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San hates pretending to be a demon.
Yes, somehow, he’s the ideal demonic type: fiery eyes, sharp facial features, broad shoulders, and the ability to move with the grace of a predator. Yes, he looks unholy hot in leather, especially those vests that leave his arms bare, the high collars digging into his jaw if he dares to lower his head ever so slightly. Yes, he genuinely loves knee-high combat boots that are so popular among demons because they are comfortable and can withstand lava rivers, let alone dirt and nasty weather.
Yet, whenever he has to put on a full-demon look, schooling his face into a mask of aloofness, he feels uncomfortable and itchy. The fact that the leather pants he has to wear always hug his nether regions a tad too intimately to his liking, showcasing him rather than protecting him, also contributes to his overall feeling of wrongness.
However, as long as no one else agrees to infiltrate the demon folk, San has to play his role in preventing any kind of possible diversion from their side.
And it’s not like he doesn’t have something to look forward to when patrolling the perimeter from the other side.
He does.
His name is Seonghwa.
He’s one of the most gorgeous people San has ever seen. Tall, stunning, graceful, his voice melodic, his eyes holding the entire universe in their dark depths, his lips so plump, so red. Like a forbidden fruit that San would never, could never taste.
Because, despite looking every inch an angel, Seonghwa isn’t one.
He’s a demon who mastered the art of pretending to the point even San has to take a double-take at times, fooled by the wings (so strong, spreading so wide, yet never lifting Seonghwa, for demons will never know the joy of soaring the sky again), his smiles (so sweet, yet deceptive) and his eyes (sparkling with wonder one moment and glinting with cruelty the other).
At first, San was scared. Then, intrigued. Now…. He likes to think he has everything under control.
He walks along the border separating Hell from the wastelands of Purgatory. Years later, it still feels wrong to be on the other side of the invisible line dividing two realms. However, with time, he's got used to the itch, noticing it only when he has to dive deeper into the demons’ land, sneaking around, listening to whispers, and gathering information.
He’s not far away from the point where his and Seonghwa’s patrol routes cross.
Such a pleasant coincidence and highlight of otherwise dull and repetitive wandering along the border.
Although, this time, something is wrong.
When San reaches the point where he and Seonghwa usually meet—a gentle slope of a rocky hill where they sit for some time, chatting idly—he’s alone. Seonghwa is nowhere to be seen; his white tunic and decorative wings aren’t shining on the horizon, so it’s not like he’s getting late. No matter how attentively San scans his surroundings, he can’t see a lone figure getting close to him.
His first thought is disappointment. He should’ve expected as much. Most likely, the demon learned everything he wanted and left. It's, well, exactly what San would do if Eden gave such an order. But he would warn Seonghwa about it first. They are—were friends, after all. Well, not friends. More like colleagues who were mutually deceiving each other. But after years of regular meetings, San thought…he assumed….
Soon comes sadness. Somehow, San just knows that he’ll never see Seonghwa again. Won’t hear his laugh, won’t chuckle at his jokes, sometimes too cruel to be told by an angel. He won’t hear Seonghwa’s carefully phrased questions about his well-being, especially after a gruesome fight with whatever inhabits the wasteland.
While angels patrol the border to ensure demons don’t overstep, demons are doing so to keep anything from getting into their lands.
San faced those monsters in a fight a few times, and those were battles that had nothing to do with glory and rightful holiness. They were messy and bloody, and he still wears scars under the thin layers of leather.
Which brings him to the final and most overwhelming emotion. Fear.
Because Seonghwa didn’t seem like someone who would simply disappear on him or slack off, especially while being undercover, so, the only possible conclusion is...He was attacked.
As soon as the thought occurs to San, he can’t get rid of it, his imagination pushing visions in front of his eyes, one more gruesome than another. Beasts tearing Seonghwa apart, angels discovering his ruse, demons, unaware of his mission, deciding to attack him for fun.
Overcome with worry and dread, San doesn’t even think much before leaping into the air, letting the illusion drip off his wings, spreading them wide and far, letting the wind currents carry him high. Soaring the sky, he looks around, tapping into his angelic powers more freely now that he’s far from the heavily polluted air full of dust and dark magic.
It takes only a few moments for him to notice flashes of fight far at the horizon, where he couldn’t reach on the ground. Without hesitation, he rushes towards the sight of the commotion, wind whooshing in his ears.
The closer he gets, the more details his eyes see: it’s Seonghwa, there’s no doubt. He’s fighting off several beasts who circle him, toying with him for now. As much of a formidable opponent as Seonghwa is, he’s one against many, and soon, the monsters will get enough of playing with him. If all of them attack at once—
San lets his spear materialize in his hand and slows down enough to aim at one of the monsters right behind Seonghwa’s back. He lets go of the weapon, letting it find its target, and, unmistakably, it hits the aim, piercing through the thick brown skin and tearing the beast's heart apart just as the scream of pain dyes in its throat.
