asthroophile - Tumblr blog

asthroophile · 8 days ago

Text

Homesick — SAJA BOYS

WARNING: this story is purely fictional and is not part of the original storyline of the movie or its upcoming season. it was created purely for entertainment purposes, for readers to enjoy an alternate ending— one where everyone is alive.

this story has a long plot— take your time and read it at your own pace. no need to rush— let the story slowly sink into your thoughts and feelings, recommended to be read while listening to music. thank you.

PART: I. SEASONS, II. LOVE, III. LILY, IV. BONFIRE

Today is an important day—the peak of everything, and insanely busy. The Idol Awards! You arrived early backstage, already on the phone, urging them to hurry over so you all could start getting ready.

You’re currently in the dressing room, squeezed into a space that smells like hairspray, foundation, and just the faintest trace of panic. The air buzzes with soft chatter, shoe scuffs, the occasional sneeze, and the unmistakable tension of a performance looming just beyond the curtain.

You’ve somehow ended up assisting the makeup artist—not that you were asked, but the chaos begged for a second pair of steady hands, and you happened to have two. With sleeves rolled up, you’re moving from one boy to another.

You glance over and find Mystery seated in front of the mirror, his back straight, but his shoulders are tighter than they should be. His reflection doesn’t meet your eyes.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, crouching beside him like you’re about to share a secret.

He doesn’t look at you, only nods slightly. “Just thinking.”

You snort, “Dangerous habit.”

That earns you a faint twitch of his mouth. Not a full smile, but enough to let you know he heard you. You gently brush his fringe aside, tucking a few strands out of his eyes. Then you take the smaller powder brush and begin lightly sweeping product along the curve of his cheekbone, careful, steady.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” you murmur, tapping his shoulder once.

You don’t linger. There’s no time, and honestly, lingering would make it weird. You move on to Abby, who’s practically vibrating in his seat, stretching his arms overhead like he’s warming up for a dance break—and in doing so, exposing far too much of his stomach.

You raise an unimpressed brow. “Put your shirt down, this isn’t a thirst trap photoshoot.”

Abby grins like the little menace he is. “What? You noticed?”

“I noticed that you’re gonna catch a cold or worse if you keep flashing your abs in this temperature.”

Still grinning, he adjusts his shirt… badly. He’s obviously still trying to flex even while following your instructions.

You sigh. “Stop posing, you’re not on stage yet.”

You tap his forehead with the back of your brush and move to fix his collar properly. As you work, you hear a dramatic gasp from the other end of the room.

“Do I look too good?” Romance asks, eyes wide at his own reflection like he’s been personally betrayed by his own handsomeness.

“No such thing as ‘too good’ with you,” Baby says from the side, his mouth already full of something suspiciously crunchy.

“Baby,” you bark without even looking. “Stop eating those, you’ll mess up your throat before the performance.”

“It’s just one,” he mumbles with a guilty look.

“No.”

You turn to face him fully. “Sit, now.”

Baby, mid-bite, sighs and obeys, plopping onto the chair like a sulking child. You spin his seat to face you directly and eye him critically.

He raises a brow. “What now?”

“Eyeshadow.”

“What? Why?”

“Because your eyes look too innocent, close them.”

“I am innocent,” he says, but he shuts his eyes anyway.

“Sure you are,” you mutter, selecting a shimmery neutral shade and dusting it across his lids. He sits still, surprisingly obedient. You finish with a soft tap on his cheek.

“And done. Okay, that’s your warning—don’t mess this up by doing something stupid in the next five minutes.”

“Can’t promise anything,” he mutters with a sly smile.

You flick his forehead.

You turn to assess the last two—Jinu and Romance. You’re tempted to deal with Romance last, if only because he has a tendency to flirt with you just to make your job harder. So you choose Jinu.

He’s standing in front of the mirror, smoothing his hair for the fifth time like it’ll style itself into perfection if he just stares hard enough.

“Bend down,” you say, gesturing him toward you.

Jinu tilts his head and leans slightly closer, and you begin to unbutton the top of his shirt.

He immediately recoils a step. “Whoa, slow down. There’s a time and place, y’know.”

You stare at him. “That is not what this is.”

“Oh? Then what is this?” he says with a teasing lilt.

“This,” you say dryly, “is fashion. You looked like you were about to walk into a job interview with your shirt done all the way up.”

You yank him back into position and unbutton two of the top buttons. Then you take a step back to examine him like a sculptor admiring their statue.

“See? Way more stylish. Now grab a belt, your outfit’s lacking structure.” He grumbles but goes to fetch one.

Finally, you move toward Romance, who is still staring at himself in the mirror, adjusting his lapel with unnecessary flair. You come up behind him and hold out a necklace.

“Put this on.”

He takes it carefully, holding it up like he’s trying to read your mind through the metal. “You think it looks good?”

You nod, watching his reflection as he clasps it around his neck. He turns slightly to show you.

“Cool,” you say with a half-smile.

“Oh, you think so?”

“Yup. Stylist-certified.”

He gives you a wink, just as expected. “You look good too.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the tiny smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. You’re about to respond—maybe something sarcastic—but just then, the backstage manager pokes their head into the dressing room.

“Two minutes! Let’s move!”

Immediately, the room shifts—snacks tossed aside, water bottles downed, voices raised in last-second pep talks.

You step back, finally taking a breath.

The chaos is still there—hair gel on your sleeves, glitter on your wrist, nerves bouncing in the air—but as the five of them line up near the door, your chest swells just a little.

You’re standing in front of them, gently herding the group toward their starting positions. The air is thick with anticipation, the kind that clings to your skin and settles into your bones.

“Okay, guys, time to put on your professional faces,” you say, scanning your phone for the rundown schedule.

Your eyes dart through the event flow, reading aloud under your breath, “Opening by the hosts... Saja Boys perform first, then Huntrix and—”

Your voice trails off when you look up and spot Huntrix walking down the opposite hallway with their manager.

“Oh no. Nope, hide me right now—” you yelp, spinning around and squeezing yourself between Baby and Mystery like a squirrel dodging headlights.

“Why?” Romance asks, mildly amused.

“I’m not mentally prepared to walk face-to-face with my idol. Don’t look at me like that—it’s called professionalism!”

You peek out cautiously, checking the time on your phone. One minutes left.

“Baby, you forgot your hat,” you say, pulling it from your tote bag and handing it to him. He takes it without a fuss. Nice. Progress.

As Huntrix and Saja Boys pass each other like rival planets in orbit, the hallway practically hums with tension. You can feel the silent stare-off from where you’re standing—competitive, cold, thick with unspoken history.

“Ugh, look at that smug face. I’m gonna freaking smash it,” Mira mutters under her breath. You glance over your shoulder, catching the tail end of the comment.

“Save it for the stage,” Rumi murmurs with a practiced calm that doesn't quite hide her own irritation.

You turn back to face the boys.

“You guys picking a fight with Huntrix again?” you ask as you guide them closer to the side of the stage where they’ll make their entrance.

Jinu shrugs with that signature half-lazy, half-charming smirk. “Not really? Maybe they just don’t like us.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever. Just do your best, don’t cause trouble, and please don’t disappoint me.”

You flash them a sincere smile and give a thumbs-up. The vibe shifts a little—less tight, more grounded.

Jinu gives you a small nod, still looking unsure. The others follow suit with quiet affirmations. They’re nervous, but you’ve seen them pull through worse.

You start to step back, planning to watch from backstage, but Baby catches your wrist.

You turn, “What’s wrong?”

He hesitates. “You’re not gonna be mad at me—at us, right?”

The way he asks it, so boyish and oddly serious, makes you let out a soft laugh. “Why would I be mad? You haven’t even done anything yet.”

You place your hand gently on his arm.

“No matter what happens out there, I know you’ve worked hard. That’s what matters to me, so don’t overthink it, okay?”

You scan their faces—Baby’s, Jinu’s, Mystery’s, even Abby who’s now fidgeting with the mic clipped to his shirt. There’s something unreadable in their eyes, like they’re trying to memorize your words for later.

Whatever happens next, it’s in their hands now.

“Alright, I’ll be watching from the back,” you say, giving Baby’s hand one last squeeze before letting go.

He doesn’t say anything, but the grip lingers half a second longer—just enough to say thank you without words.

You step away and disappear into the shadows backstage, where your heart races with every second ticking toward their cue.

You’re already positioned backstage, ready to watch them take over the crowd.

“Please welcome to the stage… the Saja Boys!” the host announces, voice full of energy as the upbeat intro of Soda Pop starts playing behind the screen. Lights shoot toward the center of the stage—ready to meet them, ready to explode—

But no one steps out.

You frown, eyes glued to the screen. The music keeps playing for a beat too long. Still, no one. Not even a silhouette. Just empty stage and confusion crackling in the air.

“Did they… miss their cue?” you murmur, already checking your phone. Your inbox and messages are clean—no updates, no revised call sheets. “Was there a schedule change I didn’t know about?”

Before your thoughts can untangle, the host's voice cuts back in, a little too quickly.

“Okay! Uh—there’s been a slight change in the schedule. Here to perform their hot new single Golden—it’s Huntrix!”

Cheers erupt, but all you feel is a sick drop in your gut.

What?

Your gaze snaps back to the screen just as Huntrix begins their performance—sharp, confident, rehearsed down to the tilt of their chins. The crowd roars, completely swept up in it.

And yet, all you can think about is how wrong this feels. Something’s wrong, very wrong.

But right now, that doesn’t matter. Right now, you need to find your boys.

You spin on your heel and break into a fast stride, weaving through the narrow backstage hallways. You ignore the pulsing bass and the cheers thundering from the stage.

Where are they?

You throw open the door to the greenroom hallway. “Jinu? Mystery? Baby?” you call out, voice rising with urgency.

No answer.

You check dressing rooms—empty. Storage closets—nothing. Even the hallway leading to the restrooms yields nothing but cold air and silence. There’s no sign of them. No echo of footsteps. No misplaced article of clothing or clue.

You hesitate for half a second at a door marked Staff Only—then shove it open anyway.

Empty.

You lean against the wall, panting from all the running. Your heart is racing, your breath uneven.

“Where the hell did they go?” you mutter to yourself, frustration biting at your words. Your lungs burn, and you groan under your breath. “I should’ve exercised more and yelled at them less.”

You press your hand to your chest, trying to calm your erratic heartbeat.

“Okay, calm down. Deep breath, in, out. You’ll be useless if you’re panicking,” you tell yourself, forcing air in and out of your lungs. Slowly, inhale, exhale.

Then you notice something.

The faint background music—the one signaling the end of Huntrix’s performance—fades. But the next song that follows doesn’t belong to anyone in the current rundown.

Your head whips up, it’s a song you don’t recognize at all.

You push the Staff Only door shut and start jogging again, this time toward the back corridor, hoping they’ve somehow circled back.

Empty.

The hallway’s dead silent, and a cold chill curls at the edge of your spine.

You exhale sharply. “Dammit, where are they? This is not the time to be playing hide-and-seek!” Your voice echoes back at you. No one responds.

You grip your phone tighter, already opening your messages, preparing to call someone—anyone—when suddenly, without warning, the lights go out.

The entire hallway plunges into darkness.

You freeze.

“…Great,” you hiss through your teeth, “we’re doing a haunted house now? Perfect.”

Frustration bubbles into anger. “Baby was right—I am going to kill you all when I find you.”

You switch on the flashlight on your phone, the dim glow illuminating only a few steps ahead. It’s not much, but it’s enough. You press forward, refusing to let this turn into panic.

You search the back corners of the venue. You even push through the rear doors of the stadium, scanning the outside grounds.

Nothing.

The crowd inside continues to scream and cheer, oblivious to the fact that five boys—your boys—have vanished.

You lower your phone for a moment and stand completely still, chest rising and falling with exertion.

Your fingers tremble, this isn’t just a scheduling mistake, this isn’t just a backstage delay. This is something else. And suddenly, you’re not just angry, you’re scared.

You reenter the stadium, exhaustion beginning to seep into your bones. Your legs are aching, your breathing is uneven, and every step in your heels feels like a knife digging into your soles. The adrenaline that kept you moving starts to fade, and the panic is replaced with something heavier: dread.

You grip the nearest wall to steady yourself. Sweat beads at your temples, you're tired, you're scared. But you can’t stop now. Then, you hear it—voices. Faint at first, but clear enough to catch your attention. You follow the sound, turning through the corridor, heart pounding with hope.

And then you see them. Jinu, Rumi, they're arguing.

You’re about to step forward, to call out to them, when Rumi’s voice cuts through the air like thunder, far too deep for a normal person.

You freeze in place, eyes widening in horror. There’s something wrong with her, with both of them.

Your breath hitches, you see it clearly now—the glowing pattern coiling along Rumi’s face and wrists, like cursed markings ignited under her skin. Jinu’s eyes shine faintly, the same eerie patterns crawling across his arms and face.

Branching marks—like veins, but not natural. They spread like ink, twisting under their skin, pulsing faintly with a glow. Something ancient, something cursed.

“Listen to yourself,” Jinu says, voice low, trembling. “Is it working? You’re a demon, just like me. All we get to do is live with our pain… our misery. That’s all we deserve.”

His words crash into your chest like a wave, knocking the air out of your lungs. You stumble back a step.

No. That can’t be true, they promised. They promised they were done with Gwi-Ma. They swore it.

You try to call out, to stop him, to reach him.

But before you can— Jinu vanishes. He disappears, gone in a puff of soft, pink smoke that leaves the air humming.

You freeze in place, unable to move. Rumi doesn’t look at anything. She stands there, silent, eyes unfocused. Then, without a word, she begins to walk slowly as if whatever just happened drained her completely..

You want to follow her, you want to scream, you want to collapse.

But your legs feel like lead. Your voice is caught in your throat. And the burning pain in your feet from those damned heels is suddenly the least of your problems.

You push through the crowd, searching for an exit from the stadium. Everything is in chaos—people are leaving with confusion and disappointment written all over their faces. The noise is a blur of murmurs, shuffling feet, and irritated sighs.

You glance toward one of the massive screens playing above the plaza.

"Due to Huntrix’s public breakup on stage, today’s International Idols Award has been officially canceled."

Your ears sharpen, you stop and listen.

"Here are the winners of the International Idols Award. Artist of the Year—The Saja Boys," the anchor announces.

You scoff under your breath. “How could they win anything when they didn’t even show up?”

But the list continues.

"Best New Artist—The Saja Boys. Song of the Year—‘Soda Pop.’ Worldwide Icon of the Year—The Saja Boys."

Your eyes flick toward the screen again—just in time to catch a glitch once, twice—like a corrupted file struggling to play. And suddenly, the image stabilizes. But it’s no longer a news broadcast.

It’s them. Your boys, all five of them.

They’re standing calmly in front of a pink background, their eyes glint with something unreadable—too casual, too eerie for the situation. You know those expressions too well. You also know when something’s wrong.

"Hey everybody," Jinu’s voice chimes from the screen. "You must be all sad about the Huntrix breakup—we are too."

He moves, seamlessly gliding from one screen to another, now across the plaza’s massive 3D display, now on a digital billboard across the street.

"So to cheer everyone up, we're going to do a special live performance tonight." Your eyes trail after them as they move across the different screens.

"Midnight, Namsan Tower." Jinu points directly at the iconic tower now glowing faintly in the far distance, his smile widening.

"Don't miss it for the world." The others follow, hands outstretched, inviting. Beckoning.

You let out a weak laugh, a humorless one.

“They’re really acting like none of this is their fault,” you mutter. “Like they didn’t just pull the rug out from an entire show.”

Your fingers tremble slightly as you observe the crowd. They’re… moving. Not just wandering, marching. Their faces slack, eyes blank. Every single person is turning—toward Namsan Tower.

Even Zoe and Mira—whom you’d seen arguing earlier—are walking, no trace of tension, no recognition in their expressions.

You shake your head slowly. “Are they seriously walking all the way to Namsan Tower?” you mutter, voice tinged with disbelief. “That place is far.”

But no one answers. Everyone’s already moving like a hypnotized tide. You want to think it’s just an elaborate concept—maybe a creepy new marketing campaign, something avant-garde.

But your heart knows better. The marks on Jinu’s skin, the way he vanished, the way the crowd looks now—like they’re under a spell.

And deep down, something whispers: this is what Gwi-Ma meant by "almost achieving victory."

You turn on your heel and run—straight toward your apartment.

Anger fuels your body better than any energy drink ever could. Your heels clack sharply against the pavement, your breath ragged, the cold air biting at your cheeks. You don’t care. All that matters is getting there.

By the time you reach your apartment building, your legs feel like jelly. But you force yourself up the stairs. You throw open your front door and rush to your room, heart thundering in your chest.

The closet.

You swing it open—and there it is. The bow.

Your hand wraps around it almost instinctively. As soon as your skin makes contact, the bow gleams. A low, smooth voice fills your ears again, as though whispering straight into your mind.

“We are Hunters, voices strong.” A pause. Then:

“You may not be a hunter by blood, but the resolve within you is real. You want to end this. Help them.”

Another voice:

"Use my bow, (Name)." The voice fades.

You swallow hard, your eyes locked on the shining weapon in your hand. It almost hums with energy—then, without warning, it begins to disintegrate.

“What—”

Your breath catches as the bow dissolves into fragments of light, turning into dust and color and energy. The light wraps around you like a second skin, slipping into your body.

Panic flares in your chest. You gasp and stagger back, grabbing your arm—because something feels off.

There, on your skin. A symbol, glowing faintly.

A mark. You stare at it, dazed.

“I never asked to live in a fantasy world, but... I guess now I’ve got a tattoo from a magical bow,” you mutter dryly. A nervous laugh escapes your lips. “Cool, totally normal.”

You move again, fast. Grabbing your jacket, throwing on your shoes, and stepping out of your apartment. You don’t have a plan—but you have a destination.

Namsan Tower.

You head toward it, running again. This time, you don’t care about the cold, the pain, or the questions still unanswered. Your muscles ache, but you welcome it. You can’t just sit back. Not tonight.

You may not know how this ends. But you know one thing: you’re not letting the Saja Boys fall into whatever trap they’ve walked into. Not without a fight.

You don’t even know how long you’ve been running. The ache in your legs has faded into numbness, replaced by sheer will. You couldn’t take a bus, couldn’t even hitch a ride—every street was deserted, everyone already drawn toward Namsan Tower like moths to a flame.

But finally—you’ve made it. And of course, just your luck, the elevator’s out of order.

“Stairs, great,” you mutter, glancing upward at the winding staircase. “This day just keeps getting better.”

You force yourself up, step after painful step, gritting your teeth as you go. Your breath is sharp in your chest by the time you reach the top. You push through the doors—

And stop cold. It’s chaos.

The Namsan Tower stadium is nothing like what it should be. The flashing lights and cheers from the crowd are gone, replaced by a dark pink glow radiating from a towering, flame-like creature wearing a smiling face. Instead of celebration, it’s a battlefield.

Your eyes scan the scene frantically.

Mira is locked in combat with Abby and Romance, her face set in fierce determination as she blocks and strikes with mechanical precision. Across the arena, Zoe struggles to hold Baby back, arms shaking under his weight as he lunges.

Rumi’s alone, shielding herself from blow after blow as she tries to hold off Gwi-ma, the sudden whoosh as Gwi-ma unleashes another wave of raw energy straight toward her.

But the worst part? Jinu. Just standing there, watching, not helping.

Just. Watching. Your blood boils. They’re attacking girls, your girls. And that? That gives you every reason you need.

You step forward, eyes narrowing.

“Alright,” you mutter under your breath, just loud enough for your soul to hear it. “Breathe, focus, you’ve got this.”

You lift your arm and let your fingertips brush against the glowing symbol etched into your forearm. The moment your skin meets the mark— a spark. A pulse. A warm vibration rushes through your veins, like the string of fate has been pulled taut.

Then, a flash.

A burst of light blooms around your hand, the bow appears in your grip, forming from nothing—sleek, glowing faintly, warm and weightless. The elegant curve shimmers with violet and deep blue, edges traced in soft gold. It hums softly in your grip, alive, attuned, ready.

Your hand moves instinctively into place. You raise it, steadying your stance, drawing back an arrow of pure energy.

Your breath stills.

“You want a show?” You whisper to no one, “Here it is.”

You release the arrow— its light surges forward toward Gwi-Ma, fast and true. But whether by instinct or sheer force of will, he dodges it at the last second, abandoning his strike against Rumi.

“No way… it wasn’t supposed to miss. I aimed with my soul,” you protest under your breath, your frustration rising like static in your chest.

But somehow, your arrow curves mid-air, defying logic, slamming into the beam itself. An explosion of light and sound ruptures the battlefield.

Rumi gasps—alive, untouched. You fall to one knee, shielding your eyes as debris and sparks rain down. You saved her, not how you planned it—but you did it.

Gwi-Ma’s burning eyes now lock onto you, his lips curling into a twisted snarl. "You."

“Wow,” you say mockingly, drawing your bow again as your fingers call forth another glowing arrow. “Never thought my dad would turn out to be this hideous. Truly the family resemblance skipped me.”

His growl shakes the air.

“Ungrateful brat. You should have died with your mother!” His roar sends a pulse of energy straight at you, a dark, claw-like slash of corrupted magic.

You hold your ground, feet planted, body braced. As the attack nears, the air shifts—like a wind passing through the veil between worlds. For just a moment, everything around you slows.

And there she is.

A faint, glowing silhouette appears at your side—your mother. Her hand ghostly, warm, wraps around yours as you steady your aim. Her voice is just a whisper:

“You’re stronger than him, sweetheart.”

Her presence fuels your grip. The bow feels different now—anchored, deeper. You aim again, and this time, you don’t just draw the string.

You draw every emotion buried in you: grief, rage, the betrayal of blood, the weight of every silent night spent wondering what really happened to her.

Your arrow pulses once, twice—then explodes into a searing beam of golden-white. You let it fly. It cuts through the dark like a scream.

You cover your ears as Gwi-Ma lets out a final, piercing shriek—so loud, so inhuman, it tears through your skull like shrapnel. Then, his form—so grotesque and monstrous— shattered into nothing but a cloud of pink dust, scattering like ash in the wind.

A blinding white light followed, stabbing into your vision. You shielded your eyes with your arm, wincing at the intensity. When the light finally faded, you blinked several times, trying to readjust your sight.

He's gone. No trace of him remained. The monstrous presence, the looming shadow, the man who called himself your father, vanished.

You just… killed him, with your own hands.

"Well, great," you mutter breathlessly, sarcasm barely hanging onto the edges of your voice. "Guess I’m getting arrested for patricide now."

The adrenaline leaves your body in a violent crash. Exhaustion hit you like a wave. Your feet give out beneath you, knees buckling like jelly, and a thick wave of dizziness crashes over your head like a tide. Your body is no longer yours—it just falls.

Everything swam in a dull haze. You barely registered the sensation of falling, but you didn’t hit the ground.

Someone caught you. You felt it— strong arms cradling your weight, holding you against a firm chest. Warmth, familiar scent, a heartbeat not your own.

You wanted to speak, but your lips barely moved.

“She… helped me…” you mumbled, unsure if your voice even reached the person holding you. “Mom…”

Before the darkness pulled you under, you heard a quiet voice above you. “I know,” it said. “I saw her too.” And then, everything faded to black.

