Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keep going.

He keeps this thought at the front of his mind. The Honmoon groans beneath him as he flees, iridescent and shimmering, with flickers of purple whenever his feet touch the ground. Flickers of Gwi-ma’s fading power, straining and reaching up to grab him, to pull him back down. He can only cover shorter and shorter distances each time he teleports. Each time he lands the purple strands seize up toward him, trying to drag him down. His patterns burn furiously against his skin, the pain nearly as bad as when Gwi-ma had branded him the first time.

Keep going.

He’d been stunned. Stunned at what Jinu had done, that he sacrificed himself for the hunter. Wounded at his betrayal, that he chose to protect her over them. That he’d broken his promises to them, to him. Jinu had always called them a family. How could he have just abandoned them like that?

More than that, though, he’d been shocked to realize that Jinu had been right, that his soul had been able to escape Gwi-ma’s pull. He had doubted it, when Jinu had proposed their backup plan. Doubted that any of them could ever really be free from the grasp of the demon king, but Jinu was…free. His soul had gone with the hunter, not back to Gwi-ma.

“Baby, GO!”

Abby had shouted at him, pulled him out of his stupor. He looked to see the tall demon locked in battle with Mira, his eyes wild and frantic. Mystery had just been knocked backward by their rapper, very nearly crashing into him, and so Baby had grabbed the back of his hanbok and teleported them away, heeding Abby’s advice. That had been the plan, hadn’t it? That if it looked like Gwi-ma had lost his advantage they were supposed to get as far away as possible. They were supposed to stay on this side of the Honmoon.

Their first few jumps, Mystery had been with him. But on one they’d stumbled. Baby’s grip had faltered, and before he could grab Mystery’s form again, he had disappeared in a flash of incensed smoke. And his heart had stuttered painfully in his chest, realizing that he was alone. But still, he’d pressed onward.

Keep going.

He tries to teleport once again, but his magic fails. The Honmoon leaps up around him like a wave, threatening to wash over him and pull him back down. He’s terrified, absolutely terrified of going back there. He knows what the demon king has promised him if he failed. And he’d worked so hard, did the best that he could, but they’d still…he’d failed.

A choked scream of anguish lodges itself in his throat. He knows what Gwi-ma will do to him, knows what Gwi-ma will do to them while he makes him watch. His patterns burn, he can feel Gwi-ma calling to him, calling him back to the underworld, not whispering but screaming into his ear. That he’s a coward, that he’ll make the others pay for his betrayal, that he’ll make all of Baby’s worst fears come to life the second he’s in his grasp once more. 

He can’t go back. He can’t. He can’t.

He stumbles over his own feet and falls. Hits the ground hard. Hard enough that the impact of it knocks the air out his lungs as his hands scramble for purchase in the dirt, the Honmoon shimmering underneath him.

Keep going.

He frantically tries to pull himself along, to pull himself up, his fingers clawing into wet earth as the Honwoon flexes violently around him. His patterns seem to cinch around him, white-hot, and the pain overwhelms him. He screams, low and guttural as he sinks to the ground, the barrier rippling away from him like a raindrop splashing into a lake. Screams, because he doesn’t want to go back. Screams for Abby, for Jinu, for someone, anyone to help him.

“Baby, GO!”

Everything goes black.

The first thing he realizes is that his face is warm.

He’s confused; the underworld was cold; even Gwi-ma’s flames burned cold like ice. He takes stock of his surroundings, realizes that he’s lying down, half on his side. The ground underneath him feels damp. It doesn’t feel like the underworld. It doesn’t feel like hell. Hesitantly, he blinks his eyes open.

It’s bright. He blinks again, begins to make out his surroundings, sees innocent white clouds meandering along a perfect blue sky, rimmed with treetops. He’s in a forested area, with a neatly paved trail not far away, but he doesn’t recognize it. Nothing looks familiar.

Was this some new form of torture? It looked like the human realm. It felt like the human realm. But surely he had…

He takes in a shaking breath, tries to push himself up but his arms give out underneath him almost immediately, causing him to fall chest-first onto the ground. It forces the air out of his lungs, sends him into a violent coughing fit. It hurts, more than it should.

He crosses his arms over his face, groans softly, wonders how long the trick will last, before Gwi-ma’s wrath consumes him. Because it had to be a trick. He wouldn’t be free. Gwi-ma would never allow him to be free.

You were born from an act of violence, committed by a man who bore my mark. You were always going to be mine. You will always belong to me.

