” She pouts slightly at that.

“I don’t trust you,” he mutters, and for a moment, he appreciates the flicker of pain that crosses Rumi’s face. Good. She should know.

“It’s not just me or the girls. Nathan, for example—they’re almost the same age, and he could help in other ways. What I mean is… you just need to try to regulate yourself…” she tries again after a moment of silence.

“But I can’t,” he hisses louder, frustrated. “I can’t do it. Not alone. I need—Abby,” he finishes in a sigh, slumping forward slightly. His hand absentmindedly strokes Baby’s hair. The latter drools slightly on Romance’s clothes, and he doesn’t seem to care. “He helped me—”

“I’m—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, Huntress. This is all your fault.” He growls, sounding more resigned than angry. He doesn’t look at her.

Rumi stops, looking hurt, but she takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry anyway. I never wanted it to end like this. But it did. And now I’m here, and I want to help. I really want to help you both, so please—I’m begging you. Let me at least do this for you. Just let me help.” She pleads softly, her expression determined.

Romance lets out a joyless laugh.

“Do whatever you want.” He sighs before adding, “But if you hurt even a single hair on Baby’s head in some twisted attempt to ‘help,’ I swear on everything I own and love—I will destroy you.” He looks her straight in the eyes. Fire burns in his gaze. And despite the injury that forces him to stand more hunched and tense than usual, Romance looks dangerous.
Rumi swallows, but her gaze doesn’t waver. She holds his stare, resolute, as if nothing—not even the threat—could make her back down.

“You have my word.” Romance lets out another joyless laugh at her words.

Someone knocks at the door, and without waiting as long as the first time, enters a few moments later. It’s Dr. Who, pushing a small rolling table that seems packed with supplies. She offers a soft, apologetic smile as she steps into the room. Rumi stands again to greet her.

“Here I am again. Are the three of you feeling better?” she asks kindly, pushing the table toward the center of the room. On top are three cups of something that smells strongly like hot chocolate.

“Oh, you didn’t have to—” Rumi starts awkwardly, but Baby squirms and opens his eyes at the scent of chocolate. He stares shamelessly at the cups and reaches for one.

Dr. Who smiles with a hint of smugness while Rumi sighs in amusement, then picks up a cup and hands it to Baby. He sits up, rubbing one eye as he takes the drink. He remains half-curled against Romance, who continues to hold him tightly—without Baby seeming to mind.

He begins sipping his drink, eyes scanning the room. Dr. Who pulls out what looks like medical equipment from beneath the rolling table and sets it up on the side table in the room. Once she’s done, she straightens and claps her hands.

“Alright. Are you feeling a bit better now? I’m just going to explain the tests we’ll be doing for a full assessment, and then you can decide whether you want to do them today or later, okay?” She speaks to Baby gently. He nods, a little tense, and continues sipping his hot chocolate.

“If you want to stop at any time, you can squeeze your companion’s arm or raise a hand, and I’ll stop immediately.” She emphasizes this gently, just to be sure. When Baby nods again, she continues.
“First, I’ll do a general exam. I’ll look at your skin, your arms, your stomach, and your back. Just to check for bruises, marks, or sensitive areas. I won’t touch anything without warning you first.”

She then pulls out a small stethoscope and a blood pressure monitor.

“I’ll also take your blood pressure, your temperature, and listen to your heart. Just like a regular check-up. It helps me see if your body is reacting to stress or an infection.”

When Baby nods again and sets down his empty cup, Dr. Who continues her explanation, with Romance and Rumi hanging on every word. Baby discreetly grabs another cup of hot chocolate.

“Next, if you’re okay with it, I’ll examine your stomach more closely. You said it burns. I’ll just place my hands gently to see if it’s tense or painful.”

She pauses before continuing more softly.

“If you’ve had pain while using the bathroom or bleeding, it’s possible some areas were injured. I can do an external exam—just looking at the skin, nothing invasive. And if you agree, I can also do a more detailed exam with a small instrument, but only if you feel safe. Okay?”