Darkness. Again.

No floor, no sky. Just that endless weightless void pressing gently against your limbs as if you’re floating in warm ink. You were drifting again, for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Can I get out of here, please?" you muttered to no one in particular, your voice swallowed by the void.

"Thank you." The whisper was soft, almost too faint to hear. Your ears caught it just barely, you squinted into the nothingness ahead of you.

There— someone. Your eyes shift toward the sound, and slowly—faintly—you begin to see a silhouette forming in front of you. Someone unfamiliar.

“For everything,” the voice says again, and the figure steps closer.

Your breath catches.

The closer she comes, the more familiar her features become. The resemblance was undeniable, matching every worn photo your grandmother had once placed in your palms. The curve of her cheeks, the softness of her smile, the slight tilt of her head. Exactly as you remembered from the few fading images left behind.

Your mother. Your real mother.

Your throat tightens. You can’t speak, you don’t know how to move, you don’t even know if this is real.

But she smiles.

It’s gentle, a smile that carries the warmth of all the birthdays she missed, all the bedtime stories she never got to tell, all the mornings she never got to kiss you goodbye.

Your voice cracked. “…Mom?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she says quietly. “But I never stopped watching. You’ve grown up so strong, and so kind… even when the world wasn’t kind to you.”

Her hand reaches out—not touching, not quite, but hovering near your cheek like a whisper of wind, but you felt it. The warmth, the memory.

"I… I thought I was going to die,” you whispered. Tears pool in your eyes. You don’t even remember deciding to cry, they just come.

“You didn’t.” Her voice held pride. “And you protected everyone, even me. You saved them, you ended what I couldn’t.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t do it for you. I… I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

“That’s what bravery is, sweetheart.” She looked into you, like she could see every crack in your heart. “Doing what you don’t think you can, even when it hurts.”

“I just… I just did what I had to," you say, your voice hoarse. “I didn’t save anyone,”

She chuckles softly, “That’s exactly why you did save them.”

You let the silence settle around you. Time didn’t seem to move here, there were no sounds but the two of you.

"...Are you real?" you asked.

Her eyes softened further, filled with something you couldn’t name. “Does it matter?”

Behind her, tiny flickers of light start to appear in the darkness—like stars waking up. Her form begins to glow faintly, slowly becoming one with the light.

“It’s time to go, sweetheart,” she says gently. “But not to me. Not yet.”

“No—wait!” you reached for her, but your hand passed through like mist.

“One day,” she said, her voice already a whisper, “we’ll see each other properly. But not now, you still have people waiting for you.”

“Wait—!” you tried again, but your world tilted. The darkness cracked with light.

You reach for her—but she’s already fading, turning to dust and warmth and memory.

“We’ll meet again. But for now… wake up.”

A jolt hit your chest. The rush of breath as your body remembers how to be alive. You jolt upright, eyes flying open.

You’re in a hospital bed. The air smells like antiseptic and warm cotton. Outside the window, the sky is blue. You’re alive.

Your limbs are sore, heavy like wet cloth, but warm. You shift slightly, and the rustle of hospital sheets breaks the silence.

Someone sitting beside you. Jinu. His head jerked up from where it had rested on your bed. His eyes were wide, lips parting as if he’d been holding his breath for hours.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, blinking like he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. “You— stupid, reckless—do you even know how long it’s been?”

You swallowed hard, voice dry. “…Long enough to dream.” He didn’t understand, and maybe you didn’t either.

"Wait, why am I here? What are you doing here? Where are the others?" you asked Jinu, your voice rough from exhaustion but laced with sharp accusation.

"They're outside, waiting for you," Jinu answered quickly. "Everyone wanted to come in, but I told them I'd be the one. Because I’m the one who should take responsibility for—"

Before he could finish, you punched him in the shoulder.

“You bastard!” you snapped, breath hitching. “Do you even know what you’ve done?! You planned all this behind my back, didn’t you? Still helping Gwi-ma so he could devour every human soul in that damn stadium!?”

You hit his chest again, though your strength was gone. The impact was weak, barely a tap—but your fury carried it through. Jinu didn’t move, didn’t flinch. He just looked at you, letting you hit him again and again with what little energy you had left.

“You absolute piece of—! I trusted you! You told me you were done with him! Done with them!” Your voice cracked, trembling on the edge of rage and heartbreak.

Jinu didn’t speak. His hands gripped the edge of your blanket like he was anchoring himself.

“I didn’t…” he began, voice low. “I didn’t plan for it to end like this. I thought—”

"You thought?” you hissed. “You thought it would be okay to betray everyone as long as you cleaned up after it?! As long as I handled it in the end, right?! You didn’t care who got hurt, who almost died—”

“That’s not true!” Jinu snapped, finally lifting his voice. “I do care! I didn’t want anyone to die!”

“Then why did you stand there and do nothing?! I saw you—just watching while the others were fighting for their lives!”

He stared at you, lips parted, words caught in his throat. Something in his eyes was breaking—guilt or something even darker behind it.

“I froze,” he whispered. “I was scared.”

You glared at him. “Scared? You’re scared? I was scared, Jinu. We all were. But we still fought. We still tried. And what did you do? You watched. You let me think I could trust you, you let me believe you’d changed.”

Silence.

You hated how hollow you felt now that the words were out. Your chest rose and fell heavily. Jinu looked like he wanted to speak again, but you cut him off with a bitter whisper:

“You’re not even a good person now.” And that, somehow, hurt more than anything else.

Jinu lowered his head. “I know.”

“You think standing here all guilty makes things better? After I had to kill— kill—my own father?!”

Jinu’s face twisted, not in pain from your hits, but from the weight of your words. His lips quivered, but still, he didn’t fight back. He just let you.

You hear the soft creak of the door and glance over—everyone’s there. Your boys, Rumi, Mira, and Zoe.

Your brow arched. “Why are you all here?”

“You’re awake!” Abby cried, rushing across the room. He threw his arms around you in a hug far too tight for comfort. You gently tapped his back in protest.

“Can't... I can't breathe...!!”

“Oh, right, sorry.” he said quickly, pulling away. The others began stepping into the room. Baby pushed past Abby in a rush, almost shoving him aside.

“Move,” he muttered curtly, his eyes now locked on you. Taking in your condition, he asked, “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Should I get a doctor?” His hands cupped your cheeks as he spoke, his voice laced with an uncharacteristic worry—far from the indifferent tone he usually carried.

"This is weird,” you joked, lowering his hands gently. “You caring about me? That’s got to be one of the seven wonders of the world.”

He didn’t stop you from moving his hands, but his gaze stayed fixed on your face, as if afraid something might happen the moment he looked away.

No one spoke. The room fell into an eerie silence, their stares were intense, and frankly, unsettling. Why were they looking at you like you were the one who did something wrong?

“Okay, what’s going on? Stop looking at me like that!” you finally snapped.

“It’s just… I don't— we don’t even know where to start,” Romance said quietly, sitting beside Jinu.

“Start with what? You mean… what happened at the stadium?"

They each nodded, one by one.

You sighed, slumping slightly. “Honestly, I want you guys to explain everything. But… something happened to me while I was unconscious. Whatever it was, it drained me. I barely have the energy to deal with this.”

No one responded. You frowned.

“Okay, okay, I’m kidding. I do want to hear it,” You offered a small smile to ease the tension.

Mystery hesitated, then finally spoke. “As you already know about Gwi-ma… he helped us, and in return, we became his demons. He marked us with those patterns, and in return, we owed him souls.”

“And the stadium incident…” Mystery hesitated, “That was Jinu’s doing.”

Your gaze shot toward Jinu, filled with a thousand questions.

“Listen,” Jinu began, voice low, “Gwi-ma kept pushing us to deliver him human souls. I didn’t want to do it anymore—especially not after I met you.” He paused. “The voices... he used them. He preyed on my guilt, my weakness, anything he could manipulate just to make me obey."

"Please, I didn’t want to do it. I swear, I never wanted to hurt them. If not for that damned contract I made with him, none of this would’ve happened. I... I regret everything. Every choice I made back then.”

He sat there, shoulders hunched beside your hospital bed, fists clenched tight in his lap. He didn’t dare meet your eyes.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t even know how to respond, part of you wanted to call him crazy again—but how could you, after everything you’d seen? All the madness was real, and if it kept going like this… maybe it would drive you insane too.

“I honestly don’t understand what the hell just happened,” you muttered. “Demons, Gwi-ma, hunters? What the hell is this? Are we seriously living in a modern world and dealing with stuff like this?” You let out a soft laugh—bitter, disbelieving.

“I mean, seriously… I killed my father, who just so happened to be the demon king. I’m stuck managing some chaotic boyband from hell who turned out to be demons too— literally— and now I’m sitting here in a hospital bed after nearly being killed by some eldritch monster. Everything about this is ridiculous.”

You drew a deep breath, letting the madness of it all wash over you again. Memories of the stadium, of the battle, of things no sane mind should witness.

“Can I ask something?” It was Rumi’s voice this time. You turned to her and gave a small nod.

“I was seriously shocked by what you did at the stadium,” she said carefully. “Who are you really? I was sure you were just a fan, totally uninvolved in all this. But then you ended Gwi-ma and…”

“He’s my father,” you cut in. “I don’t know how it happened, but somehow, I’m his daughter. Crazy, right? I tried denying it, too. But the truth is… I am. Don’t ask me how— I don’t know. But at least he’s gone now, and that means your role as hunters is over.”

No one said anything for a moment. Your words sat heavy in the air. The room felt like it had stopped breathing with you, even the beeping from the hospital monitor seemed too loud.

“Wait, wait—hold up,” Zoe finally said, voice low but sharp. “You’re telling me that not only is your dad the king of demons, but you— you’re… what, a demon princess or something?”

You looked at her, your mouth tugging into a tired half-smile. “If you put it like that, it sounds way cooler than it felt.”

“You killed him,” Mira said quietly, almost in disbelief. “You ended him.”

You nodded slowly, your fingers gripping the edge of the blanket on your lap. “I had to. No one else could, he was about to take everything.”

Rumi’s gaze softened, but there was still something unreadable in her eyes. “So… what happens now? Are you going to take his place?”

Your heart dropped at that. “God, no. I don’t want any of that. I don’t even want to remember what I did. I just want… I just want to go back to being me. Normal. "

“Okay, okay, enough,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I’m not built for long silences and deep conversations like this. The point is— it’s all over. The hunters, the demons, Gwi-ma… it’s done. All of it.”

You pointed toward your boys. “And you— do those cursed patterns disappear now that Gwi-ma’s gone?”

“They’ll fade with time,” Mystery said, rolling up his sleeve to show the almost-dissolved pattern on his arm. “No need to worry.”

"Good, and Rumi, I hope yours vanish too… that you’re finally free from Gwi-ma’s grip.”

She nodded, her eyes soft, lips curling into a grateful smile. No words were exchanged, but the silence between you was enough.

“Ah, finally, heavy talk’s over,” you sighed and leaned back. Just as you were about to bask in the peace, you felt a face creep far too close to yours. You cracked an eye open and nearly jerked backward as Zoe beamed at you, way too close and grinning from ear to ear, right in front of you.

“What?” you asked, slightly alarmed by her proximity.

“Can you summon your bow again?” she asked, eyes shining. “The way you pulled the string? So badass! And when that arrow exploded right at Gwi-ma like BOOM! It was sick! Like, totally movie-worthy! You were amazing!”

She gushed all at once, praising you to the skies while you just sat there, not sure which part to even respond to.

You blinked. “Uh… thanks? I honestly don’t know how I did it. It just kind of… happened.”

“No way!” Zoe gasped like you’d just confessed to a felony. “You can’t accidentally look that cool and then say you don’t know how, that’s practically criminal.”

You chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint. I wasn’t thinking—it was just pure instinct.”

“Instinct,” Rumi echoed, her voice calm. “Sometimes, power knows where it belongs before we do.”

For a moment, silence returned. But this time, it didn’t feel heavy. It felt clean. Like the calm after a storm.

“So what now?” you asked, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Do we just… go back to being normal?”

“Define normal,” Romance muttered, cracking a small grin.

You snorted. “Fair point.”

Baby, seated beside you, crossed his arms. “We move on. Act like we’re normal, at least pretend.” Then, a beat later, he added, “But for now… just rest.”

“Okaayyy,” you drawled, “but it’s seriously weird seeing you act all caring.”

“I hate you,” he grumbled.

“I love you too.”

Baby went still. He stared at you like you’d just spoken in a foreign language. Did you seriously just say “I love you too” to him? In front of everyone?

“Don’t say that again,” he muttered, but the red tint creeping into his ears betrayed him.

“Are you seriously blushing?” Romance laughed, throwing a casual arm over his shoulder.

“I’m not.” Baby shoved him off with a scowl.

“Don’t start a riot in the hospital,” you warned, rubbing your temples. “Anyway… you guys can live normal lives now, right? I don’t even know how old any of you really are but… I hope you do. I hope you do what you love. I forgive you all—for the mess you caused at the Idol Awards, for all the lies. I still care about you. So what’s the point in holding a grudge?”

You turned your gaze toward Mystery. He didn’t say anything— just stepped closer and pulled you into a hug.

“Whoa, what’s with the sudden—” you mumbled, awkwardly returning the embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I’m free now.”

You let out a soft chuckle, just about to pull away… when you felt another body press into the hug. Then another. Then more.

“Guys—can’t breathe!” you groaned, trying to push them off.

“Let us thank you properly,” Romance said, voice warm, as if this was the one act of sincerity he’d ever allow himself.

“You guys just bring me problems,” you muttered playfully.

Then, you felt a hand gently take yours—Jinu. His grasp was tentative, like he was asking permission.

“Thank you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. You nodded and offered a small smile,

“Do I get to hug the hero too?” Zoe asked enthusiastically. “I wanna hug the one who saved all of us!” Without warning, she lunged at you like a missile.

“You’re embarrassing us,” Rumi muttered, shaking her head—though she too stepped forward and joined in. Then Mira.

You could’ve screamed. You were being smothered… by the very idols you’d worshipped. Eventually, they pulled back.

“Can we come visit your place sometime?” Zoe asked, bouncing slightly on her feet. “We’ll bring snacks!”

You smiled. “Of course you can—”

“No,” your boys said flatly, stood there, giving them a death-glare.

“We just want to visit,” Mira said, folding her arms in protest.

“She’s our manager,” Abby added, stepping forward like a bodyguard.

“Yeah, and we’re bringing her snacks,” Rumi shot back. “Unlike some people who only bring her stress.”

Your eyes bounced between all of them like watching a tennis match from hell. Your head throbbed, you wanted to lie down and never get back up. And in that moment, a bitter thought crept into your head.

You should’ve just chosen to die—anything would’ve been better than watching them fall into yet another fight, for what felt like the thousandth time.

PART: I. SEASONS, II. LOVE, III. LILY, IV. BONFIRE

🧘🏻‍♀️ HEYYA IT'S ME AGAIN with an update 😆😆 sorry it took a while— been sick and there’s just been sooo much going on lately 🥹 Anywayy this is the last part, so it’s kinda long hhehe, hope you guys like it!! I’ve also been thinking of making a special chapter if i get the timee 🐈‍⬛👯‍♀️

TAG LIST XD : @luluprincess230lp , @kpopmultistans, @apelepikozume, @satansdaughter123 @brights-place, @snowy-violet, @kashasenpai , @am0r11 , @ellie-x0xo , @romanofftash, @prettylittlelavvy , @katsudon07

170 notes · View notes

asthroophile · 9 days ago

Text

Local man thinks the woman trying to kill him asked him out. He shows up anyway.

17K notes · View notes

asthroophile · 10 days ago

Text

8K notes · View notes

asthroophile · 13 days ago

Text

bubblegum: bonfire — SAJA BOYS

WC: 4k+

SUMMARY: a forgotten bond, fated to endure.

PART: I. SEASONS, II. LOVE, III. LILY, V. HOMESICK

It’s been ten days since they started crashing at your apartment, and in those ten days, the public somehow figured out that you are their manager.

Every time you tried to go out alone, one of them would tag along—sometimes all of them. The result? A public frenzy, a storm of online theories, and a very unwanted spotlight on your life.

Now you're viral.

Fanfic versions of you are floating all over the internet. Some fans love the idea of you; they romanticize everything, shipping you with different members depending on the day. Others… not so much. They say you're unfit to manage them, unprofessional, unworthy.

Oh please, they don’t know what it’s like wrangling overgrown children in adult form. And the worst part? You won’t admit it out loud— but you’ve grown fond of them.

They made your once-quiet apartment feel less like a space and more like a home. The mess, the noise, the endless ramen packets… somehow, you didn’t hate it.

Currently, you're sitting in the living room, laptop open, working together on a new song titled "Your Idol", an idea Jinu brought up while chewing instant noodles at 3 a.m.

"Alright, alright. What if the lyric goes ‘I will love you more when it all burns down’? That could be Mystery’s part—his voice is soft, it'd really land with impact,” you suggest.

Mystery hums a bit, testing the line. The others nod in approval.

“Kay what about the concept for the outfit?” you ask.

“Jinu said he’d take care of that,” Mystery replies casually, flopped sideways on the couch.

Just then, Jinu walks out of your bedroom wearing your oversized hoodie again like he owns the place. “Heard my name,” he says with a lazy grin. “Don’t worry about the costumes— I have a vision.”

You squint at him, "Is it a good vision or a fever dream?”

He shrugs, “Why not both?”

You sigh. “This group is going to be the death of me.”

But still, you keep typing until finally the lyrics were done— mostly because Jinu insisted you wrap it up quickly, and honestly, you didn’t protest. You wanted a break too.

“Why does it feel like this song is for someone, though? Especially the part, ‘You know I’m the only one who’ll love your sins / Feel the way my voice gets underneath your skin,’” you said, raising a brow.

Jinu, who was now lounging nearby, turned his head as if you were accusing him directly, looking genuinely confused.

“It’s for his lover, duh,” Baby chimed in, leaning against you while scrolling on his brand new phone—the one you bought for him after you finally got paid by Jinu, thanks to their soda sponsorship deal.

“We’re not dating,” Jinu replied flatly, already strumming your acoustic guitar like he wasn’t just dragged into a minor interrogation.

“Yeah, whatever you say,” you muttered before shifting your attention. “Abby, come sing your part.”

Abby, who had been sketching out stylized abs in your notebook looked up. “Which part?”

“The opening lines—‘Keeping you in check’ and after that, Mystery comes in, then Romance, followed by Jinu, and Baby with the rap,” you instructed, going through the lineup mentally.

Abby nodded and set aside your notebook before starting to rehearse. Ever since the public found out you were the manager of Saja Boys, your social media had been flooded with sponsorship offers—probably because no one had ever figured out the boys' accounts. You were even offered an official building just for the group. You didn’t turn it down, but you did feel a bit sad at the idea of leaving your cozy apartment.

“Okay, rehearsal’s over. Everyone, go rest at your official building now,” you said while gathering all the lyric sheets scattered around the room.

“You kicking us out?” Romance raised a brow.

“No? I mean, you guys already have your own building, your own lightsticks, your own brand, so...?”

“We’re already comfortable here,” Mystery cut in calmly.

“Oh come on, don’t say things like that. If you all insist on crashing on my apartment’s tiny couch, you're just asking for back problems. Right, Jinu?”

Jinu, who had been quietly tuning the guitar, gave a nod. “She’s right, guys. We should appreciate the people who offered us the space. Besides, (Name) will visit us whenever she wants. She’ll even watch us during practice.”

“Yup—and Jinu, stop sneaking out every night,” you added, shooting him a look. “Are you secretly dating someone and hoping we won’t find out?”

The room went dead silent.

Jinu paused mid-strum on your guitar, one brow lifting ever so slightly. “Sneaking out? I was just… taking walks.”

“Walks at midnight wearing sunglasses and a hoodie?” Romance quipped, tossing a pillow at him.

“Ooooh, sus,” Abby grinned while making exaggerated detective noises. “What are you hiding, Jinu?”

“Maybe he’s got a secret girlfriend,” Mystery added in a deadpan tone.

Baby, still leaning lazily against you with a lollipop in his mouth, made a casual but deadly assumption, “What if that girl’s one of the Huntrix members?”

“WHAT? WHO?” you stared at him in disbelief. Baby always sounded unserious—but somehow, his wild guesses tended to hit close to the truth.

“I mean, think about it,” Baby shrugged. “Since we first met Huntrix, he’s been, like, laser-focused on their leader… what’s her name again?”

“Rumi?” you echoed in shock. “WAIT, RUMI? Seriously, Jinu? You had the guts to get close to her? She’s literally an A-lister!”

You turned to Jinu like you’d just discovered a criminal in your own house. He looked cornered— eyes darting, caught mid-breath like a deer in headlights.

“Wow,” Abby gasped dramatically. “Are we witnessing an idol crossover scandal in real time?”

Romance leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “If there’s a dispatch article tomorrow, I’m sending the link to everyone in our group chat.”

Mystery raised a single eyebrow. “This explains the sudden effort you’re putting into your skin care routine.”

Jinu groaned, covering his face with both hands. “Guys, we’re not dating. Yes, I’ve been spending time with her, but it’s not what you think. We’re just… meeting up.”

You crossed your arms. “Meeting up? Like a secret project? Or a secret relationship?”

"We talk music and deep talk but not romantically.” Jinu finally confessed. There was a beat of silence. Then—

“Sounds exactly like dating,” Baby mumbled around his candy.

“Yep, that’s a date,” Abby nodded.

“Romance confirmed,” Romance added.

“You guys are impossible,” Jinu muttered, flopping backward onto the couch and dramatically throwing a throw pillow over his face.

“Alright, that’s enough, all of you,” you said firmly. “Let’s go, back to your official base— because officially, you guys have your own place now.”

Romance let out an over-dramatic sigh. “So we’re getting kicked out again.”

“You were never supposed to live here in the first place,” you retorted.

“But your place is homey,” Abby said, already sprawled across the couch like a cat refusing to be moved.

“Cozy,” Mystery added, sipping his drink without looking at you. “The light hits better here.”

Baby leaned into your shoulder and mumbled, “I vote stay.”

You rolled your eyes. “You literally have your own dorm now. Free meals, game room, gym, real beds. And you're choosing my creaky couch?”

Jinu finally pulled the pillow off his face and sat up. “Let’s just go, guys. She's right. We need to start treating this seriously, we’re idols now. Public image and all.”

The rest of the boys groaned in unison like you’d just announced their summer was canceled.

“But…” Baby pouted. “Can we come back sometimes? Like… for dinner?”

You sighed, trying not to smile. “Only if you bring dessert.” They cheered like you’d just given them an encore stage.

You regularly visited their new base to monitor the progress of their latest song. Day by day, you found yourselves growing closer—and with that, the chaos only intensified. Now that they had their own official space, things had somehow gotten wilder. Rooms that staff had just cleaned would turn into disaster zones in a matter of hours.

“You’re making progress faster than I expected,” you admitted, flipping through your notes and nodding. “Good, let’s call it a day.” The boys let out a chorus of cheers.

Romance tossed himself dramatically onto the couch. “Finally, my brain was starting to melt.”

