Archive of Our Own

Chapter 1: On Dealing with Unexpected Emotional Synchronicity

You will be able to feel his emotions. Stay calm when it happens—it is likely that the first time you experience this phenomenon, it will be because he’s upset. Reassure and love your demon, and try to fix the root cause of his unhappiness (if possible).

These days, it is as plain as day to Hongjoong that Seonghwa is upset, even without the ever-present dull ache in his chest.

The first time he feels it—a sudden, sharp, stabbing pain right in the center of his sternum that steals his breath away—Hongjoong had been in the middle of filing the last batch of financial statements before Yeosang (finally) hired an accounting firm to take over the workload. One second, everything was fine. The next, it felt like someone had driven an iron spike through his ribcage.

For a brief, nerve-wrecking, toe-curling moment, Hongjoong thought, This is it. This is how I go. Death by Seonghwa-induced pseudo-heart attacks.

Seonghwa had found him slumped lifelessly over his desk and entirely dead to the world. In a fit of panic, the demon summoned the only person he knew might be able to provide an explanation.

Fortunately, Hongjoong lived to see another day.

“Your emotions are getting synced up,” Jongho explains after a quick glance around the office, his face settling into the most bored expression Hongjoong has ever seen in his life. “It’s just one of the many aspects of a soul bond, hyung, which you should have known before you got into—”

“Alright, alright,” Seonghwa placates, effortlessly hoisting Hongjoong up like he was nothing but a bag of flour to rest him on the couch. Even though he still felt like he was on the brink of death, Hongjoong’s cheeks couldn’t help but flush at the casual display of strength. “Is there anything else that we need to be aware of?”

Jongho’s gaze flickers to Seonghwa, where he’s kneeling beside the couch, tucking a throw blanket securely around his shoulders, then back to Hongjoong himself, who’s only just starting to breathe properly again. He’s taken to mentally repeating to himself that what he’s feeling is not his pain, but Seonghwa’s in order to avoid hyperventilating, but the thought that Seonghwa is in so much pain only sets off a fresh round of panicking.

Jongho’s lips curl slightly, “I shouldn’t overwhelm you guys with information right now. Let’s take it slow.”

“Jongho—”

“Bye, hyung!” Jongho says, ever so politely, before vanishing in a puff of blue smoke.

That had been a week ago. 

The pain, once cutting and unbearable, has since dulled into a persistent ache that throbbed every so often, serving as a pulsating reminder that for all his calm and composure, Seonghwa was hurting.

Badly.

Now that Hongjoong was aware that something’s wrong, the cause was crystal clear.

Mingi.

Or more accurately, the lack of Mingi.

Ever since The Revelation, Mingi had been avoiding Seonghwa. It was as though they had returned to the early days all over again, back to when Mingi would all but sprint in the opposite direction at the mere hint of Seonghwa.

Seonghwa had been more than happy to give the younger man space at first, figuring Mingi just needed some time to digest everything and come around to it all. But as the days dragged on, it was becoming harder to ignore the possibility that Mingi might never come around at all.

And Seonghwa, for all his patience, was hurting for it.

He didn’t look as terrible as that time after their, uh, unintentional falling out, but it was clear that Seonghwa wasn’t himself. Hongjoong could see it in the small things—the way he hesitated before joining any conversation involving Mingi, the way he had unknowingly stress-cooked Mingi’s favourites for dinner the past couple weeks, the way his smile never quite reached his eyes.

Even his hair was looking more baby pink than bubblegum these days.  

And now that Hongjoong was paying more attention, he was starting to find the whole situation downright ridiculous when, more than once, he had caught Mingi staring at Seonghwa with the most lost, longing puppy dog-eyed expression when the demon wasn’t paying attention—only to immediately look away, like some invisible force was physically yanking his head in the opposite direction.

Hongjoong didn’t intervene, however, since he trusted that being two (more-than) grown adults, they would figure things out eventually. 

They were not figuring things out eventually.

It all comes to a head one morning. Hongjoong and Seonghwa are stepping nto the lift just as Mingi comes rushing towards it. Naturally, Seonghwa holds the door open. It's all professional and cool—except the moment Mingi sees Seonghwa in the lift, he skids to a stop—stiff, panicked, terrified—before turning tail, bolting straight for the emergency stairwell.

Mingi hates the stairs.

When Hongjoong asks, quietly, “You okay?”, Seonghwa simply smiles.

But the pang of pain that cuts and twists at Hongjoong’s chest tells of a different story.

When he sees Seonghwa surreptitiously wiping at his eyes before ducking into a vacant meeting room later that afternoon, Hongjoong makes a decision. 

Hongjoong finds Mingi at his desk, aimlessly clicking through some raw footage from their most recent shoot. When he sees Mingi rewind the same three seconds of Yunho adjusting his mic for the 17th time, Hongjoong decides it’s a good time to intervene. 

He pulls up a chair. 

“Do you hate him now?”

The hand over the mouse stills for a fraction of a second. Then Mingi resumes scrolling, voice airy as he asks, “Yunho? I could never.”

Hongjoong sighs. He’s familiar with Mingi’s masterful schemes, and two could play this game, but the all-encompassing grief spreading through his chest and up his throat makes Hongjoong more blunt than usual.

“Seonghwa.”

This time, Mingi lifts his hand entirely from the mouse. His gaze drops to his lap.

“He was a demon even before you found out, you know,” Hongjoong continues, unfazed by the silence. He keeps his voice gentle, but firm. “Even when he took care of you that time you had food poisoning on set. Even when you were all curled up in his lap like an oversized puppy and let him pat your hair. Even when—" 

“I know, hyung,” Mingi whispers. His fingers curl against the denim of his jeans. “I know I messed up. Hyung’s probably mad.”