He blinks again, slowly attempting to process his surroundings, then gasps in surprise and shoves his hands straight up into the air. His skin is light. Not purpled. And his patterns…he pulls his hands closer to his face.

They’re barely there. Faded, like a scar. Like a wound healed.

He knows he isn’t using transformation magic to keep up the glamour. In fact, when he tries to reach for his magic at all, he can’t feel it. It isn’t there.

He rolls to his side, barely managing to push himself up on trembling arms. He recognizes his clothes. He’s not in his hanbok, not dressed as a reaper any more. His clothes…they’re from before. They’re the clothes he was wearing when Gwi-ma had taken him, decades ago. The hand-me-down jeans that were two sizes too big for him, the belt cinched tight to keep them on, the oversized, faded yellow crewneck sweatshirt. His fringe that hangs over his eyes is black, not the teal Gwi-ma had favored for him.

It had…worked?

He gasps, tries to stand on shaking legs, but his body feels weak. Battered. He stumbles as the world lurches painfully around him, followed by a wave of nausea that he can’t tamp down. He throws up into the soft earth, shuddering violently as he does, before collapsing back down onto his back with a frustrated little groan, and taking a moment to try and catch his breath. Eventually he manages to roll onto his side again, he finds the Seoul skyline, breathes a sigh of relief at seeing something familiar, even if it includes the blinking light at the top of Namsan Tower and the stadium below. Even if it includes the Huntr/x tower further beyond.

“Here. I’m sure it was over here.”

He gasps, recognizing the voice immediately. Rumi. He hears footsteps, but as disoriented as he is, he can’t tell where they’re coming from. He tries and fails to stand again, finally manages to get himself into a crawling position so that he can better hide himself in the underbrush, wincing as branches scrape against his skin. He presses himself flat on the ground, finds himself holding his breath.

More steps, a muttered curse. “There’s nothing here,” the tall one says.

“It must have just been them getting pulled back down,” the rapper replies thoughtfully. “Or just the Honmoon sealing itself.”

“Maybe,” Rumi murmurs. “I could have sworn…”

A sigh. “Come on,” says Mira. “It’s been a long-ass night. Let’s go home.”

No one moves for a few moments, and he tries to calm the hammering of his heart in his chest, sure that they can hear him from here. Then he hears them walk away, and he slowly breathes out.

For a long time, he doesn’t move. He just breathes, stares through the brush, trying to think of what to do.

The apartment. He’s supposed to get back to the apartment. That’s what they had agreed, if they got separated. If they didn’t all make it.

His heart lurches painfully in his chest at the thought.

Jinu had been vanquished before, they all had. But Gwi-ma could consume their souls back into his flames, forge them a new body so they could get back to their work. Their souls still trapped, even in death, unless he decided they’d outlived their usefulness and decided to consume them entirely. Always his playthings.

But Jinu had betrayed Gwi-ma. His soul hadn’t returned to the flames, and there’d be no remaking. He had no idea what could have become of his brother’s soul. Perhaps he had become one with the hunter. Perhaps he was now part of the Honmoon that shimmered between worlds. But the most probable scenario…Jinu was gone. Lost to him forever.

And maybe he should be, a bitter part of him thinks. He had betrayed them, hadn’t he? He’d promised that he’d never leave him behind, that he’d never abandon him, but…he’d saved the hunter. He’d squandered their chance to be free, to win Gwi-ma’s favor. He’d lied.

He had trusted him, had actually believed in him, but in the end…in the end he was just like everyone else.

The realization twists in his guts, aches in his chest.

He hopes that Mystery had gotten far enough away when they’d separated. Hopes that Abby and Romance were still on this side of the Honmoon when the seal was reforged. Hopes that they haven’t been part of the cost of Jinu’s betrayal. Because if not…if they hadn’t…

If they hadn’t, he was alone.

Chapter Text

He spends a few more minutes staring through the underbrush, willing his frantically beating heart to calm down.

“Breathe, little bird,” Mystery murmurs, smoothing his hair back from his face. “Just breathe with me.”

He blinks back tears, before squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself to take a few, albeit shaky, deep breaths. He wishes Mystery was with him. Wishes he hadn’t lost his grip on him. His heart clenches again, and he can’t help but wonder how it can even keep beating. Still. He forces himself to follow Mystery’s advice, to use his breathing techniques and calm himself down. After a moment he manages to get himself back under control. He feels steadier, although the ache in his chest doesn’t lessen.