“You're doing nothing,” Mystery deadpanned, already scrolling through something on his tablet.

“I was providing emotional support!” Romance argued, pointing at you. “Right, Manager?”

“Don’t drag me into this,” you muttered.

Jinu stretched his arms behind his head, his usual calm demeanor cracking slightly into a tired grin. “We deserved this break though, yeah?”

Before you could reply, a loud crash echoed from down the hall.

“…What now?”

“I think that was the sound of Baby trying to microwave bubblegum again,” Abby offered nonchalantly.

You stared at him. “Again?!”

He shrugged with a guilty smile. “It’s for science.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and exhaled. “I swear, one day I’m going to handcuff you all to your beds just so I can have a single peaceful visit.”

“Sounds kinda intense, Manager,” Abby smirked. “Not that I’m judging.”

“Out! Everyone, out of the studio! Now!”

They scrambled like school kids, laughing as they disappeared down the hall—except baby, who returned with a sticky piece of melted gum stuck to his sleeve.

"Baby, what the hell were you thinking microwaving bubblegum again?" you snapped as you marched toward him, taking in his disheveled appearance and the half-melted gum clinging to his sleeve.

"I just wanted to know what warm bubblegum tastes like," he replied with zero shame, licking a bit off his thumb.

You grimaced. "Stop this madness."

Grabbing his arm, you dragged him out of the studio before he could argue. "Go change. Now. I’m not letting melted gum be your signature look on the next livestream."

“But I think it’s fashion-forward,” he pouted.

“Do it before I tape a ‘Do Not Microwave’ sign on your forehead.”

As you shoved him gently toward his room, Abby passed by, eyeing Baby’s state with an amused snort. “Is this what you call creative expression?”

“I call it a hazard,” you muttered.

You turned back toward the kitchen just in time to see Mystery stuffing something suspiciously shiny into his pocket.

“Mystery.”

He froze.

“What did you take?”

“Nothing,” he said too quickly.

You narrowed your eyes, “Hand. It. Over.”

Mystery sighed and pulled out a half-melted silver spoon. “I wanted to see what else the microwave could handle.”

“WHY are all of you obsessed with microwaving things today?!”

Romance peeked his head in from behind the door. “For the record, I was reading a romance novel this whole time and didn’t commit any crimes against appliances.”

"Congratulations, you're the only one with brain cells left today."

“Thank you, I try.”

You sighed deeply. “I need a vacation or a therapist or both.”

As you turned away, Jinu leaned against the wall with that unreadable look again. “You sure you don’t need a hug?”

You stared at him. “I need peace.”

He just smiled faintly. “Same thing, right?”

"Shut up."

Now everyone was busy minding their own business, but you still had to monitor things—anything could happen because of them. Even tasks that were supposed to be handled by staff were being dumped on you, since they claimed they couldn’t handle the job anymore. Thankfully, none of them had quit yet.

You were scrolling through your social media, seeing how your account was getting more crowded with interactions, as well as the official Saja Boys account you created. You felt bad for your phone, which wouldn’t stop buzzing with notifications—until Jinu came over and sat beside you.

"What now?" you ask without looking up from your phone.

"Do you think I'm a good person?"

"In what sense of 'good'?"

"Like… understanding someone, caring about someone."

"You are good. It depends on how you define it. You can’t force someone to be good— it’s a choice they make," you say, finally turning to look at him. "Why are you asking this out of nowhere?"

Jinu shakes his head. His somber expression fades briefly, replaced with his usual annoying smirk.

"Can you touch me again?"

You're clearly shocked by the sudden request. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm perfectly sane, I just want to know if it still works."

"If what works—" Before you can finish, Jinu grabs your hand and places it on his cheek. A strange sensation rushes through you at the contact.

“Do that again and I'll punch you,” you mutter, pulling your hand away and scooting back a bit.

Jinu doesn’t answer. He stares at his own hand for a while, and you start to wonder if there’s something genuinely wrong with him.

"I didn’t mean to bring up the topic again, but… the pattern weakens when you touch me. It comes back soon after, though— because of Gwi-ma."

"So you’re saying that because I’m his daughter, I can somehow suppress the pattern? Jinu, honestly, I can’t accept that I’m his daughter. It just doesn’t make sense. Gwi-ma’s just a story from my grandma. If he really was my father, why’d he leave? Who was he really? What did he do that made my mom die? My grandma never even told me the reason."

“If you remember the story, honmoon can be sealed with the voice of the chosen hunters. The chosen were Huntrix, and Rumi... she’s a half-demon hunter—"

"Wait, what? Rumi's a hunter? Mira and Zoe too?" you ask, stunned. Jinu nods.

You still can’t believe it. “Okay, I know your sense of humor sucks, but this? This is insane. And what do you mean she’s a half-demon hunter?"

“Remember the hot spring incident? I fought her… I tore her sleeve, and I saw the pattern on her arm.”

You go silent. Just when you hoped your brain could rest from all the madness.

“Look, Jinu, it’s not like I see you guys as weird just because you’re demons. But the idea itself— of you being demons— I can’t accept it even though I’m trying to. How is that even possible? Rumi is a Hunter who's part of demon and I’m Gwi-ma’s daughter? It’s all insane. How could I be a demon’s child? He abandoned me and my mom, and my mom died because of me—and he didn’t care. Not even a little.”

You pause your words, "Please promise me, just stop dealing with Gwi-ma. Even if I keep being stubborn, even if I keep denying it— denying that all of you are demons…” your voice trails off for a moment, your eyes searching his face, desperate for any hint of guilt or regret.

“…I’m still trying to understand you. So stop doing things behind my back, stop risking everything like none of this matters.”

Jinu doesn’t say anything at first. His eyes dim slightly, as if your words hit a place he’d buried deep.

“I mean, come on—look at you guys,” you say, attempting a smile despite the weight of everything. “You look like normal people. Since when do demons have faces that attractive?”

It’s a weak joke, a desperate one. But it works—just a little. Jinu blinks at you.

“You think we’re attractive?” Jinu teases, “So you have been staring.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, glowstick. I was talking about them,” you jab your thumb toward the rest.

“Right,” he says, expression unreadable.

You let out a long sigh after your words, the air still heavy between you two. Neither of you said anything more—until Abby appeared, casually slinging both arms over your shoulders.

“You two are way too tense. Idol Awards are around the corner, so how about not acting like you’re in a cold war?”

“We’re not,” you both replied at the same time—awkwardly, of course.

“Tch, exactly what someone fighting would say,” Romance teased from behind the door, clearly eavesdropping. One by one, the others started to gather, watching you like hawks. Wait, why were you the one getting stared down.

“What’s with you guys? Chill!” you blurted out, trying to deflect the attention. “I just… need time to process some crazy info, that’s all. Anyway! Let’s focus—tomorrow’s gonna be chaos, and don’t even think about starting anything. My kitchen pans miss smacking some of you in the head.”

They all exchanged glances, some grinning like guilty kids, others wisely keeping their mouths shut.

Mystery raised a brow. “Should we be concerned that you have multiple pans dedicated to violence?”

“Ask yourself why I even needed to in the first place.”

Baby gasped in mock offense. “I’m the picture of peace!”

“You’re the reason the microwave cried.”

Baby looked annoyed at your response, clearly not amused. You stood from your seat and faced them all, clapping your hands lightly.

“Alright, give it your best tomorrow, okay? I’m really looking forward to your performance.” You flashed them a thumbs-up.

Your watch beeped right then, signaling the end of visiting hours—you had to head back to your apartment.

“You leaving already?” Romance asked.

“I have work outside of babysitting you guys, you know,” you replied. But the way Romance narrowed his eyes, clearly not satisfied with the answer, made you second-guess saying that.

“Well, see you all tomorrow.” You grabbed your sling bag from the table and turned to leave—only to feel a tug on your shirt.

You looked back. “What is it now?”

Baby didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stared at you with unreadable eyes before asking softly,

“Do you think… you’d be okay with it?”

“Okay with what?”

“A hug.”

You blinked. For once, Baby wasn’t joking. His tone was gentle—not his usual cheeky self, not the chaos-bringer everyone knew. It was… vulnerable?

Your first instinct was to laugh it off. But something about the way he asked made your breath hitch just slightly. His hand still gripped the edge of your shirt, like he was afraid you’d leave without answering.

You stared at him for a beat longer.

“Well…” You exhaled, your voice caught between teasing and softness. “…You’re asking for permission now? That’s new.”

Baby didn’t say anything, just tilted his head slightly like he was waiting—nervous, maybe. It wasn’t like him at all, and maybe that’s what made you pause.

You glanced over your shoulder. The others were pretending not to watch but were definitely eavesdropping from the couch—Romance leaning dramatically behind the cushions, Jinu pretending to check his phone upside down, Abby munching on chips way too loudly to be casual, and Mystery not even bothering to hide the way he was observing you like a hawk.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine, just one, a short one.” The moment the words left your lips, Baby stepped forward and pulled you into a quiet hug. Not too tight, just… warm.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until your cheek lightly brushed his shoulder. For someone usually sticky with melted candy or chaotic ideas, Baby felt oddly calm in that moment. Like he just needed this. Like you maybe needed it too.

“…You smell like bubblegum,” you muttered against him.

“I am bubblegum,” he mumbled back, tone dry.

You snorted, patting his back. “Alright, that’s enough.”

“That wasn’t even a full minute.”

“Baby.” You gave him a warning tone, and he pulled away, albeit reluctantly.

Then your gaze flicked to the four other boys, who were definitely watching you now—like kids who saw someone get a cookie and were waiting for theirs.

You sighed. “Okay, alright. Come on, all of you. One at a time."

Romance lit up like a firework. “I knew being annoying would pay off!”

He bounced over dramatically and wrapped you in a theatrical embrace, even spinning you a little.

“Put me down before I revoke this!” you scolded through laughter. He obeyed—barely—then stepped aside for Mystery, who was already standing silently in front of you.

You braced for something awkward, but to your surprise, Mystery’s hug was firm and quiet, solid like a wall of quiet reassurance. No words exchanged—just understanding.

Next was Jinu, who gave a small chuckle. “I thought you’d never offer.” His hug was easy, familiar, and warm in that quiet, grounding way that only Jinu could manage.

Abby was last, but he didn’t hesitate. “Bet you saved the best for last,” he joked, squeezing you a bit tighter than expected and grinning against your shoulder. “We’re gonna do great tomorrow.”

You smiled, pulling away and giving them all a final look. “I know you will. Just… try not to set anything on fire. Emotionally or literally.”

Romance saluted. “No promises.”

You rolled your eyes, finally walking toward the exit. “I’ll see you all tomorrow. Rest well, okay?”

“Goodnight, Manager!” they called in chaotic unison.

And as you stepped out the door, you couldn’t help but smile. They really were a mess—but they were your mess. A hug, such a simple thing and yet it felt like something shifted tonight.

You shook your head, laughing under your breath, "Boys."

You came home from their base feeling genuinely happy—thankfully, they hadn’t caused chaos this time. You relished the rare peace until a sudden, deafening sound pierced your ears. It was so loud it felt like your eardrums might burst. You clenched your eyes shut, hands flying up to your ears in pain.

Then, everything went silent.

When you opened your eyes… you were no longer in your room. You stood in a pitch-black place.

“You’re just as stubborn as your mother,” a deep voice said.

“…Gwi-ma?”

“Yes, it’s me… my child. Didn’t I warn you not to grow attached to anything? In the end, it only brings you suffering.”

“What do you mean? If you’re talking about them—”

“Your little boyband?” Gwi-ma sneered, having caught on to what you were saying. “What you’re doing is a grave mistake. Supporting them at that final event will only weaken the seal on Honmoon. And then, I will finally conquer this world.”

“You’re insane,” you spat. “I don’t care if you’re immortal or what—but you’re a lunatic and a horrible father.”

“You don’t bear my mark,” he said darkly, “but you carry half of what I am. I should have destroyed you. But your mother… she was too stubborn. She chose to die in your place.”

“YOU’RE THE REASON SHE’S DEAD?” you shouted, your voice trembling with rage. The weight of guilt—of knowing she died because of you—turned to fire in your chest.

“For five lifetimes,” Gwi-ma said calmly. “Think how foolish we’ve been. Your mother, trying to keep you untainted… and me, letting you roam free. In the end, all you’ve done is bring me closer to victory. Just watch, my child—those boys you care for? They’ll forget you. Once Honmoon shatters, I’ll erase the voices—and with it, their memories of you.”

You stood frozen. As much as you wanted to scream at him, every word he spoke sank into your bones like poison. It was true—he was your father. But hearing him say he was the reason your mother died… was unbearable.

“Choose,” he said. “Give in… and become one with me. Or die, like your mother, because of that foolish attachment inside you.”

You clenched your fists.

“I’d rather die,” you growled, “than become anything like you—selfish, cruel, and drunk on power.”

Gwi-ma laughed—a deep, echoing roar that shook the void around you.

“The hunters will never seal me, (Name). Your defiance means nothing. I am this close to victory.”

“Then if they can’t stop you,” you snapped, "I will. As your child— I’ll be the one who destroys you.”

His laughter stopped. He growled, voice now filled with rage, and in the next second—he hurled you out of the darkness.

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, heart pounding violently in your chest. You were back in your bed.

“…What the hell was that…?” you muttered, your head throbbing from the force of being thrown.

Your hands were trembling. You could still feel his presence. Still hear his voice.

You threw yourself onto the bed, unable to handle the truth that had just been forced upon you. You were Gwi-ma’s child. No matter how many times you tried to deny it, there was no escaping it now.

Your chest felt heavy. Suffocating.

"How did Mom ever fall for something like him... for five lifetimes?" Your voice trembled. Then, a terrifying thought clawed its way into your mind.

"Wait..." your eyes widened. "Baby once asked me if I had forgotten him... Does that mean—what Gwi-ma meant by five lifetimes... is them? All five of them?"

It all started to click, like puzzle pieces snapping into place. Your past lives, the boys, Gwi-ma’s sudden return. There was something ancient tied to all of you.

You let out a long, exhausted breath.

"How the hell am I supposed to erase Gwi-ma from existence..." you muttered, dragging your hand down your face. "No one deserves a father like him. World's worst dad, no competition."

Your gaze shifts toward your closet, something glinting from a narrow gap like it was calling out to you. You squinted suspiciously. "What now..." you stepped closer, slowly pulling the door open.

“…A bow?” you muttered in disbelief, blinking at the object leaning neatly against the back wall.

You picked it up, brow furrowed. “Why the hell do I even have this?”

Then it clicked. “Oh—right. This was from Grandma… before she left for good.” Your voice softened at the memory.

As soon as your fingers fully curled around the bow's shaft, a strange sensation rushed through you—like something ancient had just reconnected. A sudden weight pressed behind your eyes. You gasped as a soft voice, smooth and steady, echoed faintly in your ears:

"We’ve waited so long for this moment, (Name)… Please use it. Use my bow. Forgive me for the burden I’ve passed onto you, but when it ends, you’ll be free. Truly free—and at peace.”

Your breath hitched. That voice—gentle, low, almost sorrowful— it felt like the kind of voice ghosts have when they’ve waited centuries.

You swallowed hard. “Oh God, what kind of mess do I have to clean up this time..."

You dragged your hand down your face, tired and annoyed, then looked back down at the glowing bow in your hand.

You? With a bow? You didn’t even know how to use a bow, let alone how to fight with one. And now what? You were expected to wield this like some chosen warrior?

“…God help me,” you muttered. "If what that voice meant was killing Gwi-ma… with this weapon, with my own hands," you groaned, staring down at the bow in your grip. It felt heavy—not in weight, but in meaning.

"I don’t even know what he looks like… but does this count as premeditated murder?" you muttered sarcastically, joking with yourself to take the edge off your spiraling thoughts.. But your laugh faded quickly, because deep down, you knew it wasn’t a joke.

The bow vibrated faintly in your grasp—like it understood everything you just said. Like it was agreeing.

You stood there in silence, the weight of what you were being asked to do crashing in. You were just a manager. A tired, overworked, slightly underpaid human being. And now apparently chosen to end something ancient, something no one dared name out loud.

You exhaled sharply.

“Right, sure. Because this is normal, totally something people go through on a Tuesday night.”

You stare at the bow in your hands for a full minute before exhaling sharply through your nose. “Okay. Let’s say I believe all this, let’s say I really am supposed to kill some ancient demon-father-monster thing. What then? Am I supposed to just know how to use this?”

You hold the bow up, awkwardly, turning it in your grip.

"...Right. The string goes this way, I think?"

It creaks slightly, like it’s been asleep for a long time. You frown, then spot the lone arrow still lying on the closet floor, half-glowing with a soft gradient of violet and pale blue. Its pointed tip gleams faintly with a pink shimmer, casting a subtle glow on the floor. The moment you pick it up, a strange warmth buzzes up your arm—not hot, but like the feeling of being seen.

"Okay, arrow, bow, me. Yeah, just like a video game, right? How hard can it be?"

You walk to the center of your living room, push aside your laundry pile with your foot, and hold up the bow in front of your body.

Your arms shake just from pulling the string back. The bow resists you—not in a violent way, but like it’s measuring you. Testing you.

"Ugh, this is embarrassing," you mutter. "If someone walks in on me right now I swear—"

Your fingers slip. The arrow looses itself—not at a target, not even close.

It sings through the air, crashing into your favorite bookshelf with a loud thud. A few dusty pieces of old fanmerch tumble down in its wake.

You stand there, jaw dropped, arrow humming where it's now impaled halfway into the wall.

"Holy sh—"

The crack still echoes in the air, sharp and violent. You stare at your poor wall, the arrow now buried halfway into the plaster, humming like it’s laughing at you. A hairline fracture spread from the impact, dust trailing down like snowflakes.

You stepped back, examining your handiwork—or lack thereof. The arrow hummed faintly where it had embedded itself, as if pleased with the damage it caused. Of course, the wall hadn’t done anything to deserve that.

You’re just about to try pulling the arrow out when—

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

You flinched. Another knock, louder this time.

“Miss? Everything alright in there?”

Oh no.

You rush toward the door and crack it open just a bit. Outside stands your neighbor from 5B—the old man who always waters his plants three times a day and glares at everyone like they’re walking sins.

His eyes squint at you. “Did something fall? It sounded like an earthquake just hit your unit. Again.”

You force a smile. “Oh! No, no! Everything’s fine! Just, uh… trying a new stretching routine!”

“…That sounded like a wall cracking in half.”

“Well, I’m very dedicated to my fitness,” you say, still blocking the open door with your body like it’s some kind of crime scene. "Cardio. With style."

The old man doesn’t buy it. You can tell by how his nose twitches, like he can smell your lies through the door.

He sniffed the air, eyes narrowing further. “Smells like something’s burning, metal?”

You blinked. Crap. That must’ve been the bow—or the arrow. Or maybe the strange magic binding them together. Whatever it was, it wasn’t scented candles.

“Essential oils,” you blurted. “Helps with stress.”

A long pause.

“…Kids these days,” he muttered before turning away, shaking his head. “If you burn the place down, I’m not helping carry your furniture."

You quickly shut the door behind him, heart pounding.

“…Note to self,” you say aloud, turning back to the mess. “No more practicing indoors unless I want to be exorcised by the building committee.”

You turned back to the wall. The arrow was still there, but the glow around it had faded. You stepped closer, fingers brushing the shaft—and the moment your fingers graze it, the glow surges—light coils around the shaft, twisting upward like ivy, and then poof—it vanishes, leaving nothing behind but a neat hole in your wall and the strange echo of a voice in your head.

“Better aim next time.”

You blink.

“…Did I just get mocked by a weapon?”

The bow, resting innocently nearby, vibrated faintly. As if laughing.

You sigh and drag a hand down your face. "I’m losing it, completely. I just got roasted by a medieval stick.”

Still, something inside you is shifting. The bow feels lighter now, and you didn’t feel as unsure holding it.

Even if the idea still terrified you.

“If I’m dreaming and all of this is just some fantasy hallucination, please—God—wake me up. I don’t want to live in a fantasy world,” you muttered under your breath, dragging your feet toward your room.

You set the bow down gently, right where you found it—half-hidden in that strange crevice in your wardrobe. It didn’t glow this time. Didn’t vibrate. Just rested there, quietly, as if pretending it hadn’t just sent a crack through your apartment wall five minutes ago.

You stepped back, staring at it like it might come to life again.

“…Stay,” you told it, like it was a disobedient pet.

Then, with a tired sigh, you turned off your light and collapsed onto your bed face-first.

Everything felt surreal. The kind of weird that clung to your skin and refused to be washed off. The voice in your head. The glowing arrow. The magical explosion. And now, a bow that mocked your aim and vanished arrows into nothingness.

Maybe it was a dream, or maybe you were losing your mind.

PART: I. SEASONS, II. LOVE, III. LILY, V. HOMESICK

🧘🏻‍♀️ ALRIGHT better get yourselves ready for the next chapter XDD🐈‍⬛

tag list XD : @luluprincess230lp, @snowy-violet, @brights-place, @kashasenpai , @nubyeol

227 notes · View notes

asthroophile · 15 days ago

Text

tteokbeokki: lily — SAJA BOYS

WC: 3k+

SUMMARY: chaos is your only companion now in adulthood— and you’re no longer sure if peace even wants to befriend you anymore.

PART: I. SEASONS, II. LOVE, IV. BONFIRE, V. HOMESICK

You ended up lending them your sleeping bag in the end, even though they dragged Baby along with them like it was non-negotiable. Whatever. You let them go through with their sudden camping idea anyway.

You knew the fan event would be crowded, so you prepared early and headed out ahead of time to the designated location. While waiting in line, you noticed several people sleeping on the ground—one even curled up in a chair— with sleeping bags.

No way.

You stepped closer, crouching down beside one of them to get a better look at their face.

"MYSTERY? What the hell are you doing here? Wait—don’t speak yet. Did you guys sleep here overnight like a bunch of homeless people?!"

Your loud voice startled Jinu awake. His eyes widened the moment he saw you. Clearly, he didn’t expect you to show up this early.

“Oh... that. You know we’re kind of famous now too, right? So... we’re doing our own fan event too, ‘cause we’ve got fans,” Jinu explained casually.

You turned just in time to see the staff unlocking the main entrance, signaling the fan meeting was about to start.

“Let's talk behind the building later,” Jinu whispered before nudging his crew to get up. They shuffled inside ahead of everyone, securing the front row as if it were their rightful throne. You stared after your boys, unable to find the words. Okay, fine. Let them do what they want.

Inside, you managed to grab a spot in the front row too, though not quite as front and center as your boys. Suddenly, all five of them simultaneously unzipped their sleeping bags in a dramatic reveal, showing themselves to the public.

The crowd exploded with screams. Half of the fans immediately rushed to the right side where the Saja Boys had set up their “fan event.”

"They're so damn sneaky at being famous," you muttered, unamused.

Huntrix’s manager shouted something about needing more tables, but Rumi quickly requested for the Saja Boys to sit with them. You groaned. Great, your fan event was now officially hijacked by your own boys.

"Hi Mira—” you started to greet one of the girls when Abby jumped in with far too much energy.

"Boss, do you want my autograph?" he beamed, about to draw his abs on a piece of paper.

"No Abby, thank you.” You ignored his pout.