Romance tenses slightly at that, and Rumi gently rubs his arm. Baby ignores them, still sipping his second cup of chocolate. Dr. Who then shows three small tubes and a sterile cup she’s placed on the table.

“I’ll also ask for a urine sample. That’ll help me check for blood, bacteria, or signs of infection.”

“I’ll also take a small blood sample. Just a quick prick. It helps me check for exposure to infections like HIV, syphilis, or hepatitis. These are standard tests, and they’re very important.”

She looks at Baby gently.

“You don’t have to watch. You can stay close to your brother or close your eyes. I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

Baby pouts, not thrilled about being treated so gently. He feels like a child. Romance rubs his shoulder lightly. He hates to admit it, but it helps ease the knot of discomfort in his stomach. He’s still angry at himself. But right now, he doesn’t think he could bear being away from his brother. It’s a strange feeling. He doesn’t want to think too much about it. He takes another sip of hot chocolate.

“If you’re okay with it, I can also take a swab sample. It can be from your mouth, your skin, or a more intimate area if you were touched there. It helps me check for bacteria or cells that shouldn’t be there.”

She absentmindedly fiddles with her badge before realizing and stopping.

“I’ll only do it if you’re ready. And I can explain each step beforehand. You can say stop at any time. Or you can do it yourself if that makes you more comfortable. I’ll guide you through each part, and only if you feel okay with it.” She pauses, smiling softly at Baby, who has nestled deeper into Romance. None of this pleases him. But he’s not doing it for himself. It’s just for them. Yes, that’s it. Just to reassure them. Anyway, it’s just a bit of stomach pain—not worth making a big deal out of.

“And if the stomach pain is too strong, or if you’re still bleeding, I can request an ultrasound. It’s like a picture of the inside, painless. It helps me see if there’s inflammation or an injury I can’t detect with the naked eye.” He shrugs. He doesn’t need it.

“Finally, I’ll suggest you see someone. A specialized psychologist. Not to force you to talk, but it might help. To express what you’re feeling or put words to it. There’s no right or wrong way to go through what you’re experiencing. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

She then turns to Rumi and Romance.
“This is also for both of you. Families are often overlooked when only one member is going through something like this. Our services are open to you and the rest of your family as well.” She smiles gently. Romance is about to say the huntress will never be part of his family, but he holds back. This isn’t the time or place.

“There you go. Those are the steps. You can do one, two, all, or none. You can change your mind at any time, raise your hand to stop, wave your hand, or even squeeze your companion’s arm to ask for a break or slow down. And I’ll be here to guide you, without rushing. And I’m sure these two will be too.” She smiles softly, nodding toward Rumi and Romance.

Baby says nothing. But he doesn’t pull away. He sets down his finished cup and takes the third. No one stops him. Romance remains tense but continues rhythmically rubbing Baby’s arm. Rumi nods, determined to help however she can.

“Are you ready to begin?”

Baby raises one finger.

Chapter Text

Dr. Who nods calmly.

“Alright, if you feel ready. I’m going to put on my gloves now, and I’ll ask you to take off your sweatshirt if you have a shirt or something lighter underneath. If not, we’ll manage. Okay?”

Baby nods and, with a slight pout, sets down his third cup of chocolate, now just a cold puddle at the bottom. He shifts slightly away from Romance, who lets him go. Baby pulls off his sweater, revealing a light blue shirt as Dr. Who puts on her gloves and picks up the stethoscope.

She then walks toward Baby.

“I’m just going to listen to your heartbeat from your back. May I lift the fabric a little?” she asks again. Baby is fed up—he’s not scared! He can do this, so why does she keep asking again and again like he’s some frightened animal needing comfort? He lifts his shirt, ignoring the tremble in his back. The doctor then places the tip of her strange device against the skin of his bare back. He can’t stop the shiver that runs through him. It’s cold. He tries to focus on the warmth of Romance, which he can still feel even though the latter has moved slightly away.