It isn’t until the blood stops rushing through his ears that he realizes he doesn’t hear Gwi-ma’s voice.

For the first time in decades, he doesn’t hear his malicious whispers, doesn’t hear his endless taunting. He doesn’t hear him.

But he can still hear Mystery’s calm reassurances. He can hear Jinu’s goofy little laugh. He hears Romance’s soft tutting as he adjusted their outfits. He hears Abby humming softly while flipping through Baby’s notebooks of lyrics.

He stares at his hands again, at the faded remnants of his patterns, half expecting them to glow, for Gwi-ma’s laughter to erupt in his ears, revealing his trick. Reminding Baby of his fate.

He needs to get back to the apartment, needs to know if all of this is real. If the others are in similar states as him, or if they’re…he can’t let himself think about it. He used to be able to feel them, little echoes of their presence through their soul bond, but now, he feels nothing. And as much as it terrifies him, he needs to know if he’s alone again. Needs to know if these memories are all he has left of them.

Tentatively, he crawls out from under the bushes, eventually standing up on shaking legs as he shuffles to a nearby bench lining a dirt pathway, swallowing down the nausea he feels as he attempts to get his bearings.

He flops down onto the bench with a huff, one hand reaching up to rub his throbbing head. He assumes he’s in a park or a nature preserve, and can tell that he’s on the opposite side of the Han River from downtown. He stares at Namsan tower, eyes automatically scaling down and to the left, where he knows the Myeongdong district is, where the apartment is. If he can get himself to a bus, he can get himself back there.

After patting his pockets, he’s somewhat dismayed to realize that he doesn’t have his phone or his wallet or anything with him. They’d left everything in their apartment before Jinu had teleported them all to the stadium. With a frustrated groan, he drops his head between his knees, cradles it in his hands. He half-heartedly reaches for the magic Gwi-ma had funneled into them, but is unsurprised when he finds the well is cut off. He grabs fistfuls of his hair and pulls, using the small, sharp pain to ground himself so he can think. He could walk, but it would take hours.

“Uhm,” a voice murmurs from nearby. His head snaps up and he notices a trio of aunties on the other side of the pathway. One of them grimaces when he looks up. “Are you alright, young man?”

“I, uh…” he stammers as he forces himself to sit up straighter. “I just, uh...”

The central one narrows her eyes at him, giving him the distinct feeling that he’s being scolded, even without words.

“I got split up from my friends,” he stumbles out after a moment, feeling the need to explain more from the intensity of her stare. “And I don’t have my phone or anything on me.”

“Do you think he was at the concert last night?” the auntie to her right asks, in a voice that’s not quite a whisper, clearly not worried about him overhearing her.

“Ah, another one?” the one to the left says, voice tinged with annoyance. “All these young people, so irresponsible.” she adds with a huff.

“Always so irresponsible,” a man says with a sneer, voice laced with venom. His hand pulls back and strikes him across the cheek. “When will you learn?”

He blinks, shakes his head. Where had that come from? He didn’t remember it, but…it felt familiar. He swallows, inadvertently chewing on his lip.

“Maybe this one’s different,” the middle one murmurs, stepping closer. He half expects her eyes to shine amber, for patterns to flit across her skin, for this to be the moment Gwi-ma reveals himself, but no such things happen. “You’re trying to get back to your friends?”

Hesitantly, he nods. “I’m…they probably went home.”

Surprisingly, demon fangs do not sprout out from her lips. “Do you have your transportation card on you?”

He flushes again, and shakes his head. She just tutts softly, digs into her fanny pack and pulls out a crumpled handful of won. “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” he says automatically, but she grabs his wrist and forces it into his palm anyway, closing his fingers around it.

“Take it,” she says tersely, returning to the others to resume their walk. “And the next time you go out drinking in the woods after a Huntrix concert, don’t lose your phone,” she quips.

He frowns, confused by her statement. It was the Idol Awards, where they broke up. Then the Saja Boys show, where they…reuinted? Do the people just think it was a Huntrix show? He wonders how the hunters have spun it. Their manager was legendary with PR.

He snaps back out of his thoughts when one of the other ladies holds up a trash bag and shakes it. It sounds like a maraca of tin cans. “And clean up after yourself!”

“I didn’t…” he stammers, but at their stern looks he hears himself utter, “yes, ma’am,” thoroughly chastised.