“Did you know I can feel his emotions now, Minki?” Mingi snaps his head towards Hongjoong, wide-eyed and disbelieving. “See, you really need to start hanging out with us again. You’re, like, the last person to find out about everything now.

“I think,” Hongjoong adds in an after-thought, though something niggles persistently at the edges of his thoughts. He offers the younger man a small smile, “He’s not mad, Mingi-ah. He’s sad.”

Mingi’s bottom lip begins to tremble.

Hongjoong stands up, pulling Mingi up by the elbow. For all his stature and muscle, Mingi follows suit without a shred of resistance. Hongjoong gives him a gentle shove. “He’s in meeting room 2. 

“Go.”

Mingi wavers only for a second, frantic eyes darting to meet Hongjoong’s own encouraging ones, but goes.

Hongjoong watches as he disappears into the meeting room, the door clicking shut behind him. Later, he sets up at an adjacent empty table that gives him a perfect view of the door.

Time stretches. The hour creeps by. 

Then, the door creaks open, and Seonghwa and Mingi step out together. 

Seonghwa’s eyes are puffy, rimmed with red and his lashes are still damp—but there’s a lightness to his expression that hadn’t been there before, hadn’t been there in a long while. Mingi is glued to his side, his arm wound tightly around Seonghwa’s. For all his 184cm, he’s managed to shrink into himself to press his head against the demon’s shoulder. 

Wooyoung yelps when he catches sight of the pair from where he’s coming up from the kitchens, launching himself forward to latch onto Seonghwa’s free side. Seonghwa lets out a startled laugh, light and elated. Wooyoung pauses briefly at the sound, before bumping his head against Seonghwa’s arm. 

They walk away, Seonghwa stumbling unsteadily with the two limpets hanging off his sides. Right before they round the corner, Seonghwa turns back. His gaze finds Hongjoong’s, and for the first time in what has felt like forever, Seonghwa beams—and it’s bright, blinding, beautiful. 

In the quiet of Hongjoong’s mind, birdsong swells—unrestrained, clear, and full of life. 

Hongjoong shrugs carelessly, but as he ducks his head to gather his things, he can’t fight the contented curve that curls at his lips. 

Somewhere around the half-hour mark, the ache in his chest had disappeared.

Chapter 2: On Acquiring (Mostly Uncontrollable) Demonic Powers

Do not freak out if you start manifesting some of your demon’s powers. He’ll teach you how to work with them, and you’ll get the hang of it. Eventually.

(No, seriously—trust me on this one: if you freak out, it’ll just get worse, so. Do. Not. Freak. Out.)

“Hyung.” 

Hongjoong resists the urge to twitch when a finger pokes at his cheek—for the seventh time in ten minutes. 

“Hyung, Hongie-hyung. Hyungie.”

Hongjoong exhales sharply, ducking his head when that same offending finger creeps into his periphery. “Not now, Youngie. Give me, like, fifteen minutes.”

“But I’m bored now.” 

Wooyoung pouts dramatically, throwing himself into the ever-growing mound of cushions Seonghwa has somehow managed to amass over the months. It’s starting to look more animated zoo than couch these days, the collection steadily growing in tandem with the demon’s obsession with Animal Crossing. The impact sends a few tumbling to the floor, but Wooyoung makes no move to pick them up. 

He’s lucky that neither Judy nor Marshal fell onto the floor.

The younger man tries again, the pout on his face somehow deepening even further. “Surely talking to me is more fun than whatever it is you’re doing.” 

Hongjoong ignores him with a long-suffering patience only attainable from years of experience of tuning out distractions (particularly Wooyoung-shaped ones), instead pulling up an email to attach the required documentation. Finally, he turns to Wooyoung with a deadpan stare. 

“Might I remind you that ‘whatever it is I’m doing now’ is going to help you get that one cheese you insisted must come from that one specific cheesemonger that lives in the French countryside?”

Wooyoung puffs up, but, tellingly, does not argue. Hongjoong earns himself barely three minutes of silence before—

“I’m still bored, hyungie.” 

Hongjoong tries not to sigh. Something warm and captivating flickers in his chest—a small ember of concern, glowing like candle-light. Hongjoong looks up to find Seonghwa watching him through the glass partition. He’s across the office, mid-conversation with Mingi in the break room, but his gaze is keen, curious.

Of course he’d notice.  

Hongjoong shakes his head, offering a small, exasperated smile. Seonghwa’s lips quirk in response, equal parts fond and amused. 

He startles when Wooyoung suddenly pipes up from right beside him, having joined him at his desk without Hongjoong noticing. “You’re doing that weird telepathic thing with Seonghwa-hyung again.”

“It’s not weird,” Hongjoong says, almost defensively. Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. 

“No, but really, you have gotta know how it looks at least a little weird to everyone around you, right? We know that you guys are dating and all but damn, it’s like you just know…”

Hongjoong tunes him out, dropping his head into his hands.

It’d be great if I could just escape—

Poof.

All of a sudden—

The world tilts. Colors blur, his vision distorting into a dizzying swirl of light and motion. His stomach lurches as gravity wraps around him, folding and unfolding in a way that has nausea rising in his gut.

Then, just as suddenly—

Hongjoong lands.

Squashed under his ass, Tom Nook puffs up in protest, but Hongjoong could scarcely pay attention to the sin he’s just committed when he’s still struggling to process what’s just happened, a sensation of wrongness lingering on his skin. Blinking, he dazedly watches the warm hues of sunset filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows, as he sinks into the mound of cushions on his couch—wait.