He wants to say he can do it. That he doesn’t need to be treated like glass. But his throat is tight, as if every word would slice through his vocal cords. Ironic for a rapper. But he reluctantly acknowledges the block. He just doesn’t understand why now. He’s fine.

The rest of the exam passes like a dream. The cold object moves, then disappears. The doctor wraps a kind of bracelet around his arm that inflates, then uses another device that beeps when placed against his forehead. He doesn’t really understand half of it, even though she explains each step before touching him. His ears feel stuffed with cotton. He just wants to curl up against his brother. Or better—his brothers. He bites his lip. He needs to stop thinking about that before grief swallows him again.

She moves her hands toward his stomach, humming soft, reassuring words. He doesn’t even try to understand what she’s saying. His hand reaches for Romance’s—but he doesn’t find it. Romance has moved slightly away. Baby doesn’t know what to make of it. He just wants—
The doctor places her hands on his stomach, where he’s lifted the fabric to let her approach. He can’t help but tense under the touch. Warm hands through the plastic of her gloves. Almost burning. The warmth is welcome—he’s cold—but it doesn’t belong. Not like this. He shivers again when the doctor presses gently on his belly. She keeps humming, but Baby can’t focus on her.

“All done with the surface exams,” she smiles and steps back, and Baby realizes he can breathe again. “Now I’ll explain how the next test works, and you’ll only do it if you agree. There’s a small instrument we can use to look a bit deeper, in the area where you’ve felt pain. It doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t go far. It’s soft, small, and designed not to cause injury. I’ll only use it if you’re okay with it, and I’ll explain every step before I do anything. Okay?”

Honestly, Baby doesn’t want to do it. But he’s not weak. And he’s going to prove it. He doesn’t need to be treated like he’s fragile. He nods abruptly.

“You don’t need to prove anything. Everyone here already sees you as incredibly brave for coming today.” Baby wants to growl at the doctor’s words. He’s not a child. He can do this. He nods again.

“If you’re sure.” She unwraps a small object from a sterile packet and explains how it works. Apparently, the little stick is used to gently press and check for internal injuries. Yeah, no—he’s not so sure anymore. His hand opens and closes around the mattress fabric.

She hands him a towel to place over his lap. Baby bites his lip. His hand rests on the waistband of his pants. Why is this more terrifying than it should be? Why isn’t Romance here? He feels the bed dip slightly beside him and a hand takes his. The scent of cinnamon follows. He can’t help but feel comforted and more at ease as Rumi presses close to him. He no longer sees Romance, who’s moved to a corner of the room. Why is he so far away? He wants to cry. Rumi squeezes his hand tighter. He’s not a child. He can show them. He doesn’t need to be babied. And most of all, he can prove it to himself! He squeezes Rumi’s hand in return and lowers his pants slightly.

The doctor approaches, and he closes his eyes.

He can feel the cold stick between his thighs, as if it’s literally radiating frost. And then slowly, as slow as a sentence of doom, it touches him. A violent shiver runs through his body. The doctor stops. Baby opens his eyes to glare at her. Just get it over with! She seems to understand and continues. It’s so cold. He closes his eyes again and buries his face against Rumi’s chest. Try to forget the cold between his legs with the warmth Rumi gives off. He whimpers softly, unable to stop himself.
A door slams somewhere.
Romance is gone.

He clenches his jaw. Anger flares again in his gut. Why did he leave? Why do they all leave?—He wants to cry or scream. He shivers again. Even the heat of rage can’t make him forget what’s happening. Rumi strokes his hair. He curls deeper into her. Forget Romance. Rumi is his new sister.

Everything felt so far away. As if Baby was drifting from him. As if the room itself stretched to push him away. Romance didn’t feel present anymore. Everything turned gray, colors fading, leaving only Baby shining. His light blue shirt glowing like a beacon in the night. His teal hair sparkling with a thousand stars. But it’s his gaze that anchors Romance. Frozen. Sun-yellow. Desperate. Searching for something they won’t find.