With another huff from the third one, they take off, resuming their walk. He wonders what he must look like, for them to assume that he’s hungover. With a groan, he forces himself to his feet, shoving the won into his pocket as he sets off in the direction the aunties had appeared from. His steps grow steadier as he continues down the pathway, eventually coming to a placard with trail maps for the park that confirms he’s headed in the right direction to get to the park entrance.

He dips into a nearby restroom stall, just to take stock of himself. He does look like shit. Hair a mess, dark circles under his too-wide eyes, a long scratch across his left temple. He’d assume he was a stupid, drunk kid, too. He splashes some water onto his face, wiping away the grime and dried blood from the scratch before using his dampened fingers to fingercomb his hair into some semblance of order.

Without his colored hair, he looks…plain. Aside from the dark blue of his eyes, at least, but colored contacts were a thing these days so even that didn’t make him much of an anomaly. The faded patterns streaking down his cheek don’t stand out too much from his skin. He just looks like a normal teenager, not Baby Saja, the Idol. The reaper. The demon.

Satisfied with his efforts, and feeling a tiny bit more human, he continues down the path toward the park entrance and the bus stop. While his chest still aches, his throat stays tight with worry, he feels steadier, more sure of himself. He has a mission, he has something to focus on. He has a role to play, and he’d always been good at that. Always been good at sinking himself into whatever part he’d needed to play in life, from the studious, mildly unapproachable school boy to the eager, dedicated servant.

“My stars,” Romance breathed after their first real rehearsal in the human world, eyeing Baby with something like awe. “To think, a quiet little thing like you could do all of…that?!” He claps his hands delightedly. “Oh, the fans are going to love you.”

Sweat is lightly beading along his brow as he makes it to the park entrance. He shoves the sleeves of his sweatshirt up, wishing he had chosen something lighter to wear on his last day of life. Hindsight was 20/20, he supposed.

He is, however, grateful that he’d woken to find himself in a nature park, a favorite spot for tourists to visit, as it means the entrance has a large, city-wide bus map and schedule and kiosk for purchasing new transportation cards. He finds the bus schedule, quickly calculates his fare, then uses the kiosk to fund his new t-card. The bus he wants should arrive in 8 minutes, and even though he’ll need to transfer buses, he should get to the apartment within the hour.

His stomach twists again, with worry or doubt of fear he isn’t sure.

He resists the urge to fidget, mindful of the other people waiting for the bus, and looks around instead. Every available surface that doesn’t block the bus route information is covered with mission persons posters. Further down, he sees a teary eyed man hanging another one, and his eyes sink to his worn shoes. This was their fault. His fault. He knew where those missing persons were, and he knew they weren’t going to be found. He chews his nails as he watches for the blue bus to appear on the horizon, resolutely looking away from their faces.

“Stop,” Jinu murmurs, grabbing his wrist and pulling his thumb away from his mouth. “I think Ro might explode if you ruin his work.” He looks down at his nails, at the black and teal patterns Romance had painstakingly painted across them, smooths the nail he’d been chewing on with his other thumb.

He looks down at his now unpainted nails, bitten all the way down. Apparently he’d always had a bad habit of chewing them, but he didn’t remember doing it in the underworld. Perhaps it had only been a human thing? Or perhaps his demon claws had been too sharp and he’d learned not to bite them. He’s drawn out of his thoughts as the bus arrives, and he quietly shuffles on with the others.

It’s relatively early, and the bus is mostly empty, so he takes a window seat near the back and lets his head rest against the cool glass of the window and watches as the bus rumbles across the Han River.

So many little memories keep popping up in his head. Things he distinctly remembers from being human, moments with Jinu and Mys and Ro and Abs, mixed in with things that…he doesn’t really remember, but they feel familiar, like they’re memories that must be his. From before.

And logically, there was a before. He understands that. There was a person he had been, before Gwi-ma; he has always been able to remember bits and pieces of him, like little wisps of smoke. Unhappy things, like frantic, screaming voices, and echoes of a nameless pain. The things Gwi-ma had allowed him to remember, the shame that kept him obedient and useful in the endless agony of the underworld.

He was just a shell. A shadow of a boy he’d been once. He’d accepted that he’d never be anything else. That he’d never deserve to be anything else. Because he had been bad, hadn't he? Even though he can’t quite remember why, he knows he must have been. Why else would he have been condemned to hell?

He’d never, ever, imagined there would be an after. Never let himself hold on to such a reckless, foolish hope. Even right before their last performance, after he had embraced each of them, even when Abby’s fingers had lingered too long at the nape of his neck, his eyes sparkling with something Baby had never seen before. Hope.