Mira, on the other hand, was staring at you. “Weren’t you the one at the hot springs the other day?”

“What? Me? Oh, no, you must’ve mistaken me for someone else,” you deflected, trying to sound casual.

“Really? That’s strange, because I’m pretty sure it was you. I remember you perfectly. What were you doing there, and which boyband were you looking for?” she asked, handing you her signed poster.

“Uh— no, I wasn’t looking for a boyband or anything. I think I was... hallucinating?”

Mira nodded, unconvinced. “So... you know these two?”

“Yup! She’s our super cool boss—” Romance chimed in before you slammed a hand over his mouth.

“Boss?"

“NOPE. Nope, I don’t know those two next to you. I’m not interested in them at all, I’m a loyal Huntrix fan, heart and soul. Hehe. Anyway, thanks Mira, bye!”

You quickly moved to the next members to avoid Mira’s questioning gaze.

Next was Zoe and Mystery. You greeted Zoe as if Mystery didn’t exist.

“Manager—” Mystery tried to speak, but you interrupted.

“Hi, Zoe!” you smiled, and she returned your enthusiasm.

“So, what do you think about our songs?” Zoe asked, trying to make small talk.

“They’re amazing! Super easy on the ears—seriously, perfect,” you replied. She beamed.

“My favorite is Golden. The lyrics just hit, and something about it feels really special.” You and Zoe chatted like old friends, completely ignoring Mystery until he poked your hand.

“Yeah?” you finally glanced at him.

“You’re not gonna ask for my autograph?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, unsure whether to say yes or no—but eventually handed him your poster. Mystery signed it, then smiled as if deeply satisfied.

“DID HE JUST SMILE???” Zoe whispered.

You nodded. “That’s the first time I’ve seen him smile like that. Why?”

“Not sure... but if he keeps doing that, I might accidentally fall for him— no, no wait, I didn’t mean that! I mean, even if he’s my type, I won’t fall for him. Big no!”

“It’s okay, I like hearing you talk. But why won’t you fall for him? He seems alright to me.”

“Yeah... I don’t know either.” Zoe laughed awkwardly. You nodded, understanding.

Next, you moved to Baby. He was casually sipping water.

“Baby?” you called.

He turned at the sound of your voice, "I figured you wouldn’t want our autographs, so feel free to skip me.”

“No, I actually want yours. I’m curious what your signature looks like.”

“Seriously?” he asked, surprised. You nodded and handed him a pen. Baby immediately signed, drawing stars and little doodles. You giggled.

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not mocking you, mine has stars too." You thanked him and moved on to the last pair—Jinu and Rumi.

“Okay, lovebirds. Can you stop flirting for five seconds?” you said as they were clearly too distracted to notice you had arrived.

“We’re not flirting!” they shouted in unison. Jinu spotted you and instantly switched into professional mode, while Rumi looked at him suspiciously before turning her attention to you.

“Hi, what’s your name?” she asked while signing.

“It’s (name).” She nodded, writing it down. You glanced at Jinu from the corner of your eye.

“I actually don’t really want to, but... to respect the person next to you,” you said, then slid the poster toward him. He signed it without complaint.

“Wait— you’re not his fan?”

“No way! I’m loyal to Huntrix, obviously.”

“That’s my girl!!” Rumi cheered, both of you laughing and leaving Jinu out of it.

After the laughter, you looked at Jinu and gave him a subtle nod—a reminder that you’d be waiting behind the building like he’d asked. He gave you a thumbs-up in return.

“You know her? You two seem... close,” Rumi asked curiously.

“She’s someone very close to us,” Jinu replied, putting emphasis on very. “Jealous?” Rumi kicked him under the table again, and you missed it completely.

You were admiring the poster, now decorated with signatures from your favorite idols, when the sound of approaching footsteps made you glance up.

It was your boyband.

“You wanted to talk ab—” you began, only to see them nonchalantly about to throw away the flower bouquets they had received from fans. You froze in disbelief and quickly stepped in front of the trash can.

“Wait, what are you doing? Don’t throw those away! How could you treat something your fans gave you like this?”

Baby, the closest one to you, tilted his head. “You want them?”

“They’re for you, from your fans?”

“If you want them, just take them,” he shrugged. “Doesn’t mean much to us anyway.” Just like that, he handed you his bouquet. The rest of them followed suit, each giving you theirs like it was nothing.

“Hold on— wait! Guys? I can’t carry all these!” You were overwhelmed, juggling four bouquets in your arms. Thankfully, Romance—true to his name—stepped in and took a few from you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re all insane,” you muttered, scowling. “Whatever. The event’s over, let’s go home.”

You marched off first, and they trailed behind. “Don’t forget to bring my sleeping bag,” you reminded them sharply. The sudden silence behind you made your suspicion grow—but you decided to let it go for now. Maybe they would return it.

Back at the apartment, you set the bouquets down and collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh.

“Today was exhausting,” you murmured.

Baby came over and leaned against you, all clingy for some reason.

“You want something again?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope. Just tired, same as you,” he said, closing his eyes. You let him rest there, not having the energy to argue.

Then Romance sauntered over and plopped down on your other side, leaning in.

“If he gets to lean, I get to lean too,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. Honestly, maybe it did.

Soon after, Abby and Mystery exchanged a look before approaching as well.

“Don’t even—” you said, holding out a hand like a traffic cop. “I’m not some plushie you can all pile on!”

“I’ll clean the apartment for two whole days,” Mystery bargained immediately.

“I’ll do anything for our manager!” Abby added, striking a dramatic pose.

You groaned. Baby and Romance snickered at their desperation, smugly enjoying their exclusive leaning rights. Eventually, you relented and let Abby and Mystery lean against you—well, on the floor, at least. Close enough.

The five of you settled in front of the TV like an overly affectionate, slightly dysfunctional family. The news was broadcasting a report about the rising number of missing people.

"Whoa, that’s insane," you murmured. "The number of missing persons tripled in just twenty-four hours?"

The boys around you nodded silently.

Then Jinu walked out of your room, now wearing one of your oversized hoodies. You didn’t even want to question anymore how they always found the nerve to barge into your room and borrow your clothes without asking.

“Move, I’m changing,” you ordered, trying to shove them off where they’d been leaning on you.

“It’s not even been half an hour,” Romance groaned.

“You guys act like I’m a human body pillow. Your posture’s gonna suffer if you keep slumping on me like this.” You gently pushed Baby off, who looked half-asleep and seconds away from using you as a mattress again.

“You're not wrong,” Abby chimed in, and you rolled your eyes— It seemed like all of them, including Jinu, had back problems or something. Whatever. They were always spouting nonsense anyway.

You stepped into your room to find something comfortable to wear, rummaging through your closet. Then, you heard a sound— like one of your fake decorative plants had fallen. You turned around slowly, only to freeze.

A large blue feline—maybe a tiger, maybe a cat, you couldn’t tell—stood by the fallen plant. Its yellow eyes glowed unnaturally, and two prominent fangs protruded from the sides of its mouth.

“Am I dreaming?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. Nope. Still there. The creature was curiously pawing at the fallen fake plant, as if trying to set it back in place. Then, its glowing gaze locked on you.

Your instinct screamed to run—but what if it could chase you? The creature tilted its head—then, calmly opened its mouth, revealing a folded purple letter nestled inside with "Save the Date" written across the front.

"What the hell...?" you muttered, cautiously reaching for it. You were terrified the creature might snap its jaw shut and bite your hand off, but to your surprise, it let you take it.

"Who is this even for?" you asked, looking directly at it. Then you remembered—right, it’s a cat, not a person. It wouldn't understand you.

"Okay, fine. I’ll keep it, pretty sure this isn’t for me anyway," you said, tucking the letter under your arm.

A knock came from the door. You panicked, frantically motioning for the feline to hide— somewhere, anywhere. Then you cracked the door open just enough to peek your head out.

"What?"

“I'm not allowed to come in?” It was Jinu.

"No. You already did come in earlier, you took my hoodie without even asking."

“Right, sorry. Anyway, we’ve got an event. It’s quick.”

“What event now?” you asked, stepping out and closing your bedroom door behind you.

“Sponsorship thing. Huntrix is backing it.”

You blinked. Your group had debuted without an agency, without an official rollout, and yet somehow already had a solid fanbase and now—a partnership with Huntrix, one of the biggest idol names? Unreal.

"Yeah, well, count me out," you muttered, making your way to the kitchen. Jinu followed close behind.

"No worries, you don’t have to go, just watch us on TV." You nodded, opening the fridge only to find it almost empty. Definitely not enough to make dinner. You turned to look behind you, seeing Jinu and the rest of the boys lounging in the living room.

"Okay, after you guys are done with that event, who’s coming with me to the supermarket?" you asked.

Every single one of them raised their hands except Baby. You sighed, of course, you should’ve known. But at least that meant you had a few extra hands to carry the groceries.

"Go get ready then, wake Baby up.”

“I’ll drag him out,” Abby volunteered.

“No violence,” you warned, giving him a sharp look.

“She says that, but she’s always threatening us with her frying pan,” Jinu whispered to Mystery as he joined the others.

"My frying pan only hits people who misbehave. So if you end up on the receiving end, maybe look inward first," you said flatly, sipping the last of your orange juice.

They all scrambled out the door, clearly not wanting to test your threat. Baby, still asleep, was being literally dragged by Abby. You didn’t even care anymore. You’d warned him.

Now that the apartment was finally quiet—eerily so—you felt a rare moment of peace. Everyone was out, and for once, the silence didn’t feel uncomfortable. You grabbed your phone and lazily scrolled through your social media feed, only to be bombarded with posts from earlier at the fan meet.

There were already countless edits and fancams. One photo showed in particular had gone viral: Rumi stepping on Jinu’s foot, which had somehow sparked the trending ship name Rujinu. You chuckled. Honestly? They did look good together. Then came Miromabby, and Zoestery—a particularly ridiculous edit of Zoe and Mystery with Baby Photoshopped between them like their child. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud. They had only just debuted, but their visuals were no joke—no wonder fans were already pairing them with top-tier idols like Huntrix.

You switched over to the TV, remembering that the boys were supposed to make an appearance today. Sure enough, the screen lit up with an image of the five of them, lazily leaning on one another as if they couldn’t stand straight. You squinted. Maybe Abby wasn’t joking when he said they all had back problems.

"Hey, everybody," Romance was the first to speak, his voice smooth and practiced.

"Our fan club just hit fifty million," Abby added with a grin.

Romance continued, "We’ve gotta give a big shout out to Huntrix. We couldn’t have done it without their support."

"And to our fans... thank you. We really feed off your energy," Mystery finished, his tone softer but no less sincere.

And that was it.

The program abruptly switched back to the news—more coverage on the rising number of missing people, now reported to have tripled in just twenty-four hours.

You stared blankly at the screen.

"What’s wrong with the world these days?" you muttered under your breath. So they went out, dressed up, and showed up... just to say that?

You got up from the couch, heading toward your room when a knock echoed from the front door. That was fast. You were sure the TV station was nowhere near your apartment.

Opening the door, you were greeted by the familiar faces of your chaotic housemates—already back and holding something in their arms.

"Wow, that was fast. You guys teleport or something?"

Without a word, Jinu handed you a bag. You raised an eyebrow as you took it.

“What’s this?”

“Soda. From our sponsor,” he replied casually.

You nodded, peeking inside. Meanwhile, Baby was already inching toward the entrance like he owned the place. Before he could slip past, you blocked the door with your foot.

“Uh-uh. Don’t even think about it, we’re going to the supermarket, remember? Might as well head out now.” You stepped outside and shut the door behind you, effectively ending the discussion.

Their groans echoed down the hallway, but none of them protested. You grinned. Sometimes, being the only one with a working sense of responsibility came in handy.

You already had a bad feeling the moment you stepped into the supermarket. Something was off, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

"Abby, go get a cart," you ordered.

You all entered through the automatic sliding doors—and as expected, chaos followed.

“Whoa… it opened by itself!” Baby gawked, stepping back and forth like he’d discovered a new things.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t act like you’ve just time-traveled from the 1800s.”

“I’ve never seen this before,” added Mystery, poking at the motion sensor like a cat encountering a mirror for the first time.

“Oh my god, you guys are not serious.” You scoffed, marching ahead and leaving them behind with a look of secondhand embarrassment. For the record, you didn’t know them. Not today.

You grabbed the basics first—rice, eggs, some instant noodles, oil, and the bare minimum to survive a week. That was until a cart suddenly rolled up beside you, in it: Baby, Mystery, Romance. All crammed inside like oversized toddlers.

“What are you doing?!” you hissed in horror, "Get out of there before security sees us!”

“It’s comfortable,” Romance said, completely unbothered.

“We’re just enhancing your cart’s aesthetic.” Abby added with a grin.

“You’re enhancing my blood pressure,” you growled.

“I wanted to see what it feels like to be cargo,” Baby added, kicking his legs slightly like this was the highlight of his week. Mystery just nodded solemnly like he had a philosophical reason for it.

“I... I can’t do this,” you muttered, rubbing your temples.

You yanked Romance out first, he yelped like a kicked puppy.

“Where’s Jinu?” you asked, suddenly noticing his absence.

Romance answered, “He said he was heading to the cosmetics section.”

You gawked. Why? What is he even doing there? “Mystery, go get him. Now.”

Mystery gave a quiet, obedient nod and disappeared without a word. As you waited for their return, you planted your hands on your hips, staring at the remaining members of your circus troupe.

“Act normal, I beg you,” you scolded as you tried to make them walk like actual humans. But as expected, the damage was done. An employee had already spotted your group— and was approaching.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the man said, “Is everything alright here?”

“Yes,” you said quickly. “I’m babysitting, they're... special.”

That seemed to be enough. The employee nodded awkwardly and walked away, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth his time.

“Special?” Jinu repeated, offended.

“You want to be banned from every supermarket in this district?” you snapped.

He shut up instantly.

You continued shopping, this time dragging the cart and forcing the others to walk beside it like functioning adults. But of course, Abby dan romance kept tossing random items into the cart— like thirty packs of instant pudding.

“We don’t need this much sugar,” you growled.

“But I like pudding.”

“I don’t like diabetes.”

As if on cue, Baby dropped in three family-sized packs of super spicy nuclear ramen.

“What the hell is that?”

“Food of the brave,” he said dramatically. “If we’re going down, we’re going down with fire.”

“I’m not letting you breathe pepper fumes into the apartment again, you nearly killed the plant last time.”

“That plant was already dying.”

“That plant was my mom’s!”

Baby had the decency to look guilty—for two seconds. Then he grabbed another spicy snack and winked. “Come on, live a little. What’s life without a little burn?”

“You are gonna burn the whole apartment down.”

Jinu, very quietly, added a ghost pepper sauce bottle to the cart. You caught him red-handed.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“...What if I say please with extra sadness?”

“No way.”

Mystery leaned in, “Spicy pudding?”

“Absolutely not.”

The chaos never stopped. By the time you reached checkout, the cashier looked mildly terrified. She scanned your groceries while watching your crew bicker about the best ramen flavor like they were debating world peace.

You sighed, “Remind me never to take you gremlins out again.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Romance grinned. “You love us.”

“Slightly.”

They beamed like you'd just said I love you outright. You loaded the groceries and pushed the cart to the exit. Abby, once again, paused in front of the automatic door and waved his hand to make it open.

“Still not over that, huh?” you asked dryly.

“I just wanna know if the door likes me.”

“IT OPENS FOR EVERYONE.”

You headed straight home, letting your minions carry all the groceries while you only brought your own bag. That was their punishment for causing chaos in the supermarket and nearly getting you all banned, until you realized letting the boys help cook was the worst decision of your life.

“I said cut the vegetables, not murder them!” you shouted, staring at Abby, who held up a cucumber that looked like it had been in a car crash.

“I did cut it,” he said defensively. “Emotionally.”

Across the kitchen, Baby was stirring something ominously red in a pot.

“What is that even supposed to be?”

He looked up, all innocent. “Soup.”

“It looks like it wants to eat me.”

“It’s spicy. Like me.”

“You’re giving me heartburn just by existing.”

On the other side, Mystery and Jinu were locked in a fierce debate over spice levels.

“I’m telling you, two spoonfuls of ghost pepper sauce is enough,” Mystery warned.

“That’s weak,” Jinu scoffed, already pouring in half the bottle. “I want her to remember this dinner for the rest of her life.”

“She’s gonna remember it because she’ll be hospitalized!”

“Worth it.”

You marched over, snatched the bottle from his hands, and turned the stove down. “No one’s going to the ER tonight. Unless it’s one of you.”

Meanwhile, Romance was surprisingly quiet—he’d found a bowl of rice and was now mixing it into a homemade face mask after watching a tutorial on TV.

“Romance, are you even helping?”

“I’m helping myself,” he said calmly, smearing the rice mixture on his cheek. “Self-care is important in a shared space.”

You wiped the sweat off your forehead, exhausted from yelling, when you suddenly remembered the letter. The one from that creature. The one that looked like a tiger, or a cat, or maybe both, with blue fur.

“Jinu, come here,” you called, still digging through your bag.

“What?” he asked, walking over while brushing flour off his clothes.

You pulled out the purple letter and handed it to him. “I didn’t read it, but I think it’s for you. You’re the only one here who’s even remotely sane.”

Jinu turned the letter over in his hands, then looked at you. “Where did you get this?”

Uh-oh. That question made you pause. You could lie. Or you could be honest and not end up on your own list of mentally unstable people.

“Look,” you began, already regretting this, “after I went into my room—right after you—a creature showed up. It looked like a tiger or a cat, it had blue fur. I thought I was hallucinating again, but no. I seriously thought I was going to die because it looked like it was about to eat me, but then it opened its mouth… and handed me that.”

Jinu nodded slowly. “Alright, I have to go.”

“What? Where? Dinner’s almost ready.”

“The letter’s asking to meet me. I’ll eat later.” He wiped some flour off his face and headed for the door.

You let him go. He looked too serious to stop, and honestly, you were too tired to fight it. No one else even asked where he went. Until you turned back to the kitchen and found… even more chaos.

By the time dinner was ready, the kitchen looked like a war zone. Your eyebrows smelled vaguely of chili oil, the rice cooker was crying, and somehow Abby had managed to get a single grain of rice stuck to the ceiling.

Everyone sat down, flushed, sweaty, lips stained red from the hell-soup. There was a moment of silence.

“…I can’t feel my tongue,” you muttered.

“But I can feel my soul,” Romance said dramatically, wiping a tear.

“This is the worst meal of my life,” you groaned, scanning the table of chaos.

Baby raised a spoonful and smiled. “But it’s ours.”

You stared at them—all of them burnt, teary-eyed, hopeless—and felt that stupid little tug in your chest again. A mix of exhaustion, reluctant love, and the quiet realization that this? This was your circus.

“…Fine, but next time? We’re ordering takeout.”

They all raised their spoons like a solemn oath.

“Next time,” they echoed.

PART: I. SEASONS, II. LOVE, IV. BONFIRE , V. HOMESICK

🧘🏻‍♀️ hum guys, so i think this one’s a bit messy since I was in a rush with other stuff, but i hope you still like it 👯‍♀️🐈‍⬛

tag list XD : @kpopmultistans, @luluprincess230lp, @prettylittlelavvy

223 notes · View notes

asthroophile · 15 days ago

Text

Some JinuRumi for the soul AUGGGGGH ✨️

39K notes · View notes

asthroophile · 16 days ago

Text

tteokbeokki: love — SAJA BOYS

WC: 2.8k+

PART: I. SEASONS, III. LILY, IV. BONFIRE

You were lounging in your room, seated at your desk, typing away on your laptop. The first day as a manager had left you utterly drained especially when the boyband you were assigned to manage felt more like a pack of wild animals than professional idols.

“How to be a good manager…” you murmured as you clicked on a YouTube video.

“You don’t need a tutorial to be a good manager,” came a sudden voice from behind you, Baby’s voice.

You didn’t even flinch. “Still, i want to do better for all of you.”

“You already are the best for us,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I picked you, didn’t I? And my choices are always the best ones.”

You sighed. “That’s what you think, what about the others? I’m not even sure I’m cut out for this job. You guys don’t even have your own agency building. You’re literally using my apartment as your base, how am I supposed to feel secure in a job that can’t even guarantee my salary?” You glanced at Baby flatly and scoffed, “This has to be the dumbest decision I’ve ever made, i should’ve stayed at my old job.”

Turning back to your screen, you resumed typing, listing out schedules, basic rules for the members, and anything else to keep them at least somewhat organized. Baby stayed quiet, watching you work before eventually moving over to sit on your bed.

“…Sorry,” he muttered.

“For what?” you asked.

“For being a burden,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean for you to struggle this much because of us. But… we have to do something. For someone, if we don’t, our souls will be eaten.”

You stopped typing, staring at him in confusion.

"What are you even talking about?”

Baby fiddled with his fingers, clearly unsure how to explain it, “If I were allowed to tell you everything—” he stopped mid-sentence, abruptly pressing his hands to his ears.

“Baby? Hey, are you okay?” You rushed to his side, concerned. “Is something wrong with your ears?”

“Did you forget me already?” he asked suddenly, looking at you with a strange intensity.

You blinked, “What? No, I… I didn’t forget you. We just met, didn’t we?”

“I chose you because we have met before.” He slowly lowered his hands. “These voices… they keep haunting me. I can’t escape them, but when I’m with you, they go quiet. You silence them because you’re the one I need.”

You let out a nervous laugh, "Did you just read something romantic online or something? That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“It is me,” he replied, calmly.

“Come on, that kind of talk doesn’t suit a guy with a baby face and a deep voice.”

“That’s just part of my charm."

You chuckled, a small smile tugging at your lips. For a second, it felt like he was back to being the Baby you knew.

“Can you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Of course… as long as it’s nothing weird,” he grinned, clearly expecting the opposite. You were already starting to regret. Without warning, he leaned his head on your shoulder. If he hadn’t asked first, you probably would’ve shoved him away by now.

“…Is this considered weird?”

“Kinda,” you mumbled, your hand absentmindedly stroking his hair. What even is this moment? You weren’t the type to let people get physically close especially not someone like Baby.

You thought maybe, this moment of peace would last long enough to keep you from going fully insane managing a broke boyband. But you were wrong.

The door to your room slammed open, Jinu and his gang burst in like action movie villains only to freeze, staring at the sight of you and Baby in a position that definitely looked too intimate.

“What are you two doing?”

Jinu’s voice cracked mid-sentence, a perfect mix of shock and scandalized disbelief. Behind him, Mystery blinked slowly as if trying to process the scene, while Abby gasped dramatically like he was watching a K-drama unfold in real time.

You immediately tried to stand but Baby was still leaning on you, totally unbothered.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” you blurted.

“Really?” Jinu crossed his arms. “Because it looks like our manager is cuddling our rapper during working hours in their private apartment base that we’re definitely not supposed to treat like a dorm.”

Baby yawned lazily, "Why are you acting like I don’t cuddle with you all the time?”

“That’s different!” Jinu snapped. “You’re annoying when you do it to me. This looks like... like, romantic tension!”

Abby squealed.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” you muttered, finally shoving Baby off of you. He made a small “oomph” as he fell sideways onto the bed, entirely unfazed.