Him. Baby is looking for him.

Despite everything, he’s looking. And Romance, too weak. Not strong enough. Instead of answering the call, he runs. Because he can’t do anything. Nothing to help his brother. Nothing to lighten the burden. He wasn’t there to protect him, and even now he can’t do anything.

What kind of brother is he? What kind of protector does he claim to be?

It’s the whimper that snaps him out of it. Everything becomes too clear, too fast. Rumi is there—where he should be, where he should’ve been—It’s all too much, but she’s there. With him. And it’s as if something inside him has snapped.
He can run like the coward he is. Baby has someone beside him.

So he left. He walks as fast as he can down the white corridors. His wound pulls painfully, but he doesn’t care. He heads toward the center’s reception and, without glancing at the secretary, he pulls the door open and steps outside.

The distant noise of Seoul in full swing is the first thing that hits him. Then the smell. The putrid air of the alleys mixes with the thousand scents of street food. He leans heavily against a dirty wall. It would disgust him normally, but not now. The too-fresh air tickles his nose and he sneezes. He rubs his face carelessly, taking in everything around him. The too-heavy sling, his shoes stained with a bit of mud. The damp ground after yesterday’s storm.

Come on, Romance, pull yourself together. He grits his teeth and growls, not caring if anyone hears him. The alley is deserted anyway. He clenches his fist and slams it violently against the wall.

“Well well, handsome. Not doing so great?” He was wrong. The alley isn’t deserted. A man in his thirties walks toward him. A cigarette in his mouth and wearing a white lab coat. That last detail makes Romance pause. Who wears lab coats as everyday clothing?

He doesn’t answer, and the man steps closer. He places a hand against the wall, boxing Romance in with his arm. Romance bristles and lifts his gaze toward the man who dared to get so close. Ready to snap at him to back off. But the man’s smug smile leaves him momentarily confused.
He grabs Romance’s jaw between his long, dirty fingers. Romance freezes.

How can he be so cowardly?

His shoulders tremble.

He has to pull himself together.

“So, sweetheart? Not going to scream?” The man chuckles. Romance clenches his jaw. His fists itch.

“I like it when they scream and struggle beneath me.”

Romance sees red. His fist hurts before he even realizes what’s happening. The man is on the ground, clutching his bleeding nose.

“Get lost,” Romance hisses and kicks him in the stomach. His hand hurts, but the satisfaction of seeing the disgusting man crawling on the ground is far too sweet to care.

The man scrambles away, throwing a dark look at him.

Is that what happened to Baby? When he wasn’t there? When he couldn’t protect him?

“He needs you now.”

Rumi’s words echo in his head.

“And you’re here.”

That’s a lie—How can he be here? How can he be there for Baby if he can’t even stop panicking over being useless?

“He needs you now.”

It’s true. It’s true.

Pull yourself together, Romance. Alright.

“I did it for you!”

He winces at the memory. He shouldn’t have yelled. He should’ve controlled himself better. Baby’s yellow, desperate gaze from this morning. Curled up on the edge of the bed, terrified but so brave. A perfect mirror of the one he just left behind.
He has to pull himself together.

Because his brother needs him now, and he’d be damned if he doesn’t protect him. Alright, he’s guilty. So what? Alright, Baby hates him! Fine. But he’ll be there. No matter what he feels. No matter what happens. No matter what Baby chooses. Romance will be there because that’s his role. And if he can’t do it? Well… part of him is relieved that Rumi stayed with Baby.

He straightens up. His nails deeply embedded in the palms of his hands. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to leave deep violet marks. He turns and reenters the center with determined steps. Forgetting, for now, the excuse of a man who ran off. It’s not like he was someone worth remembering anyway.