His couch.

Not his chair.

Why the fuck was he on the couch?

“What the fuck.”

His head whips to the right. Wooyoung is still standing by the desk, mouth agape, head swivelling rapidly between the once-occupied, now-empty office chair and once-empty, now-occupied office couch. 

“What the fuck.” Hongjoong echoes, numbly. 

Wooyoung points a trembling finger—the same one that he had been using to poke his cheek, Hongjoong notes absently. “Did you—how did you just—from here—” 

He jumps when the door slams open, Seonghwa bursting into the office and Mingi hot on his heels.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Seonghwa drops to his knees beside the couch, hands already reaching for him. Hongjoong wordlessly shakes his head, still too stunned to speak.

“I could feel your panic from all the way across the office,” Seonghwa adds, voice tight with worry. 

Wooyoung strides over in a few quick steps, mouth working miles per minute. “Can somebody slap me because I swear I just saw Hongjoong-hyung disappear in a puff of smoke? Like poof! And then reappear over here like—wait.” 

His eyes narrow. The gears in his head turn. Then, slowly, he zeroes in on Seonghwa. 

“What do you mean you could feel his panic?” Wooyoung asks, voice dangerously even. 

Something familiar niggles at the back of Hongjoong’s mind—the same strange sensation that’s been nagging at him over the course of the past month, the same one he's been constantly ignoring and brushing aside. His gaze snaps to Seonghwa, then to Mingi.

With comically matching looks of horror, realization dawns on all three of them at once. 

Oh, fuck.

Hongjoong’s always teased Mingi for being the last to be looped into all this supernatural weirdness, always the last to know about the latest insane development. 

But somehow, against all odds, amidst all the chaos, they had all collectively forgotten to bring one person into the fold.

Hongjoong exhales slowly.

“We should probably sit down for this conversation.”

Wooyoung gestures at him. “You are sitting down.”

“Right,” Hongjoong swallows. “Then you should probably sit down.”

Wooyoung plops down onto the carpeted floor, raising an eyebrow in an expectant stare. After a beat of hesitation, Seonghwa wordlessly places a Raymond cushion in Wooyoung’s lap before settling beside him. 

Hongjoong glances at Seonghwa. Seonghwa glances at Mingi. Mingi pointedly glances at the windows, which are starting to look more and more tempting with each passing second. 

Across from him, Wooyoung carefully watches their silent exchange, suspicion mounting by the minute. He crosses his arms. 

“Tell me right now—what the fuck did I miss? ”

Chapter 3: On Developing an Unfortunate Sensitivity to the Supernatural

Spirits. Demons. Ghosts. Congratulations! I sure hope you weren’t scared of the supernatural before you went and got soul-bonded to a demon because you are definitely going to be seeing more (like, a lot more) of them in the foreseeable future.

Hongjoong blinks at the sight of the new employee making his way through the office, greeting each and every colleague he comes across with a cheerful ‘Hi!’.

He stares. Then stares at some more. 

“What is he doing here?” Hongjoong’s voice comes out embarrassingly high, slightly breathless with disbelief, but really, could anyone blame him? It wasn’t every day you saw two demons casually roaming around your office.

On his left, Yeosang shrugs, a perfect picture of nonchalance. “Seonghwa-hyung asked.”

To his right, Seonghwa tilts his head, round eyes peering at him through swishing cotton-candy hair, in that one way he knows Hongjoong is absolutely weak to. 

“I couldn’t say no to Sannie,” Seonghwa says, soft and longing. “It’s okay, right, Joongie?”

Joongie.

It’s a one-two combo directly aimed at Hongjoong’s heart. He doesn’t even bother to pretend this wasn’t a fight he had been destined to lose from the get-go.

“Of course, Hwa.” The words slip out before Hongjoong even knows what he’s committing to. 

Yeosang gives him an unimpressed side-eye, muttering, “I think that was a new record.”

It’s easy to ignore him when Seonghwa’s face lights up from the radiance of his happiness. And just like that, San is officially an employee of ATEEZ Studios.

With the presence of supernatural entities suddenly becoming a norm, it takes them a long while before they realise what exactly is up with Hongjoong. 

The first sign arrives when Seonghwa misses a shoot. It’s rare—Seonghwa is reliable to a fault—but some royalty-related duty has pulled him away for the day. Hongjoong would ask, but it was one of the few times he had seen Seonghwa visibly pissed, and so frankly, he had been a little too scared to probe for details.

(Scared, among other things.)

It’s not a big deal—they manage to poach an interim cameraman from one of the other teams, a bright-eyed intern Minjae had recommended that was way too excited about going to an abandoned hospital but Hongjoong isn’t about to yuck his yum. 

It’s not a big deal, that is, until they arrive at said hospital, and Hongjoong stops dead in his tracks the moment he steps out of the car.

Something feels off.

At first glance, the hospital just looks like any other run-down, dilapidated, supposedly-haunted location they’ve filmed at. 

But there’s something… off. 

The air buzzes, singing with a low, discordant hum that grates against the edges of his senses, leaving goosebumps along his skin. 

Hongjoong’s never been one to be so easily unnerved but it’s unsettling. 

It’s wrong.

Yunho looks at him, puzzled. “Hyung?”

Hongjoong hesitates, gnawing at his bottom lip before shaking his head. He presses a hand against Yunho’s chest, stopping the younger man from taking another step forward.

“Something doesn’t feel right.” He wills his voice to remain steady despite the unease crawling up his spine. “Let me try contacting Seonghwa.” 

Yunho studies him for a moment before nodding, heading back to stop the crew from unloading more of their equipment.