Mystery tilted his head, “Wait… were we interrupting something important?”

“YES,” Baby and Jinu said at the same time, but with completely opposite tones.

You ran your hands down your face. “God, no. He was just… being Baby.”

“Which is suspicious by default,” Jinu added under his breath.

You ignored him and stood, brushing off invisible lint from your shirt. “Why are you all here anyway? Don’t tell me you broke the stove again—”

“We were wondering when the next rehearsal was,” Abby chirped. “But I guess some people were busy.”

“I wasn’t busy,” you hissed. “I was managing.”

“Managing what? Your love life?” Jinu teased.

Baby sat up and smirked. “So you do think it looks like a love life.”

“Can everyone shut up,” you snapped.

Jinu broke into a grin, “So does this mean Baby’s your favorite now?”

“He’s not even in the top five,” you shot back.

“There’s five of us,” Mystery whispered.

“Exactly.”

Baby looked wounded, “Betrayal..."

“Oh my God, get out of my room!”

Laughing and dramatically fake-crying, the boys stumbled back out, leaving you to slam the door behind them.

You stared at it for a long second, heart pounding. It wasn’t like you meant to let Baby get close. It just… happened. And worse, you didn’t hate it.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh, thinking finally you’d get your peace back, you were wrong, again. The door burst open for the second time.

“Can you guys knock for once in your life—” You started, already gearing up for a well-deserved rant, but Jinu was faster. He rushed in and clamped a hand over your mouth.

“Wait, wait, I forgot to tell you something important!”

You shoved his hand off your face, “What now?”

“So, remember when we told our fans to join us for a little fan event? Y’know… to play games together?”

You raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“Well… it’s today.”

You blinked slowly. “Today as in—now?”

Jinu gave you a sheepish nod. “Yeah, right now, so we kinda need to go.”

You groaned and waved him off. “Then go? Hurry up and get ready.”

He didn’t move, instead, he pointed directly at you.

“You have to come too.”

Your arms crossed your chest instantly, full defense mode. “WHAT? No, absolutely not. I am not going, no one can know I’m your manager!”

Jinu only smiled, “There’s going to be HUNTR/X there."

You took a deep breath, as if weighing a life-or-death decision. Then you clapped your hands together once, “Alright! Everyone get ready quickly! We’re moving in five!”

Jinu grinned wide, already halfway out the door. “Knew that would work!”

You shook your head as you turned to your reflection in the mirror, already dreading but also kinda panicking in excitement about what came next. Time to crash a fan event.

Your poor little boyband was already seated on the modest stage set up for them. Despite their earlier efforts to shove you backstage, you had stood your ground and firmly refused. No way you were hiding behind curtains, you’d rather sit with the crowd, thank you very much.

The event kicked off with a ridiculous game: who can chug the most hot sauce? And you already knew who’d win. Of course, no one outlasts Baby in a battle of pain and food.

You were actually enjoying the event. The energy, the laughter, the weird games, everything felt strangely... endearing. For a moment, you almost forgot how broke your band was. Almost.

But something kept tugging at your mind. You leaned forward slightly, Jinu promised HUNTR/X would be here.

Where were they? Was that little gremlin lying to get you to come?

Then, as if on cue, Jinu’s voice echoed through the speakers with way too much excitement

“Then why say goodbye when we have extra of models coming up? Please welcome Huntrix!”

Your heart skipped, your eyes widened as the lights dimmed and suddenly a dramatic spotlight cut across the stage, revealing three figures.

HUNTRIX.

The crowd lost it. Screams filled the venue. Phones were already out. People were crying, shaking. You, meanwhile, were frozen in your seat.

“Bring out the slides!” Jinu barked.

...What?

Fans started chanting. And then, yes somehow, somehow, a colorful, oversized plastic slide was dragged out.

THE SLIDE. And HUNTR/X actually used it.

Dressed in leather. Sliding down. Screeching all the way. The sound of leather squeaking violently against plastic echoed across the venue like a war cry of fashion versus physics.

Jinu bowed deeply, “It was truly an honor to share the stage with you.”

“No, no, no,” HUNTRIX replied smoothly, bowing just as low. “The honor is ours.”

Saja boys bowed again. “No, ours.”

HUNTR/X followed, "Ours.”

You watched in disbelief as the two groups continued bowing at each other, again and again, until the stage was finally covered with a soft curtain signaling the end of the event.

You stared at the now-closed stage, your brain fried. What kind of fever dream of an event was this? But your confusion didn’t last long.

Because the moment you stood up, your instincts screamed something was off. You turned your head only to see your band members bolting off the stage.

Being chased by huntrix.

“OH MY GOD,” you groaned, leaping to your feet. “What kind of trouble have they gotten into now?!”

Without thinking, you dashed out of the crowd, weaving through people, ignoring fans asking if you were someone important.

You spotted them running like children who’d broken a window, heading straight toward—

“Is that... a hot spring?!”

You narrowed your eyes in horror, yes, it was.

You picked up your pace. “I swear if they start an all-out hot spring brawl with huntrix, I’m quitting this job and faking my own death—!"

You weren’t sure what you’d find when you caught up.

But one thing was clear: your chaotic boyband was about to drag you into yet another disaster.

You were gasping for air as you finally reached the entrance to the hot spring, sweat dripping down your temples. Without thinking, you shoved open the door—

WHAM!

Something—a shoe? a flaming towel??—nearly flew into your face. You screamed, barely dodging it, and your jaw dropped at the chaos that unfolded before your eyes.

Idols, real, famous idols were fighting actual demons. You blinked and then you rubbed your eyes.

Nope, still there. Zoe was literally stabbing a horned creature while Mira spun mid-air and sliced through a screeching demon like she was in a drama finale with insane VFX.

Until you saw him. Jinu arguing with Rumi, in the middle of an actual demon brawl.

“JINU!” you shouted, your voice cracking from disbelief and impending wrath. You started sprinting toward him, he was so grounded for this, but you didn’t make it more than two steps before something with claws lunged at you.

But then the thing dropped. Dead.

Mira stood in front of you, sword dripping, face pale and wide-eyed, “What are you doing here? It’s not safe! Get out!”

Your voice shook. “I—I’m looking for my boyband!”

Mira looked at you like you were the delusional one here, “Boyband—?”

“Mira, behind you!” Zoe shouted from across the steam-filled chaos.

Mira spun and slashed without hesitation, gutting another demon before it reached her.

“No time for that!” she barked, already running toward another threat. “Get out of here!”

You were still trying to process whether you were hallucinating when a very real demon tail smacked into a wall right next to your head.

Yeah, no, time to run.

You stumbled out of the hot spring, heart hammering, lungs on fire, hair sticking to your forehead, and screamed into the night air:

“THEY’RE SO DAMN TROUBLESOME I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO TALK TO MY IDOLS IN PEACE!”

You looked around frantically, realizing your five boyband idiots had vanished yet again.

You didn’t know if they were fighting, hiding, or accidentally having tea with some elder demon out back. But you were going to find them and yell at them loudly, possibly with a frying pan.

You wandered the streets like a lost soul, still seething as you searched for your wayward boyband. Every step was accompanied by a muttered complaint under your breath—until a familiar silhouette caught your eye.

Jinu? Thank god, one of them, at least.

You rushed toward him, only for him to flinch, like he was about to bolt. But you got to him first, grabbing his wrist before he could escape.

“Jinu! What are you doing out here alone? Where are the others?” you demanded, keeping a firm grip on his wrist.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stared at your hand, the one clutching his wrist. You quickly realized what you were doing and let go.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“They’re safe, somewhere,” he said calmly.

“Somewhere? What does that even mean? You guys are always glued together, and now you're just… here? Alone? Tell me where they are—I may not be getting paid for this, but I’m still responsible for you guys.”

Your words came out sharper than intended, frustration boiling over. Jinu, however, simply laughed at your reaction.

“You really do care about us, huh?”

“Well—duh? I’m your manager, even without a contract. You’re the one who said I was, remember? Contract or not, I’m still stuck with you guys.”

He just looked at you. No, watched you, something in his gaze made your stomach twist.

“Can you not look at me like that?” you asked, voice faltering.

“…Can you touch me again?”

"What?”

“Touch me.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘TOUCH YOU’?!”

“Just… touch me?” he repeated, almost like a plea.

“ARE YOU INSANE?! DID THAT WHOLE BOTTLE OF SPICY SAUCE FRY YOUR BRAIN?!”

But Jinu didn’t flinch at your outburst. Instead, he calmly reached for your hand and intertwined your fingers with his.

“I didn’t think it would actually work,” he murmured. “Baby really found the right person.”

Your heart skipped.

“What… what do you mean I’m the right person?” you whispered, trying to pull away but his grip only tightened.

Jinu didn’t answer, but something told you everything was about to get much, much weirder.

Jinu let go of your hand and took a step back, putting distance between you, “I have to go.”

“To where? Wait, answer me—where are the others?”

“We’ll come back to your apartment,” he said, too casually for your liking.

“No. No, you’re clearly hiding something from me.” You stepped forward, refusing to let him escape that easily. “Why has everything gone wrong since I met you guys? It’s like I’ve been cursed! I— I even saw demons! I don’t know if I was hallucinating or what, but—”

“You saw demons?” His voice shifted, sharper now, more alert.

“YES? And Huntrix killed them. I saw it all when they were chasing you! What’s going on? Do you guys have something to do with Huntrix?”

Jinu didn’t reply.

Instead, his eyes flickered anywhere but yours, over your shoulder, down to his shoes, to the sky, anywhere that wasn’t your gaze.

Your frustration peaked, “Say something! Don’t stand there like this is normal!”

“I’m sorry…” he finally said, voice barely above a whisper, “Maybe in another life, I’d be able to explain everything to you.”

He stepped closer and you instinctively took a step back.

“Another life? Why not now…?” you asked quietly.

“Because we can’t risk losing you.” His eyes finally met yours. “You’re the heart of our existence.”

The words made no sense, you opened your mouth to ask more but before you could, Jinu reached out and flicked your forehead, gently, almost like a joke.

A blinding warmth pulsed through your skull, darkness bloomed at the edges of your vision, and then—nothing. You were asleep before you could even fall.

Darkness.

That was all you could sense—an infinite, suffocating blackness swallowing every corner of your surroundings. You felt as if you were floating, untethered, as though gravity itself had abandoned you. Then, out of the silence, a voice emerged—deep and heavy, pressing itself against your ear like a whisper laced with iron.

“So you’re the one who made my followers forget their original purpose,” it said, low and venomous. “How troublesome.”

You tried to move, to pull away from the voice, but it only crept closer, curling around you like smoke. No matter how far you shifted, it stayed near—breathing down your neck.

“Listen carefully,” the voice growled, “if you keep interfering with my plan to consume every human soul, then I’ll start with you. You’ll be the first I devour. And then… them.”

Your heart dropped.

“You mean those five idiots? What do you even want with them?” you snapped, unable to see who—or what—was speaking, but your frustration outweighed your fear.

The voice hissed. “This is exactly why I detest people like you. So attached. So pitiful. Drenched in shame you can’t shake off, even after five timelines.”

You clenched your fists. “Yeah, well, I’ve heard weirder speeches from Jinu and Baby, and guess what? You sound just as crazy as the rest of them. So congratulations, you’re officially the sixth idiot in my life.”

There was a beat of silence. Then the voice laughed.

Not loud, just… slow. The kind of laughter that made your skin crawl.

“Gwi-ma,” it said at last. “Remember that name, my daughter.”

The darkness around you shifted—like a television screen cutting to black—and suddenly you couldn’t breathe. Invisible hands clawed at your throat, choking you, forcing the air from your lungs. You thrashed, helpless, until— you woke up, gasping, drenched in sweat. Your sheets tangled around your limbs, your chest rising and falling too fast to be normal. You were in your room.

It was just a dream, just a nightmare.

“Oh, you’re awake,” a voice said softly.

You turned your head and found Mystery standing beside your bed, holding out a glass of water.

"You were tossing like crazy," he added, stepping closer. "Thought you were gonna burn up from that fever."

Fever?

You stared at him, still breathing heavily, your throat ached, your hands trembled. Mystery knelt beside the bed, offering the glass. You didn't take it right away.

"Did I say anything while I was asleep?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He tilted his head. "No... why?"

You glanced at your hand, no bruises, no marks around your neck. But the lingering weight of something unseen still pressed against your chest.

"No reason," you said finally, taking the water with shaking fingers. "Just... bad dreams."

“By the way, where are the others?” you asked, just to break the silence lingering between you and Mystery.

“In the living room, waiting for you to wake up. Why? Should I call them in?”

You barely opened your mouth to answer, but Mystery had already risen and headed toward the door.

“I didn’t even say yes…” you muttered with a sigh, dropping back against your pillows.

“Boss!!” Abby burst into the room dramatically, practically sliding across the floor before slumping against your side, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders. “I thought you were dead! I already started imagining the worst.”

“Say that again and I swear I’ll dump this water on you,” you threatened, raising the glass Mystery had given you.

Abby backed off instantly.

“You okay?” Romance asked, stepping in with a more reserved tone.

“Do I look okay to you?” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Snappy. That means she’s getting better,” Baby added with a small smirk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you snapped again.

Baby ignored your tone and walked up to you, scanning your face intently before gently placing his palm against your forehead.

“Still warm,” he murmured, frowning. “I didn’t think the aftermath would hit her this hard.”

You blinked. “What aftermath?”

“Of course it would,” Abby chimed in, flopping onto the arm of a nearby chair. “She’s human, remember? And he was watching us the whole time, saw everything. Even that one conversation between you two and Jinu.”

You sat up straighter. “Hold on—what are you talking about? And where the hell is Jinu? I need to talk to that little jerk. He just flicked me and left me unconscious?!”

You tried to push the blanket away and get up, but Mystery was already there, pressing a hand gently to your shoulder.

“You’re not getting out of bed until you’re fully recovered,” Romance added, arms crossed like he meant it.

You blinked at him.

“…It’s weird coming from you,” you muttered.

“Come on, I do care about you,” Romance said, half-joking, though something in his eyes looked serious. You narrowed your gaze at him, unconvinced.

“Uh-huh,” you muttered, then let out a heavy sigh. “So… what exactly did you guys do that made Huntrix chase you all the way to a hot spring full of demons? I’m being serious here. That wasn’t a dream. I saw them kill that demon. And you guys—” you turned your head toward each of them like a judge staring down her jury, “—what the hell were you doing?!”

The room fell into a tense silence. Baby looked down, Abby fiddled with the hem of his shirt, and Mystery stood still like a statue. Even Romance said nothing.

“Guys?” you snapped.

Romance finally broke the silence, “It’s… not entirely our fault.”

“Oh yeah?” you folded your arms. “Then whose fault is it? Mine?”

“Him.” Abby pointed upward—or maybe just toward the ceiling.

“Him? What do you mean him? Gwi-ma?” you asked sharply.

“You know?” Baby looked startled.

“He said it himself,” you replied quickly. “In the dream. I swear, I’m not making this up. He talked to me, said he was Gwi-ma, that he’d eat me first before the rest of you, because he hated me…?” You trailed off, your voice trembling. “Then he said I was his daughter.”

Romance immediately stood up from the couch. “We need to call Jinu.”

You blinked in disbelief, “What? Why? What does Jinu have to do with this?”

“Because he’s the one Gwi-ma entrusted with the task of harvesting human souls, those meant to be sacrificed for Gwi-ma,” Romance answered without hesitation.

You stared at him like he’d grown another head. “Are you spewing nonsense again?” you scoffed, half-joking.

“No, I’m serious.” His expression was deadly calm. “Keep her here, I’m getting Jinu.”

“Romance? Hey! I’m not done talking to you!” You pushed yourself up, but Abby and Baby quickly held your arms, gently forcing you back down, while Mystery moved to distract you with a glass of water and soft reassurances.

“Relax, Boss. Don’t stress yourself,” Abby muttered.

“Let’s not trigger another fainting spell, alright?” Baby added.

You tried to shake them off, threatening to hit them—either with your hands or, if needed, a pan. But they seemed immune to your threats. Left with no choice, you actually swung. And yes, Abby got hit.

“OU—!” he hissed, now firmly grabbing your arms again to hold you still.

“Ugh! Don’t crowd me like this, let me go!!” you snapped, struggling against their grip.

“Let her go,” came a sudden voice, you turned your head—Jinu. And beside him, Romance.

“Oh great, you showed up too,” you snapped at Jinu, not holding back. “Now I want you to explain every weird thing that’s been happening. No lies, no more tricks, just tell me the damn truth.”

Jinu hadn’t answered yet. Instead, he looked around the room, meeting everyone’s eyes one by one. “Are we really going to tell her everything?”

“Yes?” Romance said, arms crossed. “She literally heard Gwi-ma speak to her.”

“You talked to Gwi-ma?” Jinu’s gaze shifted to you now, disbelief in his voice.

“What even is your connection to Gwi-ma? Isn’t Gwi-ma just some old story or legend?”

Jinu shook his head slowly. “No, he’s real.”

Silence spread through the room like a chill draft.

“Let go of me,” you told Baby and Abby, who had still been holding you back. They released you without protest. You got up from the bed, stormed out of the room—and returned holding a pan.

You slammed it lightly against your palm. “Pick one: sit or kneel.”

“Uh, manager-nim, what are you trying to say…?” Abby asked nervously, eyes fixed on the pan.

“Nothing. Just pick one. Sit. Or. Kneel.”

They all froze, unsure whether to take you seriously or not.

Romance raised his hands. “Okay okay, no need for violence. I’ll sit.”

Baby clicked his tongue. “She’s serious. Don’t test her when she has cookware in her hands.”

“I’m serious because I need answers,” you snapped. “No more cryptic half-truths. I don’t care if I’m ‘just human’ or whatever—you dragged me into this mess, and now I’m part of it whether you like it or not. So someone start talking.”

Jinu exhaled slowly and sat down, legs crossed, eyes unreadable. “Fine, you want the truth?”

You nodded, gripping the handle of your pan tightly.

“Gwi-ma is… the one we made a deal with. Not all of us knew at first. But eventually, we all accepted it.”

“What kind of deal?” you asked. “And why the hell would you ever deal with something like that?”

“We were dying,” Romance said quietly. “Desperate for something—anything. And we made a deal with him.”

“He offered us a better life,” Baby added. “In exchange for his help… a pattern slowly appeared on our bodies. It won’t fade, no matter what we do.”

“That pattern reflects our shame,” Mystery continued, voice low. “The voice we keep hearing—it’s regret. It doesn’t stop. And now… we are his demons. We have to offer him human souls as payment.”

You stared at them in disbelief, your mind spinning. The old folktales your grandmother used to tell you, they were real.

“So… you’ve been demons all this time?” you asked, your voice trembling.

One by one, they nodded.

You clenched your fists, frustration bubbling in your chest. "He said I was his daughter."

Jinu turned sharply to look at you. "Wait—what? We never knew anything about this."

"NEITHER DID I!" you snapped, voice cracking. “You think I knew anything?! All of this just hit me like a bomb, okay? Out of nowhere! One second I was normal, and the next—what? You’re all demons, and I’m suddenly his child? A demon’s child?! No, that’s not possible!”

You shoved up your sleeves and turned your arms over. “If I were his child, I’d have those stupid patterns too, right? But look—nothing! There’s nothing!”

Silence, the room felt like it was holding its breath.

Then Baby stepped forward, carefully, as if afraid you’d lash out again. “Not all patterns are visible,” he said softly. “Some of them… don’t show up unless he wants them to.”

You scoffed. “Great, even my skin is a lie now.”

Mystery looked uneasy. “Do you remember anything strange from your childhood? Nightmares? Blackouts? Maybe seeing someone watching you?”

You hesitated. A memory tried to claw its way up—but you shook it off. “I don’t know, I always thought I was just paranoid or tired. It’s not like I had the easiest childhood.”

Romance paced the room, rubbing his forehead. “If Gwi-ma said that… then it changes everything. He’s never taken an interest in anyone before. Ever.”

“And he talked to her,” Jinu said, more to himself than anyone. “Directly.”

You dropped your head into your hands. “Can I please just wake up now? I’m done, I’m done with this shit."

“I don’t think he’ll let you walk away,” Abby murmured. “If he called you his daughter, then maybe… maybe he thinks you’ll replace us.”

You were just about to ask Abby what he meant when a sudden notification lit up your phone screen.

"Wait, guys— HUNTRIX IS HOLDING A FAN EVENT TOMORROW!”

Your five boys stared at you in confusion as your expression shifted from confusion to pure delight in a split second.

“Okay, let’s just end this conversation right here,” you said quickly, brushing your hair back. “I just woke up from a nightmare, and maybe it messed with my brain a little, alright? You guys aren’t demons—look at you. You’re perfectly normal.”

“But Manager—” Jinu tried to interject.

“Shhh! I’ve been waiting so long for this Huntrix fan event. Don’t ruin it for me.”

The boys exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond. Romance leaned in and whispered to Jinu, “We have to be at that fan event tomorrow, let's head out now.”

“But what about her? She already knows everything, but she’s still in denial.”

“I’m in denial because this entire thing is insane, Jinu,” you snapped, placing your hands on your hips.

Jinu raised both palms in surrender. “Okay, okay… at least you look better now. More like your usual, angry self.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that—I meant your beautiful usual self?”

You narrowed your eyes at him with suspicion. He cleared his throat.

“Right, Boss, no offense… but, uh, can we borrow your sleeping bag?”

“For what?”

“Camping!” Mystery answered a bit too eagerly. “Yeah, camping.”

“Today? Seriously? Are you guys insane?”

“Please, just lend it to us?” Jinu pleaded. But his begging clearly had no effect on you, so he turned to Baby, signaling him to step in.

“I’m not going with you guys,” Baby replied lazily, flopping back onto the couch.

“Exactly, Baby. Don’t go with them,” you agreed with a firm nod.

“BABY?!” the rest of the group exclaimed in unison, as if he’d just betrayed the entire boyband.

PART: I. SEASONS, III. LILY, IV. BONFIRE

🧘🏻‍♀️ OKAY IM WORKING ON THE NEXT PART — hopefully i can type it quickly cuz i still have another draft to finish too 👯‍♀️👯‍♀️

290 notes · View notes

asthroophile · 22 days ago

Text

tteokbeokki: seasons — SAJA BOYS

WC: 5.233 SUMMARY: a quiet life was nothing but a fantasy, and even that refused to come true because of him. saying yes to being their manager? easily the worst mistake you’ve ever made.

PART: II. LOVE, III. LILY, IV. BONFIRE, V. HOMESICK

“Alright, I’ll leave the rest to you, yeah?” your coworker says, waving a hand as she heads out after finishing her shift. It’s your turn to take the night shift.

You nod, watching her disappear through the door before getting to work cleaning up the tables left messy by the last round of customers. The place is quiet, the usual hum of the night just beginning to settle in until the soft chime of the entrance bell rings, announcing the arrival of a late-night customer.

“Welcome! Can I help you?” you say automatically, straightening up.

The man who walks in is… striking. Dressed in soft pastel tones with mint-colored hair that fades like tea steeped in milk, a dusting of makeup gracing his features. Stylish, you think. A bit out of place for a tteokbokki joint at this hour.

“What do you have on the menu?” he asks.