He nods to the receptionist, who nods back as he heads toward Baby’s room. He knocks more to announce his presence than to actually ask permission to enter and steps into the room. Only Rumi is on the bed. It feels like the floor collapses beneath his feet.

“Don’t worry. He’s here.” Rumi seems to catch his concern and points to a door he hadn’t noticed. “He’s in the bathroom finishing the tests. Just the blood samples left. We were waiting for you.”

Rumi says, staying in place. Dr. Who is in a corner of the room where there’s a sink and some medical equipment, seemingly washing something.
With a light sigh of relief, Romance heads toward the bed where Rumi is sitting, without really thinking. He climbs up quickly, and silence settles again.

“Feeling better?” she asks in a whisper. She props herself on one hand, subtly leaning closer to him. He nods slightly.

“I’ve been thinking.” He doesn’t really know how to phrase it. That he’s decided to be there for Baby despite his own conflicts? To give him space despite wanting to protect him from everything and everyone? He said it himself. Baby is strong. Baehan is a name that doesn’t suit him at all. He knows he can’t do it alone.

“I’m going to try. To—to give Baby space… I know I can be too much sometimes—But how can I do that when—he’s like this?” He winces, ashamed of his stumbles. He rubs his knuckles harder, which are starting to hurt. Even though his right arm is in a sling, he can still move his right hand.

“It was easier with—” He clenches his fist, biting his tongue before saying it again. He misses him so much—

“It was easier with Abby, huh?” Rumi finishes his sentence. Part of him bristles at how easily she says his name. As if it wasn’t entirely her fault he’s gone. But she’s helping too. And maybe that’s the worst part.

“You know, there’s something else that might help you.” She shifts slightly, seeming to sense his discomfort.

“Oh yeah?” It slips out, harsher than he intended.

“Therapy. Or just talking to someone who knows what they’re doing. It could help you as much as it might encourage Baby to get support too.”

Romance wants to scoff at the suggestion. He doesn’t need to sit and talk to someone for hours. He doesn’t even see what good it would do… But what if she’s right? What if it really helps him better manage his—lack of a better word—obsession?

“I don’t know.” He’s really not sure. Yeah, maybe it could potentially help in some way. But is he ready to share such things with someone he doesn’t know? No. The real question is, is he even ready to put it into words?

“You don’t have to know right now. But just thinking about it is a step forward.” Rumi smiles gently, looking encouraging. Romance looks away. A strange feeling settles in his chest. But before he can figure it out, the bathroom door handle turns and Baby comes out with a small cup. He sets it on the coffee table and squeezes himself between Romance and Rumi, like that’s exactly where he belongs.

Dr. Who seems to take that as a signal to approach them. She stores the cup in a corner.

“Ready for the last test?” She smiles softly and pulls out a needle. Baby shivers in Rumi’s arms but nods. He rolls up his shirt sleeve to his bicep, and Dr. Who steps forward without a word. Seeming to understand that Baby is more than ready to finish this.

It doesn’t take long. Baby even gets another cup of hot chocolate from the doctor. Which he takes without hesitation. They’re then moved to another room to wait for the results, about thirty minutes.

Baby shifts uncomfortably on one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room. Still wedged between Rumi and Romance. One is on her phone watching silly videos, and the other seems lost in thought, staring at the off-white wall clock like he wants to set it on fire.
He squirms in his seat, the ticking of the clock becoming omnipresent. His fingers itch to write something. He should’ve brought his notebook. He grimaces, remembering he left it in Romance’s infirmary room. He’ll have to grab it quickly and hide it. Maybe in his room? It’s weird to think he technically has a real room now. He’s just desperately trying not to think about why they’re here. Because everything’s fine. In the best of worlds. Romance is okay and healing well. Even if, for now, he doesn’t want to talk to him. Rumi is kind. He’s still a bit mad at her, but he’s decided to ignore it—otherwise he’ll have no one to talk to. Mira is cool, he guesses, but she’s still too—um, new? He doesn’t know her well, and besides—it’s not like Rumi. She’s the one who actually killed, and she’s the one who hurt Romance—Even if Rumi vouches for her, it’s still not—okay—

Too lost in thought, he doesn’t notice the doctor’s arrival until Romance suddenly straightens beside him.