The death of one of their flock doesn’t go unnoticed, and some of the monsters shift their focus from Seonghwa to San. But he’s too high above, and the monsters wouldn’t reach him, so they lose interest just as quickly. Not quickly enough to stop Seonghwa from killing at least two of them, his sword slicing through their bodies like they’re made of butter.
Nevertheless, there are too many of them still, and they become relentless, abandoning the toying part and going right into group attack.
“Bastards,” San hisses to himself, something far more crude, almost slipping through his teeth.
His spear is still embedded in the lifeless body, far from his reach. Seonghwa is getting visibly tired, his tunic torn in a few places, red blood oozing from shallow cuts. The illusion concealing his body long dissolved, uncovering the impressive set of horns and demonic markings. The sword he's brandishing moves slower and slower, the cuts becoming messy, blood spilling everywhere.
San can’t wait any longer.
He dives to the ground, stopping barely high enough to fold his wings without getting them hurt. His landing shocks the earth beneath them, making the beasts scramble back a bit, assessing the new enemy.
“Hi,” San flashes Seonghwa a smile, yanking his spear free and twirling it in the air a couple of times, the metal singing in his hold.
“You are an angel,” Seonghwa says instead of greeting, his dark eyes eyeing the wings behind San’s back worryingly.
“You are a demon,” San shrugs, taking a defensive position beside Seonghwa, clearly indicating whose side he’s on.
Moments, really, is what takes Seonghwa to reach out to San, offering his sword with a nonchalant, “Bless my weapon?”
As if it’s such an easy fit for an angel to bless a demon’s belongings.
But then Yunho showers his demon with blessings with such a frequency one would think God itself favors the couple. And Yunho’s wings are as white as ever. If he can help his demon, why can't San?
So he takes the sword's hilt, warm from where Seonghwa’s hand gripped it, and lets his power flow through and over it, making a skilfully crafted weapon become nearly indestructible.
And, yeah, he knows he's put a little bit more of himself into the blessing, and it won’t wear off in just a few minutes. Or days. Or ever. And that at some point in the future, this sword may be lifted over his head. But— It’s Seonghwa.
San trusts him, just like he trusts a tiny flame deep in his chest that burns brighter whenever Seonghwa as much as looks at him. Because maybe San is naive, maybe he’s delusional, maybe he was enchanted, but he’s sure about one thing.
A demon can’t play an angel so well for so long without having at least a spark of goodness in them.
“Thank you,” Seonghwa, ever so polite, smirks at him, taking the sword back, and lunges into the attack without a second thought, catching the beasts off guard.
They’ve never fought together before haven’t even sparred, yet for some reason, it’s like they are reading each other’s thoughts. They move in sync, both in bodies and mind, fighting off attacks swiftly and efficiently. San pins a beast down with his spear, and Seonghwa finishes it with a sword. Seonghwa severs a monster’s limb, rendering it immobile, and San takes it down swiftly.
At some point, San moves behind Seonghwa, turning around so that their backs are pressed together. Instead of warning bells and the urge to pull away, not to be so vulnerable in front of a demon, all San feels is the thrill of a fight and the simple joy of fighting alongside someone.
Soon, the battle is over, leaving only two of them standing, surrounded by lifeless bodies.
And with the immediate danger averted, San is suddenly all too aware of the fact that he essentially fucked up. Big time.
Then he glances at Seonghwa, whose ebony black horns are so long they curl up, and realizes he’s not the only one.
Seonghwa must’ve thought the same. With a sigh, he sheathes his sword and turns to San with a look of resignation on his face. As if….
“Do you think I’ll kill you?” San shouldn’t sound so surprised, so offended, but despite pretending to be a demon, he assumed he held at least some of Seonghwa's trust.
“Mustn’t you?” Seonghwa asks, his eyes searching, expression guarded.
It’s the first time San sees him in his true form. However, for some reason, it feels like before, during their meetings on the rocky hill, he also saw glimpses of Seonghwa's true self. And the one in front of him, the careful, suspicious, on the verge of a fight-or-flight response… that’s not his Seonghwa.
“As long as you don’t hurt me, I won’t lift my spear against you,” San says, meeting the demon's eyes and seeing them widen.
“I don’t understand,” Seonghwa whispers. Lost. Unsure. Tension melts from his shoulders, leaving them sagged, and San has to persuade himself not to reach out and lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. Right now, it would be hardly welcomed.
“You blew your cover. For what?” Seonghwa looks up at San, his eyes imploring. Searching for something
For you, seems to be a little too straightforward.
But it’s the truth.
“You were in danger. I couldn’t stay away and not help you,” San admits, the confession coming to him as easy as a reassuring smile.
Seonghwa doesn’t believe his words right away. Seconds drag by, each longer than the previous one, before the demon’s face clears.
“Sannie,” Seonghwa exhales. His voice is full of hope. Of relief.
It’s only because San’s been looking that he notices them—the stars returning in Seonghwa’s eyes, emerging from the darkness.
And for the first time, San allows himself to consider the insane possibility that these stars…were for him all along.
“Hwa,” he replies, the affection in his voice, the implication so thick it cannot be missed.
And Seonghwa smiles at him, his face the most angelic thing San has ever seen.