You list off your offerings, “We’ve got original tteokbokki, creamy tteokbokki, cheese tteokbokki—the cheese one’s the most popular. Each comes in mild, medium, spicy, and... hellfire levels.”

“I’ll take the original tteokbokki. Hellfire level, or higher if you can make it.”

You blink. Seriously?

Your shop almost got sued last month because someone ordered that same insane spice level and couldn’t stop throwing up for hours. You’re not about to have a repeat of that disaster.

“Sorry, but… are you sure about that? I just want to confirm you’re okay with something that spicy. We do have a disclaimer, if you end up with any stomach issues, we’re not responsible.”

He rolls his eyes at you. Actually rolls his eyes. Then, with a lazy sigh, he slides a few extra bills across the counter like that settles everything.

“Alright, alright... Please wait a moment,” you mumble, taking the money. With a quiet exhale, you head to the kitchen and start preparing the order, trying not to think about how this might end.

The kitchen fills with the sharp, stinging scent of gochujang and simmering rice cakes. You add more chili powder than usual, then even more—your conscience lightly tapping your shoulder, but the extra money resting on the counter says otherwise.

As the sauce thickens into a glossy, deep red, you sneak a glance at the customer through the service window.

He’s sitting alone at a corner table, back straight, legs crossed, one hand resting on his cheek as he scans the room like he’s been here before.

Once it’s done, you slide the tray together: the tteokbokki steaming, sauce bubbling faintly, a small cup of water, even though you doubt he’ll use it. You carry it over.

“Here you go. Original tteokbokki, hellfire level... like you asked.”

He tilts his head, eyeing the dish, then you.

You expect a "thanks" or at least a nod, but he just picks up the chopsticks, and without hesitation, lifts one burning red piece of rice cake and takes a bite.

He chews slowly. Swallows.

No reaction, no cough, no reach for the water.

“Not spicy enough,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You blink. “Excuse me?”

His eyes meet yours now, “I said,” he repeats, lips tugging into a faint smile, “it’s not spicy enough.”

You open your mouth to respond, maybe to ask if they’re joking but the look in their eyes tells you the conversation is over. Whatever interest they had in talking is already gone.

With a quiet sigh, you turn and head back to the counter, pulling out your phone to check out the latest song from HUNTR/X. Anything to pass the time.

But just as the beat drops, a piece of folded paper lands on the counter in front of you.

A flyer?

You pick it up, eyebrows knitting as you read the bold letters across the top: Saja Boys—Live Performance.

A boyband?

You glance up, confused. “Saja Boys?” you mutter.

He only grins at you, annoyingly smug. “Just come,” he says, as if that’s all the explanation you need. “You’ll like it."

You look back down at the flyer, unsure what to make of it, when you glance up again… he’s gone.

You step out of the shop, eyes scanning the quiet street in search of where that man went. But there’s no sign of him. Confusion twists in your gut. What was his deal, anyway?

“Why is it always the weird ones lately?” you mutter under your breath, rubbing your arms against the cool night air.

With a sigh, you turn back and step inside the shop, letting the door close behind you with a soft click, still feeling like something about him lingers in the air.

The next day, you somehow find yourself standing in front of the venue printed on the flyer he gave you.

You’re not sure how you ended up here. You didn’t plan to come, at least, not consciously, but here you are.

Then, like something straight out of a dream, a pink mist begins to rise from the very center, swirling upward as the music swells around it. The crowd stirs with anticipation.

Are they performing here?

Compelled by some mix of curiosity and disbelief, you push your way forward for a better view. As the beat kicks in, you brace yourself for secondhand embarrassment—but no, the song is… weirdly good. Catchy. Addictive, even.

You try to fight it, you’re a loyal HUNTR/X fan, after all. No other group has ever pulled your attention away from them. But damn it... this song is really good.

You find yourself nodding to the rhythm, maybe even mouthing a few of the lyrics before you realize it. The performance is energetic, borderline hypnotic. You're actually enjoying it until the rap part hits.

He steps forward, your jaw nearly drops, you barely stop yourself from gaping like an idiot.

Noway that’s him? The guy from last night? The one who ordered hellfire-level tteokbokki like it was nothing?

You had assumed he was just some eccentric flyer guy not a member of the boyband. And certainly not the rapper.

You’re still processing this betrayal of reality when his eyes sweep across the crowd... and land directly on you, you freeze.

He doesn’t break rhythm, doesn’t miss a beat. But he saw you, you know he did. And worse? he smirks. Like he knew you’d come, like this was all part of the plan.

You were planning to head straight home after that unexpected concert. But before you could even reach your apartment, something dark lunged at you from a narrow alley. Everything went black.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Two hours? Four? You’ve lost all sense of time. What you do know is that you’ve been blindfolded for way too long until finally, someone with a shred of decency pulls the cloth from your eyes.

“I found someone to be our manager,” a voice says.

You squint, blinking hard as your vision adjusts. It’s a guy, standing in front of you, grinning like he just saved the day.

“Where’d you find them?” another voice asks from somewhere nearby.

But before he can answer, you cut in sharply, “Where am i? And what the hell do you want from me?”

As your vision clears, you realize you're facing five people. No, not just people, it’s the same five guys from the boyband you just saw perform.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Listen,” you growl, tugging against the ropes around your wrists, “I can easily get out of these and beat the crap out of all of you.”

The one with jet-black hair rushes forward, hands raised in panic. “Okay, okay, don’t freak out, we’ll untie you, i swear! Just, how about we introduce ourselves first?”

He gestures at the others.

“I’m Jinu. The one with the abs that’s Abby, the one whose hair covers half his face that’s Mystery, the one with heart-shaped hair yeah, that’s Romance, and the baby-faced one over there is... Baby.”

“Baby?” you mutter, eyeing the last guy. He looks familiar, too familiar. Of course it’s him, the guy who ordered the hellfire tteokbokki, that ridiculous spice level. His name is Baby?

“You guys seriously have the weirdest taste in names.”

Jinu just laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Sooo—”

“What do you want from me?” you cut him off again, eyes sharp.

Jinu straightens his posture and puts on the most diplomatic face he can manage.

“We need a manager. Someone to organize us, keep things on track. As you probably figured out… we’re a boyband. So I asked the other four to find someone who could manage us.”

He pauses, then adds, “And, well… you were their choice. Or more specifically, Baby’s suggestion.”

You whip your head toward Baby, who is completely unbothered—still casually munching on something spicy like none of this is insane.

“Are you guys messing with me? This some kind of prank?” you snap, glaring between them.

Jinu tilts his head, confused by your reaction.

“Listen,” you say, stepping forward as far as the ropes allow, “I already have a job.”

Then, with a sudden burst of rage: “So WHAT DO YOU MEAN TELLING ME TO BE YOUR MANAGER WHEN YOU KNOW I ALREADY HAVE A JOB?!”

Jinu visibly flinches at your outburst, laughing nervously. “Yeah… okay, fair. But hear us out first! Maybe you’ll like this job better?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN MAYBE?!”

Jinu raises both hands like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Okay, okay, just listen, alright? Give us five minutes.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Technically… it was more like an urgent relocation.”

“You dragged me unconscious into some unknown place!”

“We carried you,” Abby corrects helpfully, flexing a little. “I did most of the lifting.”

You give him a withering glare.

Jinu steps in again. “Look, I get that this is weird. But think about it, isn’t your job boring? Long shifts, rude customers, minimum wage? What if you could manage us instead? Travel, concerts, real pay, actual respect. Plus” he grins, “you’d be working with the most handsome boyband in existence. Sounds kind of fun, right?”

“No. It sounds like a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“You’re feisty,” Romance murmurs with a dreamy smile, tilting his head. “I like that.”

“Shut up,” Mystery mutters without looking up from his phone.

You sigh, “Why me? Out of everyone in the city, why me?”

There’s a pause, all eyes shift to Baby. He looks up mid-chew, then swallows. “You looked... chill.”

You stare. “I looked chill? That’s your whole reasoning?”

“Well, you didn’t freak out when I ordered hellfire tteokbokki,” he adds, licking his fingers. “I figured you could handle us.”

Your soul momentarily leaves your body.

“I should’ve let you burn your tongue off.”

“Joke’s on you,” he says, grinning. “I don’t have tastebuds anymore.”

Jinu clears his throat. “The point is… we need someone we can trust. Someone outside the industry, someone who’s not already tied up in contracts and drama. And somehow, Baby believes that’s you.”

You look around the room, five boys who kidnapped you, and apparently expect you to drop your job and manage their careers like this is normal.

“...Untie me,” you finally say.

They exchange nervous glances.

“I won’t punch you,” you add. “Yet.”

Mystery sighs and walks over to undo the ropes. “Honestly, if she was gonna kill us, she would've done it already.”

The ropes fall away. You stretch your arms and stand slowly.

You pretend to think hard, furrowing your brows like some kind of serious researcher if only to make it look like you’re actually considering it. Gotta keep up appearances, right?

Then, out of nowhere, your eyes light up. “Wait so, does this mean I’d get the chance to meet HUNTR/X?”

The sudden burst of energy in your voice catches them off guard.

Jinu blinks, “uh… if that’s your reason for even considering becoming our manager, then... sure? I guess?”

You narrow your eyes, arms now crossed firmly against your chest. “No, I mean it. Seriously, will i be able to interact with HUNTR/X?”

There’s a small pause.

Then, Romance casually throws an arm over your shoulder like you’re old friends, “Whoa there, sweet girl. You do realize we’re a boyband too, right? And judging by the crowd reaction during our first live performance, people already love our music. So yeah, if we keep rising like this, working with HUNTR/X isn’t out of the question.”

He flashes you a dazzling smile, the kind that probably melts fan hearts online.

“So… deal?” he asks, leaning in just enough to be annoying. “Will you be our manager?”

You shove Romance’s arm off your shoulder, putting some much-needed distance between you and him. Gotta stay sharp. If you do end up agreeing to this, you need to make sure they take you seriously.

Image is everything.

“Alright, let me think about it, okay?” you say, forcing yourself back into your ‘tough negotiator’ role.

Before you can even finish processing your thoughts, Baby lets out a long, dramatic sigh then flicks his finger straight at your forehead.

“Ow—what the hell?!” you snap, rubbing the spot.

“Stop overthinking,” he says lazily. “You want to be our manager. Just admit it. I mean, you’ll get paid way more, there’ll be benefits, and, bonus... I’ll always be around.”

You narrow your eyes. “Always around? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He smirks, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You stare at him like you’re seconds away from flipping a chair. Still… You inhale sharply, “Okay, fine. I’ll be your manager.”

The room shifts instantly, excitement pulses like static in the air.

“But,” you raise a finger before they can celebrate, “I need to talk this over with my boss first.”

Jinu nods quickly, eager. “Of course. Take your time. We’re not trying to rush you.”

You eye them all again five chaotic boys, one weirder than the next, staring at you like you just signed your soul away.

Which… you probably just did.

Some time passes after you finish your call with your boss. The moment you hang up, Abby practically pounces on you.

“So? You’re still gonna be our manager, right?”

You roll your eyes and nod. “Yeah, yeah. Now where’s the paperwork? I want to sign the contract already.”

They all glance at each other.

You frown. “What? Don’t tell me you don’t have one.”

“Yeah… we kinda don’t need it,” Jinu says, laughing awkwardly.

You blink. “Excuse me? That’s important, you need a contract.”

Jinu scratches the back of his neck. “You’re already our manager, though. Contract or not.”

“...Okay? Then where’s your building? I mean—training studio, dorm, whatever. You do have one, right?”

More exchanged glances.

“Are you serious right now?” you say, arms crossing.

“We don’t really need that kind of stuff,” Baby replies, completely unbothered.

“Don’t need it?! That’s literally essential! What do you expect me to do—run your schedules out of thin air?!”

“Well,” Baby shrugs, “you’re still living in your apartment, right?”

You squint, “Obviously, why?”

A spark of mischief lights in his eyes. “Wait, what if we just use your apartment as our base?”

“WHAT?! NO, NO WAY, ABSOLUTELY NOT.”

“That actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Abby chimes in, far too excited. “Okay, yeah! Her apartment it is!”

“Wait what?! I didn’t agree to—”

Before you can finish, Jinu gently grabs your hands, holding them like he’s about to propose. “Please, just for one week, okay?” he pleads, smiling like he practiced it in a mirror.

“You guys are the most broke boyband I’ve ever seen.”

“Please,” Baby begs, eyes wide. “I’ll keep buying food from your old workplace to support them.”

“I quit that job because I had to become your manager, remember?!”

“I’ll help with the chores at your place,” Mystery mumbles from the back, voice low but serious.

You pause, silence. You stare at them, one by one.

And somehow despite your instincts screaming run you find yourself unlocking your apartment door, letting them in.

With a heavy sigh, you mutter under your breath, “This better not be the dumbest decision of my life.”

Spoiler: it probably is.

You regret everything the moment the front door swings open.

Your apartment is not big enough for five adult men with questionable boundaries and even worse habits.

“Take your shoes off,” you mutter, stepping aside to let them in.

“Whoa, this place is kinda cozy!” Abby exclaims, already sprawling on your couch like he owns it.

“This plant’s fake, right?” Romance pokes at your one surviving plastic monstera. “Good taste.”

You throw your bag onto the dining table, staring at the sudden invasion like a war survivor. “This isn’t a dorm. You’re not allowed to treat it like one.”

“Too late…” Mystery mumbles, already plugging in a game console from his backpack like he’s lived here for years.

“Don’t plug anything into—whatever, fine.” You drag your hands down your face. “Ground rules. Right now.”

Baby raises a brow from where he’s halfway through your fridge. “You have rules?”

“Yes!” you snap. “One, no raiding my fridge without permission.”

“Too late,” he says through a mouthful of leftover tteokbokki.

“Two,” you growl, “no sleeping in my bed. That’s mine."

“We’ll share,” Romance says with a wink.

You throw a pillow at his head. “Three, don’t flirt with your manager!”

“I wasn’t flirting.” He catches the pillow. “I was seducing.”

“OUT!”

It takes a full hour before they finally calm down. Jinu tries to organize who sleeps where—tries. But somehow you end up with:

Abby passed out on the couch like a corpse.

Mystery in your office chair with a blanket wrapped around his entire body like some cursed cocoon.

Romance and Baby arguing over who gets the comfier floor spot.

Jinu politely offering to sleep on the doormat, as if that makes this situation better.

You’re too tired to scream. Instead, you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror while brushing your teeth, questioning every choice that led you here.

You could’ve said no, you could’ve run when they mentioned using your apartment, you could’ve faked your own death, but no.

You sigh, rinse your mouth, and open the bathroom door, only to find Baby standing there. Too close.

“Do you always look that angry when brushing your teeth?” he asks.

You push past him, ignoring the smirk on his face.

“You’re lucky I haven’t murdered anyone yet,” you mutter.

He follows you to your bedroom door. “I’m just saying. You’ve got this whole ‘cold but capable’ vibe going on. Could be your image as a manager.”

You squint at him, “You’re way too comfortable with this.”

He just shrugs and walks off, leaving you standing there, slightly stunned.

You glance back at your room, then at the mess of boys sprawled across your tiny apartment.

This is hell.

But a tiny voice in your head, traitorous and quiet whispers: at least you’re not bored anymore.

You sigh before waking them all up, pointing toward the couch like a tired school teacher trying to maintain order.

"Okay, you guys are sleeping on the couch. I hope you don’t squirm around like a bunch of worms. It’s big enough, if it’s not, just sleep on the floor. I’ll get blankets, pillows, and mats," you explain, and they only nod quietly.

"Are you really not gonna let us sleep in your room?" Romance asks.

"NO. Don’t be ridiculous, it won’t even fit all of you even if I said yes."

"But you’d let one of us sleep there, right?" Abby pipes up, grinning.

"STILL NO. Shut up and stay here, I’m going to get your sleeping stuff."

"You’re so mean," Baby mutters just loud enough for you to hear.

You whip your head around. Fast.

"Excuse me, Baby? You said something?"

Baby throws on his most innocent face. "Nooo, I just said you’re mean… but like, in a charmingly mean way?"

"Charming my ass."

He only grins wider, like he just won a game no one else knew they were playing.

Jinu quickly steps in, "Okay, okay, let’s not make her more upset. We’re lucky enough she didn’t toss us onto the street."

"If you guys piss me off again, you're all sleeping on the balcony tomorrow," you warn as you turn away.

"The balcony barely fits one person!" Mystery cries from somewhere behind the couch.

"Exactly," you reply coldly as you walk over to grab some old pillows, foldable mats, and whatever spare blankets you can find.

When you return, they’re all sitting obediently on the couch like kids waiting for instructions. Even Baby, the biggest complainer so far, is silent.

You toss the bedding at them one by one. "There share it yourselves. Don’t complain about being cold."

“Mean manager but kinda sweet,” Abby whispers to Mystery.

“I heard that, Abby."

Silence again.

Eventually, the first night ends with all five members sprawled out on your living room like sardines in a can. You glance at them for a moment before shutting your door and locking it. Twice.

And just before drifting off to sleep, one thought hits you: if this is just night one… God help me for the rest.

Morning came, and you hoped everything would be calm and peaceful—like the usual chime of your phone alarm, the distant sound of traffic, and all the other quiet little things that make a normal morning. But not today.

You quickly got up, your hair a mess and a sudden headache pounding in your skull. You went to open the door that, for the love of God, you swore you locked twice last night—only to find it ajar.

The first thing you saw? A disaster.

The couch they slept on last night was a complete mess, blankets thrown everywhere. Baby was digging through your fridge like he was mining for treasure. Mystery had already resumed his gaming session like he hadn’t moved an inch all night. Abby was doing warmups, shirtless. And Jinu was drinking the last of your emergency stash coffee.

You stared at the scene in horror.

“You! I... WHY ARE YOU ALL LIKE THIS?!”

Jinu gave you a sheepish smile, mug in hand. “Good morning to you too, boss.”

“That was my last coffee.”

“Was?” he blinked, "It’s inside me now.”

You looked like you were about to faint.

“Okay, okay, everyone, pause your insanity.”

They did not pause.

Baby closed the fridge door using his foot. “No offense, but you seriously need groceries.”

“Yeah, I know,” you snapped. “I didn’t expect to host a boyband invasion.”

Abby stretched like he was sunbathing. “Technically, you agreed.”

“I agreed under duress.”

Mystery mumbled without looking up, “She’s hangry. Feed her.”

“Don't diagnose me!” you yelled, throwing a pillow at him, which he dodged effortlessly.

Romance finally walked out of the bathroom in your oversized towel. “You seriously don’t have conditioner?”

Your eye twitched.

“GET OUT.”

“What, from the apartment?”

“NO, FROM THE BATHROOM.”

He gave you a wink, “Jealous?” You almost hurled the coffee cup at him.

In the end, they were all seated in the living room, watching you hustle in the kitchen, cooking what seemed like a feast just to feed them all.

"Should we help her?" Abby asked, leaning back slightly.

"No, we’ll just get strangled if we mess up. She looks like the type," Romance replied with a straight face.

Abby nodded, fully convinced.

"I’ll clean up the blankets and pillows we used," Mystery said calmly, already moving to tidy the mess in the living room. Jinu? Who knows. Just let the man exist and sip his coffee.

And Baby? Of course he had the guts to approach you—no, more like, approach the fridge, still on his never-ending quest for spicy snacks.

"What do you want, Baby?" you asked, side-eyeing him while stirring something in the pan.

"I'm hungry, just wanna snack a little."

"Don’t snack yet. Just wait for breakfast," you replied flatly without even glancing his way.

"You're worried about me?" Baby gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. "Unbelievable."

You gave him a blank look before finally turning his way.

"Yeah, I’m worried you’ll spoil your appetite and make me cook more. Now move."

Baby pouted, but stepped away from the fridge with a small grumble, "Why does she sound like my mom but scarier..."

"That’s your boss now," Jinu called from the couch, raising his mug.

"Treat her well or she might actually stab you with a spatula."

Romance snorted. "Honestly? I’d let her."

"Romance, shut up," you and Abby said at the same time.

It was only the first full day, and chaos had already made itself at home in your apartment.

But somewhere between the clatter of pans and the bickering voices behind you, you realized something even more dangerous: you might actually get used to this.

“Can I help you?” Baby asked from beside you, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I’ve never cooked before.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” you replied without missing a beat. “The last thing I need is another disaster in my kitchen.”

“Please,” he pleaded, eyes wide and gleaming with fake innocence.

You glanced sideways. The guy literally had the face of a baby. And his name was Baby. Did he really think that puppy-eyed expression was gonna work on you?

…Of course it did.

You sighed, defeated. “Fine, you can stir this, but only this. Don’t touch anything else, don’t even look at the knives.”

“Yes, chef!” he chirped, already grabbing the spatula way too confidently.

You stepped aside a little, watching him with a mix of caution and regret.

"Okay, now gently, no, not like you're fighting a demon, I said gently!"

"Oops, sorry sorry," Baby winced, now stirring so slowly it looked like time was frozen.

"...You're either gonna set something on fire or fall asleep standing up," you muttered, rubbing your temple.

He just grinned. “But at least I’m trying. That counts, right?”

You groaned, “It counts when you don’t burn down my kitchen.”

Behind you, Jinu called out, “If anything explodes, I’m blaming both of you!”

Romance leaned over the back of the couch, watching with interest. “Wow, this is better than morning cartoons.”

Mystery peeked in from the hallway, blanket still half-draped over his shoulder, “Should I bring the fire extinguisher just in case?”

Abby poked his head out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth. “You guys cooking or starting a war in there?”

You slammed the spatula down on the counter, causing Baby to jump, “Next person who comments gets no breakfast.”

Silence, except for Baby, who leaned over and whispered, “That was kinda hot, though.”

You smacked him lightly with a towel, he definitely deserved it.

Some time had passed, and somehow… you still weren’t done cooking. You were almost impressed with how long this breakfast was taking.

Romance, who’d been lying on the couch and watching like he was bingeing a drama, finally sighed. “Okay, it was fun at first, but now I’m bored. Can I help too?”

“Just sit down and stay bored,” you snapped. “It’s already enough of a circus with Baby helping me.”

“Oooh, what if I help?” Abby called out, doing crunches while following a YouTube workout. He didn’t even pause the video.

“No.”

“I got it!” Jinu stood up dramatically, pointing to himself. “Let me help you—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I guess that means I can help?” Mystery asked softly from behind you.

You turned to him, blinking.

“…Yes. Yes, come here.”

Everyone else stared in disbelief as Mystery padded over to your side like a ghost who’d just won the lottery. He washed his hands without needing to be told, waited for instructions, and followed every step without question.

“See? This is what ‘help’ actually means,” you said, pointedly looking at Baby, who had somehow managed to spill flour on his shirt again.

“I’m learning!” Baby whined.

“You’re making a mess,” you corrected.

Romance was now lying facedown on the carpet. “This is torture. Someone just let me chop an onion or something.”

“No sharp objects for you,” you warned.

Abby had paused his workout, dramatically wiping sweat off his forehead. “You guys are lucky I’m burning calories while you’re burning the stove.”

“We’re not burning anything!” you snapped.

Just then, a faint sizzle sounded from the pan. You turned to see Baby flipping something with way too much enthusiasm, causing oil to splatter.