He doesn’t manage to get through to Seonghwa, which is something he had anticipated, since you know, he’s not dumb enough to expect hell to have cell towers. Just as he’s debating his next move, a ripple of blue smoke curls through the air.

“Oh, hi—”

“Good call,” Jongho cuts him off. His gaze is sharp as he takes in the hospital, the usual teasing glint in his eyes notably absent. It spoke volumes that the demon doesn’t immediately jump to poking fun at Hongjoong.

“I’ll clear the site for you,” Jongho eventually says, after some consideration. “Give me ten minutes.”

“Oh—”

Poof.

And he’s gone. Hongjoong sighs, waving a hand to disperse the lingering smoke.

“Thanks.”

(“I’m sorry for not answering earlier,” Seonghwa says, slightly remorseful.

Hongjoong waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. Thanks for sending Jongho, though.” 

Seonghwa looks at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t, though?”

“Huh.”

“Huh.”

They exchange looks, before shrugging. Demons could be intuitive like that. It’s the least of Hongjoong’s concerns.)

The second sign sneaks up on him during a routine production meeting.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” Mirae pokes her head into meeting room 1, where the producers and the Woori Yori team are gathered. “Has anyone seen San around?”

Wooyoung, who had been mid-monologue about the future directions of his show, snaps his mouth shut. 

It’s a recurring pattern.

Any time San is mentioned—explicit, implicit, implied—Wooyoung just shuts down. It’s like he can’t even function. Hongjoong’s never seen the younger man go so quiet before in his life, and it’s already happened more than a dozen times in the past couple days.

It’s endearing.

And absolutely hilarious.

(Even he hadn’t been that bad, Hongjoong thinks.

Yeosang would beg to differ.)

“No,” Hongjoong replies automatically. Around the table, people glance at him in surprise.  Hongjoong’s been stuck in meetings all day—how would he know if San is in or not?

Mirae just nods, accepting his answer without question. Of course Hongjoong would know—he’s a good boss. Even when busy, he always makes sure to keep track of his employees’ whereabouts during working hours, on the off-chance that one of them was absent because they were stuck in some predicament and in need of assistance.

For a brief moment, Hongjoong wonders how he knew that San wasn’t around. He doesn’t recall checking the roster today.

It’s just… San isn’t here. He’s sure of that.

Must’ve checked at some point. Right?

When they finally catch on to what’s happening, it’s because of a damn cup.

Hongjoong knocks lightly on Yeosang’s door. “Hey Sangie, can you check in with the vendors to see what’s their progress on the props for San’s show?” 

Yeosang glances up from his monitor. “Sure, hyung.”

Hongjoong turns to leave- then stops. Curiosity nibbles at him as he turns back. “Has Jongho been by the office recently?”

Yeosang, mid-sip, lowers his cup. “I don’t think so? The last time he came was with San for that steak shoot. Why?”

Hongjoong hums, distracted. Despite Yeosang’s words, there is something familiar that lingers in the air, a faint presence that prickles at his awareness. Oddly enough, it reminds him of Seonghwa, whose presence always has a weight to it, pressing lightly against the edges of his perception. It doesn’t feel malicious, unlike what Hongjoong had felt that day at the abandoned hospital- it’s softer, almost playful. It pulls at him, urging, beckoning him forward.

Hongjoong’s feet move before he fully registers what he’s doing, leading him further into the office.

Yeosang watches, confused but silent as Hongjoong steps closer and closer, only stopping when he’s in front of the desk. The feeling’s stronger here, tugging at him with an invisible thread. Hongjoong closes his eyes, tilting his head as he wills his senses to tune in. The static buzz sharpens—subtle, but undeniably there—and he chases after it, reaching out to brush his fingers against—

The cup on Yeosang’s desk. It’s a ridiculously cute cup, decorated with cartoon bears with sailor hats and ribbons perched neatly atop their fuzzy little heads.

Slowly, Hongjoong picks it up, and takes a whiff. He expects the scent of coffee—Yeosang’s preferred choice of beverage, but, instead—

His nose twitches. 

“Is this—” Hongjoong asks, slightly stunned as he sniffs at the cup again. “Is this apple juice?”

Yeosang, honest-to-God, blushes. The younger man is not the type to fluster easily, but yet there they are—two, unmistakably pink spots dusting the highs of his cheeks like he’s just been caught doing something scandalous. 

Hongjoong gingerly sets the cup down, blinking. “I just asked if it was apple juice. Why are you—oh.”

Oh.

Oh.

Yeosang blushes even harder.

Hongjoong sucks in a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You—Jongho—” Even as he speaks, Hongjoong’s already backing away. “Just—be careful, alright?”

Before Yeosang can get a single word in, Hongjoong spins on his heel and hightails it out of there.

So, as it turns out, Hongjoong’s inherited Seonghwa’s level of sensitivity to the supernatural. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, he thinks, especially if it means he can get them out of danger like the time at the hospital.

That is, until that one time he mistakes Wooyoung for San.

Chapter 4: On Finding Out that You’ve Accidentally Become Immortal

You probably saw this coming—I probably should have seen this coming—so perhaps now’s a good time to review your life insurance policy? You might also want to talk to your friends. They may or may not be a bit more upset about the whole growing old without you thing than you think.

It all begins with an innocent enough question. 

They’re all at lunch, some upscale restaurant that Jongho had chosen in exchange for his attendance which was sure to burn a hole through Hongjoong’s pockets. It’s a relatively small price to pay, though, if it meant he could finally get into Seonghwa’s younger brother’s good books.

“So, what happens after Hongjoong-hyung dies?” Yunho asks, stirring at his iced coffee absent-mindedly. 

