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The demon realm was dark.
It was one of its key features, according to Romance’s top three—right next to cold and ugly.
The place was filled with stone, helpless plants, and murky water for the water demons that reeked of overpopulation. The only real light sources were Gwi-ma (probably an act of self-importance by the demon king, who grew stronger by the minute) and the increasing amount of souls soaring overhead.
Still, it was dark where Gwi-ma was not. Along the edges of the realm, which was more of an island than anything, it was almost pitch black. Luckily, demons could see pretty well in the dark.
Romance still gagged, though, as he walked around. He was still sweaty and tired from their last performance—another run of Soda Pop in a different part of Korea to gain more popularity—and he still was the best smelling thing around.
He’d only gone on this walk because he needed air. It was tense at “home” (the slightly large cave they claimed for themselves) because Jinu’s plan was working, but the boys were not as cut out for being idols as they hoped. They were tired, and Jinu kept pushing. They needed to practice choreo, and practice singing, and write the Gwi-ma-gets-everything-he-wants-and-desires song, and not be killed by HUNTR/X all the while. It was exhausting. So Romance had done what anyone would do- huffed and stormed out.
It was dramatic. Probably a little petty. But he couldn’t look Jinu in the eye, knowing that this was all so he could forget.
Jinu would forget them too. Forget Romance. Maybe he was stupid to think Jinu cared enough to want to keep his memory. Maybe he was selfish to want Jinu to keep suffering, if it meant he would stay in Romance’s life.
Anyway.
It was…quiet. Not just nobody’s around quiet (which was weird, the realm is crawling with demons at every corner), but nobody in his ear quiet. No memories flashing before his eyes. No deep, rumbling voice telling him he would never be loved, no matter how much the boys told him, kissed him, held him.
That has been a constant lately.
Ever since their debut, and the onslaught of gullible souls, Gwi-ma’s voice had silenced. They were almost never brought to the pedestal for their weekly you are nothing you belong to me blah blah blah speech, and when insecurity arose, Romance’s own voice was the only one confirming.
It was…nice. Probably a mercy from Gwi-ma for bringing in so many souls.
Romance’s walk was coming to a close; He’d almost looped all the way back home when he felt the familiar prickle of company. Must be the boys, since he’s getting closer.
He didn’t know that he’d be met with worse. Much worse.
________
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t our favorite Saja Boy.”
Romance…has not heard that voice before. He instinctively bristles, but upon hearing the threat vailed with a compliment, he turns with a smirk.
Four demons—three of them taller than him, one the same height—start to corner him. Romance’s markings flare defensively.
“Mm, as much as I’d love to give you an autograph, it’s downtime right now,” he says casually, trying to offset the fear in his veins.
He was a demon. He could teleport, he had claws that could tear through the thickest skin, strength double that of any human. He wasn’t supposed to be afraid of anything, but each person had their own strength, and Romance was at the…lower end of that spectrum.
He had never needed to defend himself much in the demon realm. Despite the scuffles, and fighting with hunters, he was…protected, most of the time.
Romance and Abby met early on. Dropped in only two months apart. Alone and afraid, they’d ended up clinging to each other like barnacles. They didn’t hate each other, so they stuck together. Abby was bigger than him, obviously. Broad shoulders, hard abs, defined biceps…of course Romance loved Abby for much more than his body now, but at the time, it was an asset. Nobody really messed with them, and if they did, Abby was able to take care of it. Then they met the other boys over time, and the rest is history.
And now Romance was alone. Again. Not knowing what else to do other than swing his arms and pray to a nonexistent goddess or god.
In simple terms: He was weak, and monumentally screwed.
“How does it feel, being one of Gwi-ma’s favorites?” the second demon hisses. “You don’t even hear him anymore, do you? Just your fans screaming your names and throwing you flowers because of a pretty face.”
How would they know that?