“Based on the test results…” Dr. Who begins gently. Baby finds himself growing more anxious. His leg bounces against the floor, hanging on the doctor’s every word.

“It appears you have a chlamydia infection. It’s a common STI that can be treated effectively with the right medication.” The doctor continues speaking, but Baby doesn’t hear anymore. His ears ring. The ticking of the clock grows louder in his mind, like a funeral bell.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He’s fine.

He’s fine.

So why isn’t he?

Chapter Text

Some fanart of Romance because I'm obsessed with her outfit :')
He's a diva and no one can convince me otherwise lol.

And now some image of Nathan, I had started researching his style and it inspired me way too much 7w7

And finally, here comes Baby! I'm still researching his style (something like 'soft emo' but I'm still seeing) let me know what you think! (The first picture is my favorite:'))

Chapter Text

He scribbles random words, sitting cross-legged on his bed. The blanket wraps around him and over his shoulders like a strange pair of wings. Or a nest. His hand almost hurts from how tightly he’s gripping his pen. The sound of water from the shower he left running as background noise doesn’t even stop his thoughts. Everything is too—

He chews harder on the stick of the lollipop he finished long ago. He still has the whole pack, but it’s too far. And if he leans over to grab it, he risks losing the comfortable position he’s in.

“So you like sitting alone in the dark?” A soft voice echoes from the door he left slightly ajar. His pupils shrink at the hallway light hitting his face directly, and for a moment, he can’t see who’s at the door. He doesn’t recognize the voice.

A slightly smug smile on a pretty face. A lovely fringe of chestnut hair falls over green-gray eyes. Nathan.
He doesn’t really know how to react. He doesn’t really know this guy, and the last time he saw him was this morning, when he panicked like a kid because Nathan touched him.

Nathan steps into the room, and Baby can’t help but hiss, showing his teeth slightly. His eyes gleam as he scans Nathan from head to toe. He’s wearing a pretty cool outfit, Baby can admit that. A crop top showing a flat, pale stomach. Loose denim shorts layered with a small asymmetrical skirt. A few chains hang from it, and his hair is down, floating around his neck.

Baby can’t help but feel a little jealous of his presence. He looks so nonchalant. Carefree. Like he has no problems. Baby can’t help but envy him.

Nathan raises his hands, palms forward, and steps back. He keeps a slight apologetic smile. Baby still says nothing.

“Sorry, I should’ve asked… For this time and this morning. Again, sorry for touching you without asking.” Nathan rubs his neck slightly. Baby nods sharply, still silent. His eyes shimmer gold and blue at times, and his soft-looking hair shifts with the movement. Nathan really wants to touch it. He can’t stop thinking about it, and the more he looks at Baby, the harder it is to think about anything else. He looks so much like a cat—a traumatized, slightly aggressive cat, but still a cat. Especially now, curled up in his bed-nest, like he’s about to pounce and claw his face. And that little hiss? How is Nathan supposed to resist that? He’s always been a cat person—

“So?” Baby’s voice asks. Low and raspy. Deep and vibrating in the air. Nathan can’t stop the little shiver that runs through him. He blushes when he realizes he’s been silent too long. Oh god—Why can’t he just be normal? He must’ve stared too long! He’s so awkward—What if Baby thinks he’s weird? Why is he panicking!?

“Uh—I—the movie! Yeah—the movie! Rumi asked me to come get you!” He blushes even harder at his stammering and, like the biggest idiot, trips over his own feet and falls face-first onto the floor. He stays there for a moment, caught by the too-soft rug. Can he die now, please?