“OW—HOT!”

“You okay?” Mystery asked calmly, handing Baby a cold spoon to press against the burn on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Baby mumbled, trying to act tough. “Thanks, bro.”

You exhaled slowly, counting to ten in your head.

Mystery just quietly kept stirring the soup like a seasoned kitchen spirit.

Eventually, the kitchen began to smell like something edible, and a sense of fragile hope returned to the apartment.

You looked around at the group of half-dressed idols, scattered pillows, and flour-coated Baby, and muttered under your breath, “This better be worth it.”

The table was barely big enough, and you were sure it wasn’t designed to seat five grown men and you, but somehow, everyone managed to squeeze in—though not without complaints.

“Why does he get the seat next to her?” Abby whined, jabbing a finger at Baby.

“Because I cooked,” Baby replied smugly, puffing out his flour-stained chest.

“You stirred one egg,” you corrected flatly. “Mystery cooked. You just danced with the spatula.”

Mystery gave a small nod, already sipping his soup like he was at peace with the universe.

The food wasn’t perfect—some of the rice was clumpy, and one of the omelets looked like it had been attacked but they ate like it was a five-star hotel buffet.

“This is actually good,” Jinu said through a mouthful of kimchi pancake. “Like, better than I expected.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment,” you muttered, stabbing your rice.

Romance leaned forward dramatically, resting his cheek on his hand. “Are we always going to eat breakfast together like this? You know, as a family?”

“No.”

“Yes,” said Baby at the same time.

You looked between them with a deadpan face.

Abby wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, when’s lunch?”

“Eat slower,” you snapped.

Mystery reached over and gently refilled your tea without a word. You blinked at him.

“Thanks…?”

“You looked tired,” he murmured.

“Gee, I wonder why,” you muttered, glancing at the sea of messy-haired boys devouring the meal like they hadn’t eaten in years.

Despite the chaos, there was a weird, weirdly warm feeling in the air. You didn’t want to call it "domestic"—because that sounded too romantic, and you were definitely not catching feelings for anyone here but it did feel… less lonely.

“Alright,” you sighed, finishing your last bite. “After this, all of you are helping me clean up.”

Collective groans filled the room.

“Don’t care,” you added. “You live in my apartment now act like it.”

“Our apartment,” Baby corrected with a grin.

“Try saying that again and I’ll make you mop the hallway,” you threatened.

He backed down, smart boy.

Breakfast continued with complaints, jokes, a minor chopstick fight between Romance and Abby, and Mystery quietly humming something under his breath that actually calmed your headache a little.

Maybe you could survive this, though that didn’t mean you’d stop yelling at them anytime soon.

PART: II. LOVE, III. LILY, IV. BONFIRE , V. HOMESICK

🧘🏻‍♀️ heyya, writing this instead of sleeping is kinda wild lol anyway, i think there’s gonna be a next part for this series, and i wanna make headcanons for each of the boys JUST WAITTT 🐈‍⬛🐈‍⬛

222 notes · View notes

asthroophile · 4 months ago

Text

725 notes · View notes

asthroophile · 4 months ago

Text

curtain call of the heart

v. welcome to our new world, sweetheart

pairing brant x fem!reader, modern high school au mutual pinning, childhood friends to lovers, might be ooc

wc: 3.781

summary: being friends with the theater club president means you have to accept the fact that you'll get dragged into acting in plays.

(n); guys, im literally kicking my feet while writing this and listening to Always by daniel caesar. i need a man like this irl frr.

previous next...

it had been nearly two months of being dragged into the theater club—two months of staying back after school, watching rehearsals, getting roped into helping with set designs, and somehow always ending up next to him.

brant.

the club president. the reason you were stuck here every afternoon, even though you never officially signed up.

they had just wrapped up their rehearsal for the day, and as expected, brant plopped down beside you on the worn-out stage steps, stretching his legs like he owned the place. which—technically—he did.

you, who had been silently scrolling on your phone, suddenly spoke, “how do you register for a club?”

brant barely reacted, answering without much thought. “usually, you write a handwritten letter about your identity and why you want to join. after that, you get called for an interview.”

you blinked, “interview?”

he nodded, his gaze flicking to you, curiosity creeping into his expression. “yeah.”

you clenched your fists, inhaling deeply. then, as if making a life-altering decision, you shot up from your seat.

"okay, wait here."

without another word, you bolted towards your bag in the corner—well, technically a pile of bags stacked haphazardly in the backstage area.

brant watched you go, one eyebrow raised.

the question had been random enough, but now? the way you rushed off like you were on a mission?

his smirk grew. oh, this was going to be interesting.

brant watched as you dug through the pile of bags, muttering under your breath before finally pulling out a crumpled notebook and a pen. you marched right back, plopped down beside him, and flipped to a clean page.

"just identity and a reason to join, right?" you asked, pen already poised to write.

brant, still watching you with growing amusement, gave a slow nod.

“what’s all this?” his voice carried a teasing lilt. “wow finally found your thing? thinking of actually joining a club?”

you didn’t look up, just tapped the pen against the page. “maybe.”

his smirk widened. “maybe? that’s a strong word coming from you.”

you ignored him, focusing on writing down your name and details, keeping the paper angled away from his view. brant, being brant, leaned in slightly, tilting his head to peek at what you were writing.

"hey," you huffed, shifting the notebook away from his gaze. "back off."

brant blinked, clearly not expecting that. “what, is it top secret or something?”

“something like that.”

his eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “...you’re writing about me, aren’t you?”

you rolled you eyes. “yes, brant. i’m writing a whole essay about how annoying you are.”

“i knew it,” he gasped dramatically, hand over his heart. “and yet, you still sit beside me every day.”

you didn’t dignify that with a response. instead, you finished writing, tore the paper out, and, without a word, handed it to him.

brant took it, his grin still in place—until he noticed half of it was folded, concealing the reason for joining. he flicked his gaze to you, then back to the paper.

“…you do realize you missed a part, right?” he pointed out, lifting an eyebrow.

“i didn’t miss anything,” you said simply, crossing your arms.

brant narrowed his eyes at you, then at the folded section. he could've pushed, teased you until you gave in, but something in the way you guarded it made him hold back.

“…fine,” he said, flicking the paper lightly. “guess i’ll just have to wait and see, huh?”

you only hummed in response, taking the paper back and tucking it safely into your notebook.

“still feels unfair, though,” he mused. “you get to keep secrets, but i don’t?”

you smirked, “welcome to my world.”

the next day, you didn’t show up at practice.

brant noticed, of course. he didn’t ask, didn’t text, didn’t even let it show on his face when the others threw questions around about where you were. he knew better than to push. if you wanted space, he’d give it.

but even knowing that, he still glanced at the door a few times too many, half-expecting you to walk in late like you usually did.

you didn’t.

meanwhile, you spent your time at the library, waiting. you weren't hiding—at least, that’s what you told yourself. you just needed the right moment, when the club wasn’t as full, when there weren’t too many eyes watching.

when the time finally came, you made your way to the theater club room.

by then, most of the members had already left, only a few lingering around as they packed their things. and there he was—brant, sitting on the stage steps, casually scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t spent the past hour throwing himself into rehearsals.

you stopped at the door, fingers tightening around the folded paper in your hands. not enough to crumple it beyond recognition, but enough to feel the edges dig into your skin.

were you really doing this?

your grip loosened.

your feet moved.

you walked toward him, your steps quieter than usual, the paper subtly tucked behind your arm as if it was just another notebook you happened to be carrying. brant, still absorbed in whatever was on his screen, didn’t notice you immediately.

for a second, you considered turning around. maybe you should wait another day—

but then brant looked up.

his eyes met yours, and something flickered across his expression. surprise, curiosity—maybe even the smallest hint of amusement.

you swallowed, forcing yourself to keep walking.

"hey,” brant greeted, like you hadn’t skipped out on practice. like he hadn’t been waiting. "you’re alive."

you rolled your eyes, stopping in front of him. "obviously."

his gaze drifted to your hands, noticing the way you held something close to your chest. "what’s that?"

your grip tightened again.

"nothing."

brant tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. but instead of prying, he just leaned back slightly, resting his arms on his knees.

"fair enough," he said easily.

you weren't sure if that made this easier or harder.

you grabbed the nearest chair and dragged it toward him, the legs scraping softly against the floor. you sat down in front of him, careful to keep your posture neutral, your hands steady. or at least, you tried.

brant, ever observant, caught onto the tension in your shoulders. his phone clicked off, the glow of the screen disappearing as he set it aside without hesitation. his attention was on you now, fully and completely.

"you wanna talk?" his voice was casual, but his gaze wasn’t. he was studying you, taking in the way you’re gripping that paper like it held something important—something you weren't ready to share yet.

you exhaled slowly, trying not to let your nerves show. you met his gaze for a second before flicking your eyes away, staring somewhere over his shoulder.

"kind of," you admitted, fingers subtly shifting against the edges of the paper. "but—uh, not right now. just… later."

brant raised a brow, the corner of his lips twitching. "later, huh? alright."

he didn’t press. didn’t tease. just leaned back a little, watching you like he was waiting for whatever you'd say next.

you tightened your grip on the paper for a second before exhaling through your nose. no use overthinking it. you had already dragged yourself here, already sat down in front of him. if you hesitated any longer, you'd just make yourself look stupid.

without another word, you extended the folded paper toward him. direct. no build up. no unnecessary pauses. just handing it over like it was nothing—like your heart wasn’t practically trying to escape your ribcage.

brant tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he took it from your hands. his fingers brushed against yours, warm and steady, before he leaned back in his seat.

he didn’t open it immediately. just twirled it between his fingers, glancing up at you with that look. the one that said he knew something was up.

“what’s this?” he asked, voice light, but his gaze sharp.

you shrugged, trying not to give yourself away. "just read it."

he didn’t need to be told twice.

brant unfolded the paper with practiced ease, his gaze dropping to the neatly written words. you held your breath, forcing yourself to stay still, to not fidget under his scrutiny. you watched as his eyes moved over the text, slow and deliberate, not rushing through it like he usually did with scripts. he read each line with care—too much care, if you're being honest.

his expression was unreadable at first, just a neutral focus. but then, the moment his gaze flicked toward the section you had so carefully tried to keep out of his sight—the reason—his lips twitched.

and then, just as you feared, that infuriating grin spread across his face.

brant leaned back in his chair, tilting his head at you like you're the most amusing thing he’d seen all week. “you joined my club?” he asked, voice filled with something between delight and teasing disbelief. “am i dreaming?”

you crossed your arms, fixing him with a deadpan stare. “clearly not, since you’re still annoying.”

but your attempt at nonchalance didn’t deter him. if anything, his grin only widened. he tapped the paper with his finger, then looked at you like he was trying to memorize your expression.

“this is real, right? you didn’t, like, lose a bet or get possessed or—”

“brant.” you sighed, rolling your eyes. “it’s not that big of a deal.”

“not that big of a deal?” he gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like you had just wounded him. “y/n, you avoided this club for almost two months. two whole months of dodging, resisting, barely even stepping on the stage unless i dragged you there.”

he sat up, the teasing glint in his eyes softening just slightly. “and now you’re here. joining.”

you glanced away, the weight of his words making your heart do something stupid. “i never said i was avoiding it.”

brant snorted. “you didn’t have to.”

you let out a small, exasperated sigh, but before you could snap back, he leaned in, resting his arms on his knees as he looked at you—really looked at you.

“be honest,” he said, quieter this time. “what made you change your mind?”

you hesitated, gripping the hem of your sleeve. you had expected him to tease you, maybe even laugh, but this… this was different. his gaze was warm, open, patient.

you shifted in your seat, gripping the hem of your sleeve a little tighter. his eyes were too expectant, too knowing, and you didn’t like where this conversation was going.

you exhaled sharply, “can’t i just get accepted already?” you muttered, averting your gaze. “or, uh, have that interview thing you mentioned yesterday? do i really have to explain what changed my mind?”

brant blinked, then let out a soft laugh—quiet, amused, and way too pleased with himself. he leaned back, tapping the paper against his knee, eyes never leaving you. “so you are avoiding the question.”

you clicked your tongue, turning your face away. “i didn’t say that.”

“you didn’t have to.” he grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

you clenched your jaw. maybe this was a mistake. maybe you should’ve just handed the application to another member and let them deal with it. but no—you had to do this yourself.

brant hummed, tilting his head at you, like he was considering his next move. “well, you’re right about one thing. i should be professional about this.” he straightened up, setting the paper aside and clasping his hands together. “y/n, for your official interview, please tell me—”

your head snapped toward him. “wait, you’re actually—”

he ignored you. “why do you want to join the theater club?”

you groaned, dragging your hands down your face before shooting him a glare. this was exactly what you wanted to avoid.

"i already wrote it on the paper," you huffed. "and you already read it."

brant pressed a hand to his chest, feigning shock. "wow, denying me a verbal answer? after all our years of friendship? my heart, y/n. it hurts."

you rolled your eyes. "then maybe stop acting like an idiot and process the fact that i actually signed up."

he grinned, leaning forward slightly. "oh, i processed it. i'm just enjoying this moment. you, willingly joining my club? this is history in the making."

you narrowed your eyes at him. "you're enjoying this too much."

brant didn't even try to deny it.

you pinched the bridge of your nose, exhaling sharply like you had just committed the biggest mistake of your life. "i should’ve just joined another club…" you muttered under your breath.

brant, being brant, only smirked wider. “too late for regrets, sweetheart. the moment your name’s on that paper, you’re one of us.”

that’s it. you weren't about to let him have this much fun at your expense. without thinking twice, you lunged forward, snatching the paper from his grasp.

brant blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but before you could bolt, he moved—quick, like he knew you'd try this.

"oh, no, no, no," he laughed, grabbing your wrist before you could escape. "you cannot take it back now."

"watch me," you gritted, twisting in his hold.

"sweetheart," he tsked, tightening his grip just enough to keep you from slipping away, "i’m the president. you think i’ll just let my star recruit escape?"

your eye twitched. "i hate you."

he chuckled, effortlessly prying the paper from your fingers. "and yet," he mused, waving it teasingly in front of you, "here you are, joining my club willingly."

shit. this was already a disaster.

brant let out a hum, twirling the paper between his fingers before setting it down beside him. “alright, alright. i’ll stop messing with you—for now.”

you crossed your arms, still glaring. “you better.”

he leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking way too official. “so, let’s talk about your interview.”

you nearly groaned on the spot. “do we really have to?”

brant shrugged. “of course. it’s club protocol, you know.”

“you made that up,” you deadpanned.

brant placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “sweetheart, do you think i’d lie to you?”

“yes.”

he grinned but continued, “still, i need to ask a few things. why do you want to join?”

you stiffened, gripping the hem of your shirt. “i already wrote it on the paper,” you muttered.

“yeah, but i want to hear it from you.”

you pressed your lips together, avoiding his gaze. this was exactly why you didn’t want to go through this whole stupid interview.

brant waited, watching you closely, his usual teasing demeanor softening ever so slightly. “hey,” he said, quieter this time, “i’m not forcing you or anything. if you’re not sure, you don’t have to do this.”

you frowned, that was the thing—you’re sure. maybe not about everything, but… this?

you inhaled sharply before speaking, your voice steady, but just barely. “…i want to try.”

brant blinked, something flickering in his expression before he smiled, warm and sincere. “then that’s more than enough."

for once, you didn’t have a snarky reply.

brant stretched his arms, his teasing smirk returning. "alright, let’s make it official then. welcome to the theater club, sweetheart."

you squinted at him, "that’s it?"

he shrugged, "that’s it."

"you just said i needed an interview—"

"and you passed," he winked. "i just needed to hear you say you wanted to be here."

you exhaled through your nose, dragging a hand down your face. "i knew you made that up."

brant leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "maybe, but you didn’t run away. that counts for something."

you rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. "whatever."

he grinned. "so, since you’re officially part of the club now, do you wanna start helping with the next production? or should i put you on script duty first?"

you shot him a glare. "you’re making me regret this already."

brant laughed, standing up and offering his hand. "too late to back out now."

you didn’t take it. instead, you stood on your own, staring at him for a second before sighing. "fine. but if i mess up, that’s on you."

he raised a brow, smirking. "i wouldn’t have it any other way."

you crossed your arms, glancing around the empty room before fixing your gaze back on him. “are we done?”

brant tilted his head, stretching his arms above him lazily. “mmm, i dunno. you in a rush to leave me already?”

you sighed, shaking your head. “not really, just… wondering why it’s only us now.”

brant smirked, leaning forward slightly. “you nervous?”

you rolled your eyes. “no. just making sure you’re not about to drag me into extra work now that i’m officially in your club.”

he chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “nah, i’m not that evil. besides, i like having you here.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious. “right… so, are we done now?”

brant hummed, pretending to think. “well, if you wanna go, i won’t stop you.” then, with a playful grin, he added, “but i wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”

you scoffed, glancing at the clock before looking back at him. "i mean, brant, it's time for the club to end? like, look—it's just you and me? you don’t go home?"

brant leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking way too comfortable for someone who was supposed to be wrapping things up. "i could go home," he mused. "but you’re still here, so…"

you gave him a deadpan stare. "so what? you waiting for me to carry you out?"

he grinned. "tempting, but no. just thinking—maybe this is fate."

"fate?" you echoed, unimpressed.

brant leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "yeah. just the two of us, alone, after hours… kinda romantic, don’t you think?"

you immediately grabbed your bag. "okay, i’m going home."

as you pushed yourself up from the chair, ready to escape whatever nonsense he was about to pull next, brant suddenly reached out, catching your wrist with a gentle grip.

“oh, okay, wait—” he tugged you back just enough to stop you from leaving. “i’ll take this chair to its place, don’t leave already.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, unconvinced. “...you’re literally begging right now.”

brant sighed dramatically, his other hand over his heart. “maybe i am. can’t a guy just enjoy a little extra time with his favorite club member?”

“i just joined, that means nothing.”

“exactly, you need a proper welcome,” he said, already dragging the chair away but still keeping his eyes on you, like he was making sure you wouldn't bolt the second he turned his back.

you folded your arms. “brant, i swear—if you’re about to make this into another weird, drawn-out conversation—”

he set the chair down, then turned back to you with a grin. “too late, you’re already stuck.”

brant let out a sigh, stretching his arms like he’d just finished something exhausting. “alright, alright. let’s go home now.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. you waited as he grabbed his bag, then the two of you stepped out of the clubroom together.

the evening air was crisp, the sky already dark, but it wasn’t too cold. they walked side by side, the sound of their footsteps filling the quiet street. it was always a routine—brant walking you home, talking about whatever came to mind while you listened, occasionally rolling your eyes at his ridiculous remarks.

“so,” he started, hands stuffed into his pockets, “how does it feel? officially being one of us?”

you sighed, tilting your head slightly. “honestly? feels like i just signed my soul away.”

brant laughed, “that’s the spirit.”

you shook your head. “i should’ve never asked how to sign up…”

“and yet, here you are, walking home with your incredibly handsome club president,” he teased, nudging your shoulder lightly.

you shot him a deadpan look. “yeah, regretting every step.”

he gasped dramatically. “y/n, you wound me.”

you only hummed in response, looking ahead. your house wasn’t far now.

brant glanced at you, a small smile still lingering on his lips. “still, i’m glad.”

you frowned slightly, “glad about what?”

“that you joined,” he said simply. “even if you regret it, i’m still happy you did.”

you didn’t respond right away, just looked down at the sidewalk as you walked.

“…you’re annoying,” you muttered.

brant chuckled. “yeah, i know, i know."

you both fell silent for a moment after that previous conversation, but unfortunately, brant—who could never stay quiet and always had something to say—clearly wasn’t going to let that happen.

"don't run away this time," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. "you're officially in the club now."

you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "if you don’t make it worse than it already is, maybe i’ll stay."

brant let out a low chuckle, the sound so natural, so him, that it made your stomach twist uncomfortably. you stared ahead, determined not to acknowledge the way it made you feel.

and then, without warning, his hand landed on your head, ruffling your hair like you’re some kid.

you jerked away immediately, "brant—what the hell!"

he just grinned, completely unfazed. "see you tomorrow at the club," he said, as if that was a normal way to end a conversation. "we’re running scenes."

you narrowed your eyes at him, fixing your hair with an annoyed huff. "you make it sound like a death sentence."

brant smirked, "only if you keep avoiding it."

you had just lifted your hands to smooth down your hair when brant suddenly pulled out his phone.

“wait—stay like that.”

you froze, your fingers still mid-motion. “brant, don’t—”

the faint sound of a camera shutter clicked before you could stop him.

your hand shot out, trying to snatch the phone from him, but he was faster, holding it out of your reach with an infuriating grin. “you look cute.”

your face burned, “delete it.”

“nah.” he scrolled through his gallery, admiring the picture. “might set it as my wallpaper.”

you groaned, shoving his arm, but he barely stumbled. “brant.”

“y/n,” he mimicked your tone with a teasing smirk, “come on, you always look good."

you let out a dramatic sigh, “you’re impossible.”

brant chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket before you could attempt another grab. “guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”

you grumbled under your breath, but when you glanced at him, he was still smiling. that soft, amused expression—the one that made your heart trip over itself—was something you'd never quite get used to.

#wuthering waves #wuwa #brant #brant x reader #wuwa x reader

79 notes · View notes

asthroophile · 4 months ago

Text

i’m going insane over this

503 notes · View notes

asthroophile · 4 months ago

Text

curtain call of the heart

iv. offstage confessions

pairing brant x fem!reader, modern high school au mutual pinning, childhood friends to lovers, might be ooc

summary: being friends with the theater club president means you have to accept the fact that you'll get dragged into acting in plays.

(n); this is the longest part i've ever written, it feels messy but i cant resist continuing it despite the pressure from assignments lol previous next...

you walked into the theater room again, determined to pretend nothing happened. unfortunately, your friends had other plans.

"y/n, i swear to god—” you barely had time to react before tina grabbed you by the shoulders.

"what?”

“I KNEW IT!” she shook you like a rag doll. “THAT WASN’T JUST ACTING, WAS IT?”

you blinked, “what are you—”

“brant! last night! the way he looked at you! the way he—oh my god, you two were basically in a romance drama!”

your soul nearly left your body, “tina—”

“don’t even try to deny it!” you absolutely tried to deny it.

“IT WAS ACTING!” you insisted, “it’s literally a drama club—what do you expect?”

tina squinted. “uh-huh, sure. and what about after rehearsal?”

your stomach dropped. “what about it?”

tina's smile stretched wider, “you think i didn’t see? you two left together. under the streetlights. it was so cinematic.”

you hated how she made it sound like some grand love story.

“nothing happened,” you deadpanned.

“are you sure about that?”

“i will actually leave.”

tina cackled, finally letting go of you. “fine, fine. but i still think there’s something going on.”

you rolled your eyes and made a beeline for your seat, praying that brant wouldn’t make things worse.

…he did.

because the second he walked in, he immediately sat next to you, draping an arm over your chair like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"morning,” he greeted, his voice laced with amusement.

you stiffened. so did tina. you could feel her eyes burning holes into the side of your head.