Romance wondered as he backed away slowly. “I do hear him,” he lies, his shaking voice giving away what he was really feeling. “Look, really, if you want my autograph that bad—”
“Liar!” the third one snarls, hand swiping out. Claws knick Romance’s upper arm, cutting through the fabric of his yellow shirt (from the human realm, it had little heart buttons on it!) and slicing through rough violet skin. Romance winces, his hand coming up to cradle the wound. While walking back, he staggers and trips on a stone, hitting the ground hard.
“You think you get special treatment, huh?” growls the fourth. “You’re a demon, too. Just like us. And just because Jinu picked you to be his little background dancer, doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be here.”
“I-I never said—”
“Wonder what you did to get down here,” one muses—honestly Ro is losing track of who’s who as they swarm him, getting close. Too close. “You’ve never experienced what it’s like to be a real demon, have you?”
Never experienced? If spending every night digging his claws into his own skin, looking in the mirror and seeing every flaw, replaying all his interactions and tearing apart every word he said, every word
they
said, was inexperience? Then no, he never wanted to know what it was like to be a “real demon.”
“Hmph. You know he hasn’t. He clung to that stupid meathead the second he was condemned.”
Oh, no no no.
Romance would grow to regret his decisions later on—greatly—but at the moment he’s really not thinking clearly. Aside from terror he feels angry, because Abby already feels terrible enough about himself and he didn’t need a third party telling him what he already knew. And one thing about Romance is that he loves
hard
. He won’t hesitate to defend those he cares about.
So Romance flinches forward, teeth baring at the demon who spoke. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”
Big mistake.
One second Romance is praying to Gwi-ma to take his words back, and the next, claws are digging into his neck as his back slams against a nearby pillar of stone with a crack.
“Do you think being Gwi-ma’s little pet means you get to talk to people however you want?” the demon snarls. They throw Romance onto the ground then, and lift him slightly by the collar, growling low in their throat. “I don’t care if you’re a Saja Boy. You’re a worthless piece of shit, and no amount of fans is gonna stop me from ripping you apart.”
Romance loses track of whose hands are on him. What they’re doing. It’s an endless onslaught of punches, kicks, stomps, and claws. God, the claws. He kicks and fights the one that’s on him, but when the others join, it’s useless. His swipes only make them angrier, and his last resort attempts to bite aren't working.
Sharp nails dig into his back, tearing the fabric of his shirt even more, wrenching a yelp out of him.
“You think you get to escape while the rest of us suffer.”
Knuckles land hard on his jaw, his head cracking to the side. It makes his vision blur, and it feels like the world is spinning without him. Blood pools in his mouth.
“You think you’re special. You think you’re important.”
A stomp to his ribs, forcing a cough and a gasp out of him, blood trickling from the corner of his lips. His hand comes up to hold his chest, but they don’t stop, stomping so hard his hand cracks beneath their boot. He screams, but it dies in his throat with another blow to his face. And another. And another.
“You think they love you. You’re just a pretty face.”
He tries to curl up and block his face in a feeble attempt to preserve himself, but it doesn’t work—they easily manhandle him out of his position and continue beating him into next Tuesday.
It hurts. It hurts so much.
He can’t teleport, and he doesn’t know why. Romance tries to think of other things. He thinks of how good Baby’s voice sounded rapping, Abby’s big arms holding him close at night, and Mystery’s warm eyes that you rarely saw but when you did they held love. How Jinu was sacrificing everything to become a blank, mindless puppet for Gwi-ma.
How Gwi-ma would grow more powerful, and more innocent people would become his pawns—little kids, elderly, adults who had lives ahead of them but too much shame to overcome, and not enough willpower to ignore Gwi-ma’s call.
How Jinu would blink after the big event and Romance wouldn’t find any love in his eyes—just an overwhelming emptiness. How he would try to hug Jinu and Jinu would snarl at him, push him away and curse, asking who he was and Romance wouldn’t be able to answer. Who was he? Jae-Hui, a stupid kid that just wanted to be cared about? Jinu’s lover, who Jinu hadn’t loved enough to stay? A puppet himself, thinking he had some semblance of free thought?