A little hiss, not like the one earlier, is the only thing that makes him lift his head. He’s sure his face is now tomato-red with embarrassment. Baby is leaning over the bed to look at him. His hand covers his mouth, but his eyes are squinting and… is he laughing? Another little hiss, definitely a stifled laugh, confirms it. And despite his embarrassment and the shame of being such an idiot, Baby’s laugh lifts the weight like it never existed, and Nathan can’t help but laugh with him. It’s the first time he’s heard Baby laugh.

He sits up on his knees, laughing lightly from both embarrassment and a bit of joy as he realizes Baby is opening up to him. It’s so nice and cool! He could stay here forever, listening to the sound of his voice.

“You’re weird.” Baby has stopped laughing, but his eyes are still squinted and his lips slightly curled upward.

“I get that a lot.” Nathan smiles softly in return, a nearly overwhelming warmth in his stomach. But not unpleasant. It hums like a cat’s purr. “You coming to watch the movie?”

Baby doesn’t answer and just flops down flat on his stomach at the edge of the bed, letting his arms dangle. He doesn’t seem to want to move, just staring at Nathan without even trying to hide his analysis. And Nathan realizes he’s way too close. He entered the room without asking! Okay, he fell, but still! Does Baby want him to leave? Did he cross a line again?

He really wants to be his friend—Well, who can blame him? He rarely gets to see his other friends who live too far away, and most of the guys here are old—yes, 30 is old—Okay, there are the girls, but it’s not the same. So he doesn’t want to mess things up with Baby! He ignores the voice in his head telling him he’s just making excuses.

Baby then sits up like he’s finished analyzing and kneels on the bed. He reaches out a hand toward Nathan. Nathan pauses for a moment. Okay. What’s happening? Did he do something wrong? His gaze flicks between Baby’s outstretched hand and his face. Is—does he want Nathan to take his hand? Why? And what if that’s not what he means?

But still… what if it is? Oh god—He’s making him wait again! Without really thinking, Nathan quickly places his hand in Baby’s open palm, aware of how long he’s been stuck in his own head. And before he can even process the gesture, Baby’s warm, slightly rough hand closes around his and he slides off the bed and stands. Helping Nathan up in the process.

Nathan stands, slightly dazed, and has to tilt his head up a bit to look Baby in the eyes. Okay, he knows he’s short, but does everyone have to remind him? Can he just stay on the floor? It was nice down there—

“You don’t want to watch the movie with me anymore?” Baby’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts again, softer this time. Wait, did he say that out loud?!

“Yes.” Baby replies, playfully. Oh god—Can he die now?—

“No.” Baby replies again. Nathan lifts his head, blushing again. Baby smiles like the cat who got the cream. Nathan lowers his head again, flustered and embarrassed.

“I keep making a fool of myself—” He groans pathetically, putting a hand over his face to try and hide his blush. He said it out loud. He’s sure now. And Baby heard it and responded. He feels like all the blood in his body is betraying him, turning his cheeks into tomatoes. Baby laughs softly and Nathan can’t help but smile. Well, he guesses if he gets to hear that laugh every day, he can handle embarrassing himself a little.

“Shall we go?” Baby asks, and Nathan realizes he’s still holding his hand. He nods, now hyper-aware of that detail, and Baby pulls him into the hallway.
Baby leads the way and Nathan stays a few steps behind, light passing through Baby’s hair, bouncing with every step he takes. And wow—what is this feeling?

Baby steps forward, lighter than he’s been in a long time. The smaller boy’s hand is firmly held in his own. Like when he held Rumi’s hand a few days ago, but this time the roles are reversed. He’s the one leading. Guiding. He’s not the one being held—he’s the one holding. And that feeling of control, even slight, almost insignificant, is the best thing he’s felt in far too long.