“…morning,” you muttered.

brant’s smirk deepened.

tina lost her mind.

you were this close to throwing yourself out the nearest window.

tina had been staring at you for the past ten minutes, her smug expression only growing more unbearable.

brant, still sitting way too close, rested his arm on the back of your chair like it belonged there.

it didn’t. at all.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you finally snapped.

tina smiled, too sweetly. "oh, no reason."

brant chuckled under his breath, and you had the sudden urge to kick him. before you could, the theater instructor walked in, mercifully putting an end to your suffering.

“alright, listen up,” she clapped her hands. “we need to start blocking the major scenes, which means our leads—” she gestured between you and brant, “—will be working very closely together today.”

you felt your soul leave your body for the second time that afternoon.

brant? he just looked way too entertained by all of this. of course he did.

“alright, this is the big moment.”

the instructor gestured between you and brant, standing together on stage.

“in this scene, your character finally realizes her feelings, but she’s afraid to admit it. she’s hesitant, and the tension is heavy.”

you already hated this. brant, meanwhile, looked like he was about to have the time of his life.

“got it?” the instructor asked.

you forced a nod, “yeah.”

“good. now, take it from the line where he reaches for her hand.”

brant didn’t hesitate. his fingers curled around yours, warm and steady. you almost yanked it away on instinct.

focus. it’s just acting. it’s fine.

his eyes softened, teasing glint replaced by something unreadable.

“you don’t have to pretend around me,” he said, slipping into character effortlessly. “you can be yourself.”

your throat tightened. “i-i don’t—”

the words caught somewhere between your brain and mouth.

brant’s grip on your hand lingered. “i mean it.”

you forgot your next line.

the instructor sighed. “y/n, relax! remember, you’re supposed to be struggling with your feelings, not struggling to function.”

oh. that was the issue.

not that brant was looking at you like that. not that your heart was actually racing. no, definitely not that.

brant tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. “y/n, are you flustered?”

you instantly shoved him, “shut up.”

the instructor groaned. “alright, take two.”

you immediately fled the stage.

────

you barely made it to the hallway before tina cornered you.

“Y/N,” she grabbed your shoulders. “that was NOT ACTING.”

“yes, it was,” you lied.

“no, it wasn’t.”

“yes, it was.”

tina shook you. “GIRL.”

you groaned, prying her hands off. “i'm not doing this with you.”

“oh, you absolutely are.”

“tina, please.”

she crossed her arms. “look at me in the eyes and tell me you feel nothing when brant looks at you like that.”

you opened your mouth. then closed it.

tina gasped, “YOU LIKE HIM.”

"i do not!”

she pointed dramatically. “DENIAL.”

you groaned, "why are you so obsessed with this?”

“because literally everyone in this club has been waiting for you two to get together.”

you froze, "wait—what?”

tina's grin stretched wider. “oh yeah. everyone knows. except you.”

you felt like you were about to have an aneurysm. "you’re joking.”

“nope.”

“since when?!”

“since forever.”

you were going to pass out, then—

“everything okay here?”

you jumped. brant was right behind you. tina beamed. “oh, we’re great.”

brant raised an eyebrow. “you sure? you look like you’re about to murder her.”

“oh, don’t worry,” tina chirped. “we’re just having a fun little chat about how Y/N IS IN LOVE WITH YOU.”

your brain short-circuited.

brant blinked, “…huh?”

tina smiled, satisfied. “anyway, i’ll leave you two alone. have fun.”

and then she just—left.

abandoned you. with brant. who was now staring at you.

“…sooo,” he drawled. “anything you wanna tell me?”

oh. my. god. you needed to escape. RIGHT NOW.

brant was waiting for an answer, watching you with that mix of amusement and curiosity that only made everything worse.

your brain was screaming. your body? frozen.

brant tilted his head, "y/n?"

oh god. he said your name.

nope. NOPE.

you turned on your heel and walked away. briskly.

brant blinked. “…are you seriously running away right now?”

you walked faster.

"y/n."

faster.

"y/n, stop—"

you broke into a full sprint. you had no idea where you were going.

your brain was in full fight-or-flight mode, and since you had the combat skills of a potato, escape was your only option.

too bad brant had longer legs.

"y/n, for god’s sake—"

a hand caught your wrist. he stopped you effortlessly.

before you could yank yourself free, brant turned you around, forcing you to face him. and you were screwed.

because he was looking at you like that again—like you were the only thing that mattered.

oh no.

“you’re really running from this?” he asked, still catching his breath.

you refused to meet his eyes. "i don’t know what you’re talking about."

brant huffed a laugh. LAUGHED.

"this isn’t funny," you muttered.

"it’s kind of funny."

"brant."

his expression softened. “y/n.”

the way he said your name made your stomach flip.

“i'm not here to push,” he said quietly. “but if you feel something, just say it.”

your throat went dry. "and if i don’t?"

brant smiled. but this time, it didn’t reach his eyes.

"then i’ll let it go."

your chest tightened. because that was the problem, wasn’t it? you did feel something. you just didn’t know what to do with it.

and now, staring at brant, you knew you had to make a choice.

you took a shaky breath. then another.

brant just waited.

you licked your lips, forcing yourself to speak.

“…i’m scared.”

brant stilled.

that was not what he expected.

your hands curled into fists. “i don’t know how to do this, brant. i don’t know how to… feel like this. i don’t want to ruin everything.”

brant didn’t hesitate, he stepped forward and hugged you. tightly.

you? froze. slowly, you melted into him.

brant exhaled, his chin resting lightly against your hair. “you’re not gonna ruin anything.”

you wanted to believe that. maybe… maybe you could.

but—

“AWWWWWWWW!”

OH. MY. GOD. you ripped yourself away.

brant groaned, “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

the entire theater club was watching. ALL OF THEM. and they were CHEERING.

you wanted the earth to swallow you whole.

brant? brant just smirked.

“well,” he said, thoroughly amused, “i guess now we really have to talk about this.”

you were going to die. right here. right now.

this was it.

this was how you died.

not in some tragic accident. not by some dramatic twist of fate. but by sheer, soul-crushing, irreversible humiliation.

the entire club was still watching. some were whispering. some were smirking. and some? grinning like absolute maniacs.

brant, the walking disaster, just chuckled and stepped back—like he wasn’t responsible for your impending doom. your brain short-circuited.

NOPE. NOPE. NOPE.

fight-or-flight activated. this time? you were fighting.

you turned on him. “brant. i swear to god."

he blinked innocently, “what?"

“you. i hate you.”

brant’s smirk widened. “no, you don’t.”

“YES, I DO.”

he just laughed.

the club? eating this up.

“you two need a moment?” someone teased.

“I—WHAT?!” you choked.

brant, completely unbothered, shrugged. “nah, we’re good. y/n just needs time to process her feelings.”

your WHAT.

your brain crashed.

“MY WHAT?!”

brant’s grin grew downright insufferable. “your feelings. for me.”

the club lost it. someone actually screamed.

and you? you saw red.

────

you grabbed brant’s wrist. dragged him away from the chaos. he laughed the whole way. once you were far enough, you whirled on him.

“brant. what. the hell.”

he blinked. “what?”

“You did that on purpose.” brant just smirked.

“maybe.” your eye twitched.

“you’re insufferable.”

“nah,” he said, grinning. “i’m charming.”

you groaned.

brant's laughter softened. “relax. it’s not a big deal.”

"not a big deal? NOT A BIG DEAL?! I JUST GOT EXPOSED IN FRONT OF HALF THE CLUB.”

brant shrugged, “so? they already knew.”

…what.

“excuse me?” you asked, horrified.

brant's smile turned smug. “y/n, you’re not exactly subtle.”

your soul left your body AGAIN.

he laughed, “you really thought no one noticed?”

“I—WHAT—”

brant took a step closer. you froze.

“relax,” he murmured. “it’s just me.”

your heart did something weird. brant tilted his head, “you okay?”

you… weren’t sure. because this time, when he looked at you, you didn’t want to run.

brant didn’t say anything, just watched you with that same infuriating patience. he let you have your moment, let you fume, let you pretend you were'nt completely unraveling. and when you finally stopped—when your shoulders dropped and you breath evened out—he was still there. still waiting.

you didn’t know how long he had been standing there, watching you in silence. not pushing, not teasing—just waiting. like he always did. like he always would. and for once, it wasn’t annoying. it was terrifying.

his presence was overwhelming in the worst—and best—way possible.

“cat got your tongue?,” he said, voice softer now. almost cautious.

you snapped out of it, "no! no, it’s just—” you exhaled sharply, yanking your wrist from his hold. “you’re so annoying.”

brant grinned like that was a compliment.

“you love it," you did not. you absolutely did not…right? his teasing faded slightly, replaced by something softer. something dangerous.

brant sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “look,y/n…”

oh no. no, no, no. you knew that tone. that was brant about to say something serious. which meant—you were in trouble.

“i wasn’t kidding earlier,” he said, his usual smirk absent. “i meant it. i don’t care what anyone else thinks. it’s you, it’s always been you.”

your breath hitched. no. no, no, no—this wasn’t happening.

he was your best friend. your annoying, frustrating, infuriating best friend.

and yet, your stupid heart betrayed you. brcause for the first time, instead of running, instead of denying—you found yourself wondering, what if?

brant was still staring at you, still waiting for a response. and you? you were malfunctioning. you had to say something. anything.

but your brain chose violence, “you’re joking.”

brant blinked,“what?”

you folded your arms, desperate to rebuild your walls. “you flirt with everyone, brant. how am i supposed to believe this isn’t just another one of your stupid jokes?”

brant… didn’t laugh. for once, he didn’t smirk. instead, he looked… hurt.

“is that what you really think?” he asked, voice quieter now.

you hated that look. that look that made you feel like the worst person alive.

“i—i didn’t mean it like that,” you muttered, panicking.

brant sighed, rubbing his face. “you really don’t see it, do you?”

see what?

“you,” he murmured, shaking his head. “you’re the only one I actually—”

but before he could finish, you moved—taking a step back, trying to slip away like you always did.

brant’s hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist. firm, but careful.

“y/n,” he said sharply, forcing you to meet his gaze.

they were alone, in the quiet hallway just outside the theater room, where the dim lights buzzed faintly overhead and the muffled chatter of others was far behind them.

“you deserve better,” you blurted out.

brant’s brows furrowed, “what do you mean?”

“i mean,” your voice wavered, eyes darting everywhere but him, “if we’re talking about… that way, about us… i don’t think i’m good enough for you.”

brant’s grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go.

“i’m your opposite,” you said, eyes glossy now. “you’re everything i’m not. you light up every room, you make everyone laugh, you’re confident, outgoing, alive. and me…”

you clenched your jaw, tears threatening to fall. “i hide, i avoid people, i freeze up.”

brant’s mouth parted, speechless.

“and people will talk,” you added, your voice cracking. “they’ll say it’s wrong. that it doesn’t make sense.”

“i don’t care what they say,” he said.

“you should,” you whispered.

“i don’t,” he replied. “because they’re not me, and they’re not you.”

the air grew heavy between them, silence choking them both.

“you’re scared,” brant murmured. “but please don’t push me away like this.”

you blinked up at him, trembling.

“i’ve waited,” he whispered. “i’ll keep waiting. but don’t stand there and tell me i deserve better.”

tears finally broke free, sliding down your cheeks. “it’s not that simple.”

“yes, it is,” he insisted. “you’re the only one i want.” brant reached out, brushing the tears from your cheeks, his fingers warm against your skin.

your lips quivered. “i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t.”

“you don’t know that.”

his voice softened. “maybe not. but i’m willing to take that risk, if it’s you.”

your eyes squeezed shut as the fear tangled tighter inside your chest.

but when you opened them, brant was still there, holding on, unwavering. like he always did.

the silence stretched like a taut string as brant finally released her wrist, fingers brushing against her skin for a beat longer than necessary. your chest still ached from everything you just said—and everything you hadn’t.

brant let out a breath, raking his hand through his hair before quietly murmuring, “we’re done for today.”

you blinked, frowning. “wait… you mean rehearsal?”

he nodded, already turning toward the door.

“why?” you pressed, trailing after him.

brant glanced over his shoulder, the usual smirk curling on his lips despite the heaviness still lingering between them. “you sure wanna continue rehearsal?”

you slowed your pace, suspicious. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he stopped just outside the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. his voice dipped lower, teasing. “i’m fine with continuing... but what about you? the way you look right now—with those puffy eyes?”

you face heated instantly, “brant—”

“don’t worry,” he cut in with a grin, “you’re still cute.”

you groaned, scrubbing your hands over your face. “you’re impossible.”

brant chuckled, pushing himself off the frame and walking ahead. “come on, before you start crying again and i get blamed for bullying you.”

“who says you’re not to blame already?” you muttered, following him despite herself.

the playful jab didn’t fully erase the tension, but it softened it. the banter felt like home. like them.

but deep down, they both knew they were just skimming the surface of something far deeper.

the hallway felt emptier than usual as they walked side by side, the echoes of their footsteps bouncing off the linoleum floor. the building was winding down for the day, with distant voices fading behind closed doors and the low hum of vending machines filling the silence.

you hugged your arms, staring straight ahead. you could still feel the ghost of his touch on your wrist. the weight of your conversation clung to you like a second skin, but brant�� brant just strolled beside you like it was any other afternoon.

you peeked at him from the corner of your eye. his hands were buried deep inside his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly as he walked, head tipped toward the bruised sky as if hoping it might offer him a reprieve. the wind played with the loose strands of his deep teal hair flicking them across his lashes, but he didn’t seem to notice.

for once, brant—the boy who always carried the perfect comeback—looked like he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“you shouldn’t have ended rehearsal early,” you finally broke the silence.

brant gave a slow shrug, eyes still on the road ahead. “didn’t feel right to keep going."

“i could’ve handled it.”

brant’s reply was quiet, but firm. “maybe, but you didn’t have to.”

they reached the front doors of the school, where the late afternoon sun slanted through the glass, casting long shadows on the floor. outside, the golden light made the world look softer, calmer.

brant pushed open the door for you, and you stepped out into the fading day.

the walk home felt familiar but heavier now, like they were both tiptoeing around what had just happened. you could feel him glancing at you every now and then, waiting—always waiting—but never pushing too far.

“so…” brant started, hands still deep in his pockets, “should i talk about how i absolutely nailed that last scene, or would that ruin the brooding silence we’ve got going here?”

you let out a breath that was half a laugh. “i think the silence is fine.”

he nudged her again. “not for me.”

they kept walking, shoes scuffing the pavement. the quiet between them wasn’t suffocating this time—it was tentative, hanging somewhere between comfort and fear.

and neither of them dared to fully break it just yet.

as you turned the familiar corner toward the park, twilight draped itself around you, painting the streetlamps in hazy halos. the benches sat empty beneath swaying trees, except for two stray cats curled beneath the golden light, blinking lazily at the world passing you by.

brant’s laugh was soft, but carried through the hush of the evening. “reminds me of you."

you arched a brow. “what, the cats?”

“mmhm.” he nodded at you, smirking. “skittish, always darting away when i get too close.”

you huffed, rolling your eyes, but a small, reluctant smile betrayed you, "and yet you still follow.”

“guess i'm persistent.” his voice was lighter now, but when she glanced at him, there was something deeper sitting beneath the grin.

their eyes met, lingering for a second too long, before both of them looked away—too aware, too careful.

without thinking, you both slowed as you neared one of the old benches, yout footsteps syncing like muscle memory. the wood creaked faintly beneath you as you sat side by side, shoulders almost brushing but never quite touching.

you stared at the cracked pavement, feeling the weight of unsaid things pressing at your chest.

“you’re quiet,” brant murmured.

“you too,” you shot back, lips curling faintly.

“touché,” he chuckled.

the wind shifted, carrying the scent of damp earth and far-off rain. the world felt smaller here, like the park was a pocket of time just for them.

you bit your lip, hesitating. but the question clawed its way out. “you were serious earlier… weren’t you?”

brant’s playful mask faltered, replaced by something far softer. “i don’t joke about you, y/n.”

the words sank deep, leaving you scrambling for air. you wanted to say something—anything—but the lump in your throat made it impossible.

brant leaned in just slightly, voice gentler now. “you can try to keep me at arm’s length. but i'm not going anywhere.”

his proximity burned, and yet it felt safer than anything else.

so, in typical your fashion, you pivoted.

“persistent and clingy,” you teased under your breath. “you’re really the worst.”

brant grinned wide, that mischievous light flickering back into his eyes. “you mean charming and devoted?”

this time, the laughter came easily, melting some of the tension away.

for now, they allowed the soft breeze and dimming skies to wrap around them like an old friend—pretending, for just a little longer, that neither of them were standing on the edge of something terrifying.

the wind whispered through the trees, stirring loose leaves across the quiet park. brant’s gaze lingered on you, watching as you absently twisted the hem of your sleeve, you knuckles paling with every pull.

without a word, he shifted closer, slow and careful, like moving too fast might shatter the fragile thing between them.

his hand reached up, fingertips grazing your cheek before tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear. the touch was featherlight, but it anchored you to the moment.

"i’ll be waiting for you,” brant murmured, voice barely louder than the wind. his thumb brushed softly against your temple. "always. no matter how long.”

your breath caught, lips parting to speak—but nothing came. your heart pounded so fiercely it felt like it might echo out loud.

then he added, softer now, voice thick with guilt, “i’m sorry i made you cry. i didn’t mean to push you like that.”

his hand stayed at the side of your face, steady, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“but…” brant’s voice cracked, a rare tremor breaking through, “please don’t push me away.”

you blinked, the sting of fresh tears threatening behind your lashes. your throat felt like it was closing up.

“i wasn’t going to,” you whispered, almost too fast, too rehearsed.

but your own thoughts betrayed you. weren’t you?

the voice in your head was quiet but undeniable. because deep down, you had been ready to push him away again. to protect yourself. to keep things the way they were—safe, distant.

the silence between them deepened, heavy with all the things neither of them were brave enough to admit yet.

you stared at the ground, voice trembling as you finally murmured, “give me some time.”

brant exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as though those words were more than enough for now.

“you have it,” he said, unwavering. "always. for you.”

his hand finally fell away, but the warmth lingered against her skin like an echo.

they sat like that for a while, side by side under the golden glow of the streetlamp, where neither dared to fill the quiet. not yet.

and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for tonight.

you sniffled softly, wiping at the corners of your eyes when a faint rustling broke their stillness. from under a bush, a stray cat padded cautiously toward you, its grey fur speckled with white. It meowed, small and curious, tail flicking as it approached.

your attention instantly shifted. your eyes softened, the heaviness in your chest lifting just a little.

“oh, hey there,” you whispered, crouching down slowly. the cat didn’t flinch, letting you extend a hand before nuzzling into your fingers.

brant watched you from the bench, lips parting slightly as if stunned. the streetlamp cast a soft, golden halo around your figure, catching in your lashes, brushing your face with warmth.

for a moment, the fragile, guarded you disappeared. here, with the stray cat purring against your palm, you looked radiant—serene, even.

without thinking, brant quietly pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the camera. he hesitated.

but then youre laughed, a small, genuine sound that made something tug deep in his chest.

click.

he snapped the photo, smiling to himself as he watched you murmur softly to the cat, unaware of his gaze.

his heart swelled. how could you not see it? how could you not realize how effortlessly beautiful you were—how effortlessly yourself—when no one was watching?

“...are you gonna help me pet him or just stare like a creep?” your voice broke through his thoughts, teasing but gentle.

brant chuckled, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “i’m fine watching. you’re good at this.”

you arched a brow but let the smile linger as you stroked the cat’s fur. “i didn’t know you liked cats.”

“i like you,” he replied without missing a beat, eyes glinting mischievously.

you groaned, but there was no real heat behind it. “there it is. the flirting.”

brant leaned back on the bench, hands behind his head, grinning like he’d just won a prize. “just saying.”

underneath it all—their banter, the unsaid worries, the messy feelings—you stayed there together, with a stray cat nestled on your lap.

you went quiet, your hand absentmindedly stroking the cat that lay curled on your lap. the softness of its fur was a comforting distraction.

your gaze stayed on the small creature, fingers tracing gentle patterns behind its ear as if gathering the courage to respond.

then, without looking up, you finally whispered, you voice calm but tinged with quiet knowing,

"i know... you've made it pretty obvious."

and only then did your eyes flicker toward him, soft and unreadable, like you were holding back a smile.

brant let out a breathy laugh, though his chest ached with the weight of your words. “well,” he said, leaning back slightly, eyes never leaving you, “i was hoping you’d catch on sooner.”

there was no teasing in his voice, just a quiet relief, like he’d been holding those feelings back for too long.

his fingers gently grazed the edge of the bench, closer to you now. “but you always did like making me wait, huh?”

his smile softened, eyes tracing the way your hand continued to stroke the sleeping cat.

“and yet... here we are,” you added, voice barely above a whisper, like you were savoring the rare stillness between you.

"you’re different when it’s just us,” he murmured, voice low.

you didn’t look up, but your hand faltered for a second. “how so?”

brant tilted his head, a small smile playing at his lips. “softer. warmer.”

"am i usually cold, then?” you shot back, but your tone was light, almost playful.

“hmm, more like… you build walls around yourself,” he said, voice gentle. “but you forget i’ve always known where the door is.”

your lips twitched, almost smiling, but instead you huffed quietly. “you’re not supposed to know where it is.”

he chuckled. “hard not to.”

you finally looked at him, eyes reflecting the soft light overhead. “you notice too much.”

you sat in silence for a while, the night deepening around them. the distant hum of cars, the breeze rustling through the leaves, and the rhythmic purring of the cat created a cocoon of quiet.

"you know,” brant started, voice softer now, “i like you like this.”

you frowned. “like what?”

“just… here,” he said, searching for the right words. “not running away, not hiding behind a snarky comment or a rehearsal schedule.”

you bit your lip, your gaze falling back to the sleeping cat. “it’s easier when it’s quiet like this.”

brant’s hand brushed lightly against yours on the bench—tentative, waiting. you didn’t pull away.

“then let’s stay quiet,” he whispered.

you heart thrummed in your chest as you allowed you pinky to hook around his. it was small, but to him, it felt like the world.

brant leaned back on the bench as he watched you petting the cat again. his lips tugged into a pout.

“can you stop giving that cat all your attention?” he grumbled.

you raised a brow without looking at him, “what is it now?”

he huffed, feigning dramatic offense. “i've been sitting here beside you all this time, and then this furball shows up outta nowhere and steals your attention. that’s not fair.”

you blinked, processing his complaint before a laugh escaped you. “what the hell, brant—that’s so…”

you trailed off, eyes twitching like you couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or amused.

“so you,” you finished with a shake of your head, lips twitching into a reluctant smirk. “jealous of a stray cat. that’s a new low.”

brant shot you a crooked grin. “hey, i don’t like sharing.”

you scoffed, petting the cat just to spite him. “too bad. looks like you’ve got competition now.”

“oh, don’t worry,” brant leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with that familiar teasing lilt, “i’m very good at winning.”

you cheeks warmed, but you masked it with an eye roll. “sure you are.”

maybe, for tonight, things were okay between them. and somehow, that felt like the safest place in the world.

next: v. welcome to our new world, sweetheart

#wuthering waves #wuwa x reader #brant #brant x reader #wuwa brant

84 notes · View notes