Hongjoong mid-chew, nearly chokes. He stares, wondering what could’ve triggered the younger man to suddenly think about his hyung’s mortality.

“Die?” Jongho repeats, looking at Yunho like he’s just asked if the sky in hell was also blue. “He’s not going to die, hyung.” 

Hongjoong slowly turns his head, gobsmacked.

It appears that everyone has managed to befriend Jongho—everyone sans Hongjoong.

There’s a brief pause as the humans at the table process Jongho’s words.

“... What?” Yunho says flatly, fingers stilling around his straw.

“Not of old age, at least,” Jongho clarifies, blasé as ever, like this is common knowledge. “His body’s adapting. He’s like maybe, what, half-demon, now?”

Yunho’s face goes disturbingly blank.

Hongjoong turns to Seonghwa for clarification, but all he gets is a tiny, helpless shrug. 

“Sorry?” Seonghwa offers.

Silently, Hongjoong shakes his head.

It’ll be alright, he tells himself, I’m alright.

So maaaaybe he’s a little less alright with the whole immortality thing than he initially thought, because it takes him an embarrassingly long while to finally notice that Yunho has been… off.

It’s subtle, at first—Yunho’s just a bit more subdued, a bit quieter. And sometimes, Hongjoong will catch the younger man staring, shrouded by an air of doom and gloom like he was Lee Joon Gi and Hongjoong his IU.

… Okay. Maybe it’s not that subtle.

It does take him a comparatively short while to piece together the pieces and realise that Yunho’s odd behaviour started from after that conversation in the restaurant. 

And so, one fine day, he corners Yunho in one of the meeting rooms, determined to drag the truth out of him. Unfortunately—or perhaps, fortunately, in hindsight—Mingi and Wooyoung return from lunch at the exact moment Hongjoong's menacingly advancing towards Yunho, prompting them to burst into the room.

“Okay, I just don’t want this to turn into another Seonghwa-Mingi situation.” Affronted at the sudden call-out, Mingi lets out a small noise of indignation, which Hongjoong easily ignores. “So ‘fess up.” 

Yunho doesn’t respond right away. He’s slumped in one of the chairs, looking like a kid about to get scolded. When he finally looks up, his face is so miserable that Hongjoong feels a pang of guilt.

Hongjoong’s voice softens. “What’s wrong, Yuyu?”

Yunho ducks his head, mumbling something incomprehensible.

“Didn’t quite catch that, Yuyu,” Hongjoong says gently. 

Yunho presses his lips together, before finally saying, “It’s just… I realised something recently, and it’s kinda freaking me out.”

Hongjoong says nothing, allowing Yunho to gather his thoughts.

Raking a hand roughly through his hair, Yunho blurts out, “I—well—Mingi and I, we’re the only ones who are gonna grow old now. You, Yeosang, Wooyoung—all of you have a-a thing going on.”

Hongjoong blinks. Now that the floodgates have been blasted wide open, Yunho can’t stop rambling.

“You and Seonghwa-hyung are soul-bonded, Yeosang has Jongho wrapped around his little finger, and Wooyoung—”

Yunho pauses, throwing a glance at Wooyoung, who is starting to look alarmingly like a goldfish with the way his mouth is opening and closing without any words emerging (now, where has Hongjoong seen this before?), before soldiering on.

“Wooyoung’s obviously going to get together with San the second he actually grows a pair of balls and asks San out—”

“Hey!”

“—and then it’ll just be me and Mingi,” Yunho finishes, voice hitching. “All of you will stay together forever, and we’re just gonna”—his violent hiccup is accompanied by a vague gesture in the air—“die like normal people.”

Beside him, Mingi looks down at the floor. Hongjoong’s heart clenches at the sight. 

Aww.

Sometimes, as full-fledged adults, it’s easy to forget that these were the same boys he had grown up with for the better part of his youth.

“Aww, Yuyu, Minki,” Hongjoong coos, and in one swift movement, he folds the two younger men into a hug. It’s a bit of a struggle—between their differences in height and general size, there’s a lot of squishing involved—but Hongjoong makes it work, somehow. Wooyoung, never one to be left out, promptly throws his arms around them all. 

They sink to the floor in an emotional tangle of limbs, and Hongjoong’s pretty sure Mingi’s knee is digging into his ribs but it doesn’t matter. It’s warm, and it’s comforting, and Hongjoong wants it to stay this way forever.

It's how Yeosang finds them fifteen minutes later, wondering where all his employees had disappeared to. 

“What is happening—”

Wooyoung simply reaches out, grabs Yeosang by the wrist and yanks him into the pile.

“Come,” Hongjoong eventually stands up, holding a hand out to Yunho who takes it without hesitation. “Maybe Seonghwa will know what to do.”

The solution turns out to be shockingly simple.

Seonghwa’s already waiting for them when they locate him in Hongjoong’s office, mugs of chamomile tea neatly set out on the table. Hongjoong really shouldn’t be surprised by now, but somehow, Seonghwa still never fails to take his breath away. 

Once they’re done unloading their feelings onto him, Seonghwa blinks at them, uncomprehendingly. After a brief pause, he cocks his head and says—

“We could just claim your souls once you’re dead?”

“... What?” Yunho says flatly, eyes still red and puffy.

Seonghwa nods, sitting up a little straighter, excitement sparkling in his eyes. “When you die, we’ll just swoop in and bring you straight to hell. We have more than enough rooms in our palace to accommodate everyone, so it’ll be completely fine!

“We just need your written consent so the angels can’t dispute our claim, of course. I can find us a notary,” Seonghwa adds cheerfully, beaming like it was just that easy.

Perhaps it is that easy, after all.