And now, here he was, sitting on a bus, heading back to the apartment to see who else is left. Sitting in the after, and hoping against hope that he wasn’t alone here.

He was the one who had believed in it least. How cruel would it be of the world for him to be the only one to experience it?

He resumes chewing his thumbnail, forcing his gaze out the window where he spies the Huntrix tower in the distance. He’d read in one of the profiles about the girls that their agency had renamed their facilities after them once they’d become a global kpop sensation, choosing to rebrand themselves after their most successful group and renovating their top floors into a penthouse suite worthy of such royalty. The rest of the floors of the tower held recording studios, dance studios, conference halls, practice rooms…everything of the absolute highest quality. They also held floors and floors of dorms, filled with fledgling kpop groups hoping to be the next big things. Hoping to earn their name on the building and their residence in the palatial penthouse.

Their apartment had been much more discrete. A 4 storey low-rise, in the Myeongdong neighborhood, with a view of Namsan Mountain. The first floor housed some local businesses. The rest of the building, and its separate entrance, had belonged to a now-defunct kpop agency, and Jinu, through either his charms or by stealing their souls, had secured it for them. The second floor boasted numerous studio spaces for dance rehearsals and singing practice, sound booths for recording, a gym, conference rooms…anything a burgeoning kpop group might need. The third and fourth floors were the dorms, which had a huge, 2-storey living space, with picture windows that gave a view of Namsan Park across the street, and the biggest kitchen Baby had ever seen. A hallway led to two bedrooms and a massive bathroom between them, and a set of stairs that led up to the other three bedrooms on the fourth floor.

It was their own little sanctuary during their mission. Jinu had meant for it to be their home after they’d defeated the hunters, just in case they had wanted to stay together.

His stomach churns as the bus arrives at the transfer station; his legs are shaking as he deboards. He absently makes his way to the platform for his next bus. He could walk from here, he knows. He and Mystery had walked it before, scouting out locations for their busking debut before settling on the Myeongdong market. But it would take him over an hour, where the bus could get him there in fifteen.

Now so close, everything seems to be in fast forward. Before he realizes it, he’s stepping off the bus he barely remembered getting onto, splitting automatically from the tourists and residents headed toward the entrance to Namsan park, walking down their street instead.

It looks exactly the same. The hotpot restaurant is already open, its neon sign blinking in the window. Someone walks out of the doctor’s office next to it. And at the far corner, some young women are swapping out the signage in the windows of the cosmetics shop.

The sun is shining, and it all looks normal. Like nothing has happened. Like the entire world hasn’t changed overnight. He glances up at the windows of their apartment, but they were treated with privacy film and reveal nothing.

He steps around the corner, to the entrance for the agency. Inside the vestibule is an intercom and a door locked with a keypad, and he mindlessly punches in the keycode. They didn’t have an elevator, so he takes the steps up to the lobby of the agency. Beyond the glass doors, he can see that everything is dark. He takes the next set of stairs, climbs them to stand at the door of their apartment, his feet landing on the kitten-adorned welcome mat Romance had bought on an impulse.

He swallows, fingers hesitating over the keypad. There’s no going back after opening this door, he knows. The weight of it settles into his stomach like a stone.

He takes a deep breath and punches in the code. The light flashes green, he takes a deep breath and pushes it open.

The small foyer is dark, and very, very quiet. His heart is in his throat. Before he can get his vocal cords to work and call out for them, a shadow emerges from the kitchen, a knife pointed directly at him.

With a gasp, Baby jumps backward, his back pressed against the now closed door as the shadow moves toward him, mouth pulled into a snarl.

Even in the dark, even without his distinctive pink hair, Baby recognizes him immediately.

“Ro,” he breathes out, his voice just above a whisper.

The knife clatters to the floor. “Baby?” his voice rasps, sounding just as wrecked as Baby feels. “B,” he murmurs, crossing the distance between them and grasping his face with both hands. “You’re…you’re alive,” he whispers, before grabbing the smaller man and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Is there anyone else?” Baby whispers, hands wrapping around Romance automatically, clenching into the fabric at his back.

Romance shakes his head, a rough sob breaking out of him. Baby’s heart breaks, his own tears spilling fast and hot against his cheeks. They weren’t here. They hadn’t come home. Maybe they were still lost. Still on their way. They had to be. They had to be.

“Mystery?” Romance asks, pulling back a little bit to look at Baby’s face. “You left together.”

“We got separated," he whispers back, and the grief wells up in him so suddenly that his legs go weak, that he clings to Romance as his sobs completely take him over. “I lost him.”