How the tears streaming down his face and the sobs and pleads escaping his lips only made him look more stupid, more pathetic, more vulnerable and how the pain just keeps getting worse. Not just on his skin but in his bones. In his heart.
How someone grabs him by the hair and slams his head down onto the stone, yelling curses, again and again until Romance is sure the only reason he isn’t dead is because he can’t die.
When they let up, if you could even call it that, Romance is crumpled in a twisted position. His arm is all wrong, his face is throbbing in pain, and every breath feels like dying. Salty tears seep into the gashes on his face, making them sting even more.
A demon grabs him by the face, painfully holding his jaw.
“You’re nothing.”
The demon’s finger comes up. A sharp pointer. And comes down over Romance’s neck, slicing it. Slowly. The sound of his skin slitting open as the demon drags his finger is nauseatingly wet.
A gasp chokes out of Romance, his eyes going wide but his arms too weak to do much of anything. The demon only chuckles darkly, spits at him, and leaves him alone in the dark silence.
For a while, Romance just lays there, gurgling as blood pools in his throat and neck. The sky above is painfully devoid of stars.
Then he stands up—because if he stays, someone will surely come to finish the job. And he has to get back. He can’t mess this up for Jinu.
So he stands, screaming as the motion makes his ribs shift; He holds his good hand to his bleeding neck, trying not to choke; He sniffles harshly, and he walks. Home seems further away.
Everything hurts so bad. His entire body is scratched up, not just little cuts but deep gashes littering his skin, including the soles of his feet (bastards). Every rib feels broken. His bad hand is mangled and hanging limply at his side. His head is pounding, blood gushing onto the ground and in his eyes.
Halfway there it seems like he should just stop. Curl up and let himself bleed. It would put an end to all of this misery. No more wondering if he was worth staying around for. No more nagging the boys with his recurring insecurities, asking them if they love him when they say it every day, getting jealous at the slimmest things because he can’t handle the thought of being left, rejected, abandoned, again. No more looking at Jinu and trying to memorize the feeling of being recognized by those brown eyes.
He stops. Then keeps going, for a reason he can’t name.
Eventually, the cave-den-home-whatever comes into view. Romance almost cries in relief, but he fears that if he lets himself cry, it’ll tear his neck up even more. He’d only start coughing up blood.
He stumbles inside, a bloody hand dragging across the walls—god, he was probably leaving a trail—coughing, his breathing wet, and he sees them. All of them.
They’re in their human forms, all sprawled out on the floor. The fight from earlier seems to be settled. Jinu and Mystery are huddled close, scribbling lyrics on some sticker-clad notebook (probably because of Abby—the demon had discovered the small colorful items and started putting them everywhere) . Mystery mumbles something, and Jinu smiles, nodding and pressing a kiss to Mystery’s cheek before writing down another line. Mystery blushes.
Abby is laying across from them, on his stomach, doodling in some sketchbook Romance had gotten him. The page wasn’t very colorful—just a couple pencil sketches that had some intense shading. Baby was laid lazily against Abby’s back, the two perpendicular, sucking a lollipop and searching for new outfits on his phone.
If Romance were feeling a little better he’d crouch next to Abby and press kisses against his neck, hugging him tight, saying so talented and making the other blush. He’d steal Jinu’s pencil and draw a little heart at the corner of the page just to be annoying. He’d tease Mystery for not being able to see past his hair, and give him a hair tie to move it back. He’d force Baby to come cuddle with him because you can be the big spoon and scroll your phone at the same time.
Gwi-ma doesn’t tell him that they’re better without him. That he’s the root of their problems. That Romance is the common denominator and they made up, with him gone, because he’s just a burden. A stain on a pristine thing. They couldn’t possibly love him like they say they do.
Romance just feels happy.
Maybe the pain catches up to him. Or maybe he feels safe enough to let himself pass out, knowing that he’ll wake up to loving gazes.