Being with Nathan is different. He doesn’t know him, but he’s kind—and most importantly, yes, he doesn’t know him. They have no shared history. Nathan has never been a former enemy or an overprotective brother. Nathan is just Nathan, and it’s so much simpler. Well, sure, their first meeting wasn’t ideal, but Nathan literally apologized even though he was the one pushed. He apologized twice! So now he’s his. Is he possessive? Maybe. It’s not that he wants to own him. He just needs to prove he can be the one who holds, not the one being held. But he doesn’t really want to worry about that right now. Anyway, Nathan keeps coming back every time he’s pushed away, even when Baby hissed at him earlier. He didn’t flinch under his scrutiny and even accepted his hand. Baby takes all that as signs that Nathan wants to stay with him—and who is Baby to refuse?

He can’t help the little purr of joy that escapes him. He tightens his grip on Nathan. The boy’s hands are almost too cold. Baby has to warm them up.

They finally reach the living room. Mira and Rumi are huddled at the far left, speaking in hushed tones. At the other end, Romance is wrapped in a blanket, his gaze hazy, almost absent. Between them, Hana sits upright, and next to her, someone whose gender Baby can’t quite determine, bundled in a cozy-looking robe.

Baby doesn’t want to sit next to anyone. And Nathan doesn’t seem eager to leave him. They exchange a glance, and Baby turns toward the pile of blankets near the TV stand. He grabs a bunch in his arms. Even though he doesn’t want to let go of Nathan’s hand, he has to. The other boy helps, takes part of the blankets, and smiles at him. Baby purrs.

He drops the blankets on the floor, just in front of the couch, slightly off to the side—at Romance’s feet, but not directly beneath him. He starts arranging them, folding, stacking, spreading them carefully. He builds a cozy nest.

Nathan tries to help, but Baby pushes him away with a sharp gesture. This is his job. Nathan steps back, a bit surprised, and above him, a hand gently taps the back of his head. He shoots a glare at his brother. Romance just rolls his eyes and sighs wearily.
Baby ignores him, stands up, grabs Nathan’s hand, and places him in the nest. He covers him with a thick blanket, adjusts the edges, checks the warmth. Then he settles in beside him, content, and takes Nathan’s hands in his own to warm them.

Huh. Nathan’s warmer now. Is it thanks to the blankets? Doesn’t matter. As long as he’s warm.

Baby can’t help but feel proud of himself. See that? He’s totally capable of taking care of someone. A slight smug smile creeps onto his face as he snuggles closer to Nathan. And he doesn’t even need Romance or Rumi!

Romance isn’t really sure what he’s seeing, and it has nothing to do with the dumb movie the girls put on. Is his little brother really courting a human? He leans forward slightly, careful not to jostle his arm and injury, to get a better look at his brother happily curled up against the human who looks downright feverish, his face red beyond recognition—is that blood dripping from his nose?

Romance sniffs quietly. Baby doesn’t seem to realize what he’s doing, and the human seems too embarrassed to point it out for now. He doesn’t seem to understand what it all means, and Romance is just relieved. At least the human won’t respond to it—at least not yet. He’s really going to have to talk to his brother about this. Being a young demon, less than four years old, it’s normal he doesn’t yet know all the rituals of demonic courtship. He probably doesn’t even realize that every gesture he’s making—the warming touch, the nest—are signs of invitation to a potential partner.

He mustn’t confuse them with something else or do anything inappropriate, especially if this is meant to stay a simple friendship. Romance narrows his eyes at the back of the human’s head, the one his brother is clinging to. The latter shivers. That human better make sure his brother’s attention is nothing more than friendship.

He won’t let Baby be vulnerable again. Not after everything that’s happened. He stifles a growl and glances at Rumi. She looks back at him. Her shoulders relax, relieved, and he gets up to leave. He can’t stay here any longer. Not without losing the last bit of self-control he has and tearing the human apart for daring to get too close to his vulnerable brother. Rumi is here. She’s watching, and that’s all he can ask for right now.

Without another word, he slips away quietly, leaving the others to enjoy their dumb movie. Not noticing the lingering gaze of a certain pink-haired huntress.
Romance goes to settle in the room Rumi gave him, just hoping to find a little peace.