Mystery wasn’t here and it was his fault. His fault. If he had only held on tighter, if he had only been stronger…

“Shh, Baby,” Romance murmurs, tucking Baby’s face into his neck, holding him close. But from the way he’s shaking, Baby knows he’s crying, too.

They sink to the floor, clinging to one another, grief and relief rolling over them in waves.

Chapter Text

At some point, Romance manages to wrangle him to his feet, at least enough that they manage to half-walk, mostly stumble to the couch, their legs leaden with grief.

He tries to quiet it, the thought in his mind, but it grows louder and louder, settles into his bones. He’s lost them, Jinu and Mystery and Abby. They’re lost, and it’s his fault. If only he had held on tighter to Mystery…they would have stayed together. They would have both been far enough away when the Honmoon sealed. But he couldn’t. He was too weak. After all the times that Mystery had sheltered him, healed him, he couldn’t return the favor when it mattered. When it counted. He’d failed.

And Abby…stupid, brave, wonderful Abby. If he’d only run the first time. If he’d only followed their plan. If he hadn’t hesitated…he sees it now, what Abby was doing. Buying him time to escape. But he’d been too slow, taken too long. He’d failed Abby, too, and the realization of it amplifies the ache in his chest. Failed him because he hadn’t trusted him the way he should have.

“Promise me,” Abby murmurs as they wait in the green room at the Idol Awards, his fingers tucking a loose chunk of hair behind his ear, lingering too long as they skim down his neck for him to grip his shoulder. He dips his head down, presses his forehead against Baby’s.

He could kiss him, but he doesn’t. Even now, they still don’t bridge that gap. Because if they lose, Gwi-ma will rip every ounce of comfort they’re ever found in each other away, twist every memory into something horrid and wrong. They’d long ago decided to not give him the ammunition.

But if they win…

He doesn’t dare let himself think about it. He doesn’t dare hope.

“You trust the hunter?” Baby asks, a thumb casually sliding into a belt loop, fingers brushing against Abby’s sliver of exposed skin. The hunter that Jinu was betraying at this very moment, having collected all of her greatest fears and hatching a plan to bring all of her shame to light. If he succeeded, the resulting onslaught of negative emotions would be enough to weaken the Honmoon and allow Gwi-ma to surface. All they’d need to do was lead the souls to him. But if they failed…

He doesn’t dare let himself think about that either. Gwi-ma had shown Baby, in excruciating detail, what he’d planned to do to them if they failed.

“I trust Jinu,” Abby says quietly. “And if he believes it will work, then so do I.”

“Stupid,” Baby murmurs fondly and Abby cracks a smile. “What if it doesn’t work?” he asks then, smaller, softer. Afraid, in the way he only really lets Abby see. Because he tries not to hope, but Abby’s confident optimism makes him want to.

Abby’s hand lifts, his thumb brushing against his jaw. “Just promise me you’ll run if things go wrong.”

He should have run as soon as he saw that Jinu’s soul had been freed, as soon as he’d heard Gwi-ma’s roar of indignation and betrayal. He should have run as soon as Abby had said, ‘go’. Why had he hesitated? Why did he wait?

He doesn’t realize that he’s saying all of this out loud, choked in between the sobs that heave out of him like an endless tide, until Romance grabs his face with both hands and presses their foreheads together.

“Enough,” he whispers sharply, stern but still fond, his thumbs brushing the tears from Baby’s cheeks. “This is not your fault. I…” he stammers, blocked by his own tears. “I froze, too. He stalled for…they…if it’s your fault, then it’s mine, too. If they’re lost…” he winces, a rough sob wrenching itself from his lungs before he shakes his head. “We’ll find them, okay? You and me. We’ll…” he closes his eyes and takes a steading breath. “We’re going to find them, B.”

He wants to protest, but Romance sounds so confident, so sure, that he finds himself nodding in response, his sobs briefly stilling in his chest. He reaches up to Romance’s face, wipes away some of his tears with a clumsy hand, wanting to comfort him but not knowing how.

Because maybe Romance was right, maybe the others had gotten farther away and had farther to travel. Maybe they were still unconscious somewhere in the woods, bodies exhausted from the fight and the run. Maybe they would walk in the door at any moment.

Maybe they were lost, but they could be found.

Or maybe they were trapped in the underworld, sealed by the Honmoon. Maybe they were being tortured right now. Maybe they were already gone.