Hongjoong glances over at Mingi. The younger man looks slightly queasy, but does not seem to be entirely against the idea.

“You can—you would do that?” Yunho asks in a faint whisper. Seonghwa gently rests a hand over Yunho’s, his eyes softening.

“You guys are our friends,” he says, warm with quiet adoration, “You’d be surprised what we would do for you.” 

Hongjoong looks away as Yunho aggressively blows his nose into a tissue. Seonghwa claps his hands together, already shifting gears. 

“Oh, I can’t wait for you guys to meet Cerberus!”

“What—you guys have a dog—hyung, how fast can you get to the notary?”

Chapter 5: On Sharing Pain

I don’t have any funny quips or clever advice for this one. Just… try not to get hurt, okay?

Hongjoong isn’t doing anything particularly exciting when the pain slams into him with the force of a sledgehammer. If the pain he felt when his emotional connection with Seonghwa first locked into place was an 8/10 on the scale, this is most definitely an 800/10.

One minute, he’s lounging in Yeosang’s office, flipping through some random proposal to have an excuse to play audience to Yeosang berating Wooyoung for going over budget for the fifth episode in eight (not that he’s really over budget since Yeosang always accounts for Wooyoung’s overzealous spending, but he can’t let Wooyoung get away it every time). 

The next minute, his entire body is seizing up, a wildfire of pure, blistering agony exploding across his side as if something had just sunk its claws and teeth into him, ripping through flesh and bone.

He barely has time to gasp before his vision whites out, his knees buckling underneath him.

“What the—hyung?” Wooyoung scrambles to catch him before he slides off the chair, but Hongjoong crumples to the ground, like a puppet with its strings severed.

It’s enough to startle Yeosang into cursing. “Shit—hyung, what—” His hands hover—uncertain, searching—over Hongjoong’s trembling frame as he crouches, for something, anything he can do. 

“He’s dying, oh my God, he’s actually dying,” Wooyoung makes a strangled noise, pressing his hands uselessly against Hongjoong’s chest like he’s physically trying to stop his soul from leaving his body.

“He’s not dying, Youngie,” Yeosang snaps, though there is no bite to his tone. He leans closer, patting at Hongjoong's cheeks lightly to try and get his attention, “Hongjoong-hyung, what’s happening? Are you having a heart attack? Where does it hurt?”

Hongjoong tries to breathe past the white-hot agony. Faintly, he hears Wooyoung babbling about retrieving the AED, just in case it’s really a heart attack, but he can’t focus. It’s hard to think through all the pain, and while it is unbearable, the sheer wrongness of it all makes everything even harder. 

It’s not like getting hurt normally. 

It’s like his body is screaming about something that isn’t happening to him.

“Wrong—weird—” he manages to eke out through the haze, his hands gripping at his side where the pain is searing through him like hellfire. 

Yeosang, bless his big, big brain, somehow understands immediately.

“Jongho!” It takes less than a second before the demon materialises in the office. He takes one look at Hongjoong, eyes widening, before he disappears again.

It’s maybe only been a couple seconds before Jongho reappears, but it feels like an eternity to Hongjoong.

He’s not alone this time, Seonghwa and San in tow. His arm is wrapped around Seonghwa’s waist, where a nasty-looking gash runs along the older demon’s side, staining his white shirt with dark red. 

Unlike Hongjoong, however, he looks completely unfazed.

That is, until he catches sight of Hongjoong, pale and writhing on the floor. 

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa immediately tries to make a break for it, but Jongho yanks him back, jaw tight. His expression is stormy as he forces Seonghwa to stay still.

“You need to get healed first,” he grits out. He jerks his head at San. “He’s not going to get any better until you do.”

It’s enough to distract Seonghwa, who stops struggling long enough for San to heal him. Under their very eyes, the gash stitches itself back together within seconds, crimson red no longer running down the length of Seonghwa’s side. 

And just like that, the pain vanishes. 

Hongjoong exhales shakily. His forehead is damp with sweat, but he’s able to breathe again, at least. 

“Explain.” Seonghwa demands, quiet but sharp. Jongho meets his gaze head-on.

“The soul bond- your lives, your souls are intertwined,” Jongho says, voice tight.

The words hang in the air, sharp and foreboding, like a guillotine about to fall.  

Hongjoong swallows.

“If one of you dies,” Jongho continues, staring at his brother with something between frustration and concern, “the other dies along with him.”

The blade falls.

Finally, Hongjoong understands Jongho’s ire at Seonghwa being bonded to him- at him. Hongjoong’s body may be changing, adapting to keep up with Seonghwa, but there’s still a good chunk of human in him that makes him comparatively fragile. 

He’s still vulnerable to injury, to death. 

Had Jongho not reached out to San today- how long more could Hongjoong have withstood that pain before giving in?

And Jongho knew that from the start. Hongjoong can’t even begin to imagine how terrified Jongho must have been when he first found out what his foolish older brother had done. 

How many times has Jongho imagined this exact moment? Imagined Hongjoong falling apart, imagined Seonghwa’s choice come back to haunt him?

“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong croaks out, shakily propping himself up. The words are rough, raw, but he forces himself to look Jongho right in the eye. 

Something in the demon’s stony facade cracks, before he looks away. 

Seonghwa’s gaze shifts to Hongjoong, melting into something tender, something sorrowful.

“No,” Seonghwa murmurs. He sink to his knees behind Hongjoong, gently guiding him to lean against his chest. His fingers tremble as he brushes damp strands out of Hongjoong’s eyes. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for any of this. If there’s a way for me to reverse this—”

“I’ll look for you each time, Seonghwa.” Hongjoong catches Seonghwa’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Pressing a kiss against his knuckles, he aims for a wry smile. “I told you before, right? I’m not running away.”

His grip tightens.

“You’re stuck with me now.”

Seonghwa inhales sharply. His eyes widen, before he lets out a soft, wet chuckle. Wordlessly, he squeezes Hongjoong’s hand.

The door slams open.

“Sangie, I got the AED—oh my God, San,” Wooyoung squeaks, eyes darting frantically between the room’s new occupants. His gaze drops to land on Hongjoong, who’s still pale and on the floor, but conscious. “Are you still dying, hyung?”

Hongjoong shakes his head.

The AED slips from Wooyoung’s grasp.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Tell me—what did I miss, this time?

Chapter 6: On Meeting Your Boyfriend's Parents (a.k.a the literal Rulers of Hell)

Most of you won’t find this chapter useful, but I am aware of at least two people who might. So, to my dearest friends Wooyoung and Yeosang, this section is dedicated to you—heads up and stay focused!

As for the rest of you, uh… I’m truly sorry you’ll never have the opportunity to date somebody as beautiful and amazing and regal as Seonghwa—ow, okay, okay I’ll delete this, Hwa, please stop pinching my cheek-

“You’re nervous,” Seonghwa comments as he smooths out Hongjoong’s tie, his touch light and teasing. “Why?”

“I think it’s a universal rule that boyfriends are always nervous when they meet the in-laws.”

Seonghwa chuckles, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind Hongjoong’s ear. “I liked the orange,” he mourns. “Anyways, half of the family already likes you.”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if what Jongho feels towards me qualifies as ‘like’.”

“He does,” Seonghwa muses. “He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

Hongjoong would beg to differ, but keeps his thoughts to himself. Seonghwa offers him his arm. “Ready?”

Taking a deep breath, Hongjoong places his hand on the crook of Seonghwa’s elbow. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Teleportation is as pleasant an experience as ever, but Hongjoong’s gotten just enough hang of it to avoid throwing up all over his polished shoes when they land.

It takes him approximately three seconds to realise something is off.

The streets are clean, the evening air crisp with the bite of winter. Tall buildings loom around them, their windows illuminated against a sky streaked with pinks and purples. They emerge from the alleyway that Seonghwa has dropped them at into a bustling crowd of people. 

There’s no fire, no brimstone, no oppressive weight of an underworld pressing heavy on his chest.

“This isn’t hell.” 

Seonghwa gives him a weird look.

“No, Hongjoong.”

“... We’re in Japan.”

Seonghwa hums in acknowledgement, pulling out his phone. “My dad likes sushi.”

“... Right.”

Hongjoong stares at him, stumbling as he follows Seonghwa to the warmly lit restaurant just ahead. The faint murmur of patrons leaks out from behind sliding wooden doors. Seonghwa bows politely at the host as he enters and shows them the reservation on his phone, and soon enough (too soon, Hongjoong thinks), they’re being led to a private room at the back of the establishment.

The moment they step inside, Hongjoong feels it.

It’s nothing supernatural, nothing demonic—just an unyielding, commanding presence. 

Seonghwa’s father sits in the middle of the table, with the air of someone who has never once needed to raise his voice to be obeyed. San and Jongho flank him—San’s relaxed, lounging like a sunbathing housecat, while Jongho looks like he’s barely holding himself together, arms crossed tightly in front of his chest.

Across from them, a woman sits in quiet observation—Seonghwa’s mother, no doubt, given the resemblance. There’s a quiet warmth to her, but also an undercurrent of danger, like steel wrapped in silk.

Seonghwa’s father lifts his head as they enter, his gaze piercing and calculating. Just as quickly, his expression softens, melting like snow under the sun as Seonghwa throws his arms around him with a cheerful “Papa!”

“Seonghwa,” his father greets gravelly, his hand reaching up to stroke the back of Seonghwa’s head. His eyes slide over to Hongjoong, and unwittingly, Hongjoong stands a little straighter under the intensity of his scrutiny.

“And you must be Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong bows, respectful, but not overly deferential. “Good evening, sir.”

Seonghwa’s father watches him for a beat longer before nodding towards the seat directly across from him. “Do sit.”

Hongjoong does. Seonghwa settles into the seat beside him, practically vibrating with excitement.

Soon, food is served, the dishes arranged with meticulous care. Hongjoong doesn’t even register the flavours of what he’s eating, though he’s sure that the food is delicious- somewhere in the back of his mind, he makes a mental note that this would be a good place to bring Seonghwa back for a date. He focuses on keeping the conversation flowing, listening attentively before speaking, answering when prompted, mirroring the pace Seonghwa’s father sets- not too eager, not too reserved. 

Jongho barely speaks, though Hongjoong catches him sneaking glances over the course of the meal. San, of course, is entirely at ease, guiding the conversation with the occasional cheeky grin directed at him.

It’s going well.

Until Seonghwa reaches for a dish, just slightly out of his reach, and Hongjoong moves first, plating the best pieces for him without a second thought.

The conversation doesn’t stop, doesn’t stutter, but there’s a palpable shift in the air. Hongjoong feels the flicker of an amused glance from his left, but when he chances a quick peek, the expression on Seonghwa’s mother’s face is unchanged. Jongho’s jaw tenses, but he does not comment. San hums, the corner of his lip curling in amusement. Seonghwa just keeps eating.

Seonghwa’s father is as unreadable as ever. 

It’s later in the night that everything begins to unravel, when Hongjoong notices a smidge of teriyaki at the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth. As naturally as breathing, Hongjoong reaches out with a napkin, Seonghwa already tilting his head towards Hongjoong so that he can wipe the sauce off his lips.