“I can’t…the soul bond,” Baby murmurs, voicing his doubts while subconsciously learning into the older man’s touch as Romance starts carding his fingers through his hair, coaxing his head back down to his shoulder. “I can’t feel it. Them.”

Romance’s mouth quirks into the barest of smiles. “I can’t feel you either, but you’re right in front of me.”

Baby blinks, realizing that the same is true for him. “The magic…”

“It was underworld magic. If the Honmoon has cut us off from it, we wouldn’t be able to feel it anymore,” Romance reasons, arms snaking around his torso to squeeze him tight.

Baby wants to believe him, because the alternative felt unbearable. The soul bond had been crafted by Mystery; if he died, it would vanish with him. He wants to believe him.

But he doesn’t have Romance’s rose-colored glasses or Abby’s stubborn confidence. He doesn’t have Mystery’s calm, calculating mind or Jinu’s backup plans of backup plans. He only has himself, and this raw, hollow ache inside of him that threatens to swallow him whole. He’d always been the pessimist, the slowest to trust. It was how Gwi-ma had gotten to him before, back when he was just a boy that had never trusted anyone to keep him safe.

But he’d trusted them, Abby and Mystery and…and Jinu. He’d trusted Jinu, with everything. And what good had that done?

He can’t release the thought from his mind, the horrible thought that they could be trapped in the underworld with a wounded, vindictive Gwi-ma. That they’re already gone, burnt to ash like Jinu.

He remembers what it was like, after the Sunlight Sisters had sealed the Honmoon, as it glowed blindingly above them, shimmering with flashes of gold. Gwi-ma had consumed every soul within reach, reapers included, in a desperate bid to regain his strength. He remembers Mystery snarling, his tusks fully extended, claws held out menacingly, standing between Gwi-ma’s flickering flames and their pack, ready to defend them and shielding them with his spells. He remembers the bone-crushing grip of Jinu’s hand around his arm, keeping him securely under Mystery’s protection. He remembers Abby’s hand similarly latched onto Romance, Romance’s hand clasped in Baby’s from where he was pressed close to Baby’s side. They had always done that, pressed Baby and Romance to the center, protected their two youngest.

If they were trapped down there again, could Mystery’s magic protect them from the brunt of Gwi-ma’s ire? Or perhaps he would be merciful toward them, if he thought they hadn’t tried to betray him? Had he laid the blame for the betrayal squarely on Jinu’s shoulders, based on his brazen actions? Or would he have already consumed them regardless, thoughtlessly drunk off defeat and starving for power? Could the Honmoon still be weak somewhere, could there be some way they could escape? Somewhere he and Romance could get to them? Was there somewhere that Gwi-ma could come back to claim them, to drag them back into the underworld?

He doesn’t know. He has no way to know.

He whines involuntarily, the physical pain of it cutting through him like glass, turning his stomach and making him nauseous. But Romance just holds on to him, rocks him gently and strokes his fingers through his hair, shushes him gently. Even when Baby knows he is aching just as much. Even though he knows Romance’s heart is being ripped to shreds by all of this, too. He’s still doing his best, trying to calm and comfort Baby.

He thinks that he should be doing a better job of returning the favor, and so he manages to slip his arms around Romance’s torso and squeeze him, even though they feel like jelly. “You and me?” he murmurs, voice slurring as his exhaustion threatens to pull him under. He doesn’t know when he got so tired, but now it feels like he can barely keep his eyes open. The weight of it, of all of this, presses against him, crushing him.

“You and me,” Romance promises, tucking Baby in tighter against him. It’s the last thing he’s aware of before he falls into a dark and dreamless sleep.

When Baby wakes, the sun is higher in the sky. He and Romance are still half-sprawled across the couch; his hyung had also fallen asleep at some point. His neck is bent at an uncomfortable angle, his arm falling asleep where it is pinned underneath Romance’s deadweight. He attempts to extract himself, but the second he pulls away Romance jolts awake, his arms tightening around him hard enough that it forces the air from Baby’s lungs with a grunt.

When he catches Romance’s eyes, they’re wild, unseeing. “Hey,” he says softly, trying to think of what Mystery or Abby would do. He manages to maneuver his arms around enough to squeeze the other man’s shoulders tightly from behind. “Ro, It’s just me. It’s Baby.”

A slow, confused blink, followed by another, before recognition sparks. “Baby,” he whispers, releasing his iron grip so that his hands reach up to cup Baby’s face. He blinks again, a few tears slipping out of his eyes as he releases a trembling sigh. “I thought,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I thought I was alone again.” His fingers shake as they drop away from Baby’s face. “I’m sorry.”