Across the table, Seonghwa’s mother finally speaks- the first time all evening.

“You remind me of his father.”

Hongjoong freezes.

Seonghwa’s father raises an eyebrow, setting his chopsticks down.

“He was the same, you know,” she continues, voice deceptively light. “Hopelessly devoted.”

She hums, contemplative, “What do the kids call it these days? A ‘simp’?”

Jongho looks horrified. San chokes on his tuna, coughing violently as he gives his mother a thumbs up.

“Thank you, Sannie,” their mother smiles, taking a slow sip of her tea.

Seonghwa’s father exhales, shaking his head. “I was not hopeless, dear—”

“You were,” she corrects pleasantly, like she wasn’t contradicting the literal King of Hell. “And he is, too.”

She turns to Seonghwa, then, with a sharp nod. “You made a good choice.”

The silence that follows is stifling.

Hongjoong presses his hands against his face, his ears burning. Between his fingers, he risks a glance at Seonghwa- who just leans back into his seat, sipping his drink with a knowing smile.

I told you, the demon mouths.

Despite his embarrassment, something warm and hopeful proudly curls itself home in Hongjoong’s chest.

They do end up going to hell after all, because Seonghwa’s mother insists that Hongjoong ‘has to try’ the desserts their chef makes. They teleport again—this time, stepping directly into a grand hall that was equally as elegant and extravagant as the restaurant they’d just left. 

Hongjoong does notice the blood-red skies when they pass by some windows on the way to the dining room, though.

Seonghwa’s mother is right—the desserts are hella good. 

For a while, everything was fine. The tension from earlier has since long faded after the bombshell Seonghwa’s mother had dropped, the conversation flowing easier- until the disturbance began. 

It's subtle at first. A faint rumble, heralding the arrival of a distant storm. Then—

BOOM!

Seonghwa throws his napkin onto the table, eyes ablaze with fury. It’s the same anger that Hongjoong had glimpsed only once before, when Seonghwa had been abruptly called away right before a shoot. 

Tersely, he excuses himself, not before pressing a quick peck to Hongjoong’s cheek that had his ears flaming red-hot for the second time that evening.

The room shakes as something outside explodes. The rest of the family pick at the new dessert—a chestnut tiramisu inspired by some trending Netflix show—without a care in the world.

Curiosity gets the better of Hongjoong, in the end.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat. “What’s going on?”

San sighs, cheek propped up against his palm. “It’s that annoying suitor of hyung’s again. Some distant nobility who thinks he has a chance.”

“Suitor?” Hongjoong repeats, incredulous.

Seonghwa’s mother’s eyes flit over to him, something sharp glinting under her serene expression. “Is that so hard to believe? My sons are rather popular, you know.”

San paws at his mother’s arm, preening at the sudden compliment.

Hongjoong quickly shakes his head. “No, ma’am, of course not. It’s just-” Hongjoong falters. “Seonghwa’s never mentioned anything about a suitor.”

Jongho stabs at the tiramisu like it’s personally offended him. “It’s because that dude’s annoying as shit. Dude never knows when to give up so hyung just kicks his ass back to his kingdom each time.”

Seonghwa’s father nods sagely, his first real contribution to the topic at hand so far.

Outside, another explosion rocks the ground.

“... Can I watch?”

Hongjoong arrives just in time to see Seonghwa punt the insolent demon into the sky. 

Behind him, Seonghwa’s mother claps as the suitor fades into nothing more than a distant dot. “Good form as usual, Seonghwa.”

“Thank you, Mama—” The exhilarated grin on Seonghwa’s face falters when he catches sight of his audience that has most recently increased by one. “Hongjoong, I—”

“That was so hot,” Hongjoong breathes, the filter in his brain having gone down at the exact moment he laid his eyes on Seonghwa, flushed and triumphant, his figure bathed in the molten glow of the blood-red sky.

There’s something utterly intoxicating about the way Seonghwa stands there—unshaken, unconquerable, untouchable.

And yet, entirely his.

Seonghwa’s cheeks, already tinged pink from exertion, darken to a furious, fetching shade of red. 

His father rubs at his chin, thoughtful. “We should make this official. It’ll stop people from bothering Seonghwa.”

Hongjoong’s barely had time to process that declaration when Jongho claps a hand on his shoulder. The wicked grin on the young demon’s face instantly sets off all kinds of alarm bells in Hongjoong’s head, even before he hears Jongho call him—

“Hyung.”

Hongjoong stiffens. A deep, primal instinct within him stirs, screaming at him to flee.

“Papa’s right, hyung,” Jongho drawls, saccharine sweet, with the most shit-eating grin Hongjoong’s ever seen—and it’s twice as terrifying on the face of a demon. “We should prep for a marriage ritual.”

“... And what does that entail, exactly?” Hongjoong asks, barely recognising his own voice.

Jongho snickers.

“You’re a grown adult, hyung, surely you know what I’m saying—”

Seonghwa squawks, scandalised. His face is burning now, having flushed an even deeper shade of red than before, as he reaches out and smacks the back of Jongho’s head. Around him, everything descends into chaos. Hongjoong closes his eyes as he tilts his head to crimson skies, praying to the universe for strength and patience.

But then—warmth blooms in chest, illuminating and suffusive. His eyes flutter open to meet Seonghwa's, who smiles from over Jongho's shoulder where he has the younger demon trapped in an impressive headlock. 

Hongjoong can't help it—he smiles back.

Official or not, he’s already made a promise. He isn’t running away from this, not from any of this, and most of all, not from Seonghwa.

And it was a promise he was planning to keep until the end of their days.