Baby shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “Don’t apologize.”

Romance sighs, lets out a watery little laugh. “I came here,” he says quietly. “After…when everything…” He takes another deep breath, swallows thickly. “I teleported here, and then I…it was painful, wasn’t it?” he says, eyes catching Baby’s, who nods in agreement. “I fainted, or something. And I…I don’t know why but I just…I thought when I woke up that everyone would be here but I was…”

Alone, Baby mentally finishes for him.

Romance sniffs, releases Baby’s face to wipe at his own in an attempt to regain his composure. “Where did you wind up?”

“Across the river,” he murmurs. “I…I didn’t even think about where I was going. I just…ran.” He shakes his head. “I thought I was being pulled back down. I could feel it, the Honmoon…like it was trying to smother me. And then I passed out, and I thought…” Romance takes Baby’s hands in his and squeezes gently. “I thought it was a trick. Part of me still thinks it is,” he confesses quietly. “And I…I heard the hunters.” At that, Romance inhales sharply. “I hid. They said they’d felt something strange with the Honmoon, but it must have passed because they left.”

Romance breathes out a soft sight of relief. “They might not have recognized you, anyway,” he says, absently tucking Baby’s hair behind his ear. It’s so similar to what Abby would do that it makes Baby’s heart ache with longing. “How did you get all the way back here?”

At that, Baby groans. “Some aunties thought I was a stupid drunk kid and gave me money for the bus.”

Romance barks out a laugh, sharp enough that Baby jumps. “You do look like shit,” he says, not unkindly.

“You’re not much better,” he replies, the retort coming easily, familiarly. This was how they were; they teased, they swiped, they goaded each other on. But now that he actually looks at Romance, he sees that he isn’t wrong. His now black hair is pulled into a messy pony tail, eyes puffy and rimmed red, nose tinged pink. He squeezes the other man’s hand gently.

He knows how much physical affection means to Romance, knows that he shows his affection for them in simple, casual little touches. A squeeze of the forearm, a hand bushing across a shoulder, fixing their hair and their clothes, sitting close and invading personal space. Baby didn’t remember gentle touches, or any sort of affection for that matter, before them, and so he had never really been sure how to return it. He always felt awkward, felt like his hugs were returned too stiffly, his body too tense, his touches too clumsy to really offer any sort of comfort.

He wasn’t like Abby, with his easy embraces, or Mystery’s careful, intentional touches, or Jinu, who wasn’t often overly physically affectionate with them but certainly wasn’t nearly as awkward as Baby was when he chose to be.

He feels bad, almost guilty that Romance was stuck with him. The others would be so much better, would know how to give him what he needs.

Romance’s thumb brushes across his knuckles, drawing him out of his thoughts. “Do you think…” he murmurs, “that we’re human again?” Baby looks at their joined hands, and can barely make out the faded patterns on Romance’s skin. “I mean, this,” he continues, fingers ghosting over the scrape along Baby’s temple. “It’s not demon blood.”

“It would have healed by now,” Baby agrees. Demon skin was thick and healed quickly, scratched by only a few things, like demon claws and the hunters’ Honmoon powered weapons. Their blood was thick, too, and flowed in dark purple rivulets, not the crimson he’d scrubbed off of himself in the park bathroom. “I don’t…I don’t know how, but it seems so.”

“And if we’re human,” Romance says thoughtfully. “Then it stands to reason that they’ll have been turned, too. Right? If they were still on this side of the Honmoon. And if they were further away, it’ll take them longer to get back here.”

He nods, having talked himself in circles hypothesizing this same scenario. “What do we do? They could be anywhere.”

“We stick to the plan and we wait,” Romance says, voice filled with certainty. “We wait here, for a few days at least.”

He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want to just wait; he wants to do something, but…Romance is right. They had a plan for this scenario, and they should follow it. Reluctantly, he nods.

“And you, my darling,” Romance continues, cupping Baby’s face in his hands gently. “You’re going to go take a shower.”

He involuntarily wrinkles his nose. “What? Why?”

“Because you smell like sweat and dirt and maybe a little bit of wet dog,” he says matter-of-factly, mouth pulled into his trademark smirk. Baby huffs softly, but laughs despite it. Then Romance’s smirk melts into something softer. “And you’ll feel better after.”

“Here,” Abby says, handing him a hunk of warm bread. Their need for food was greatly reduced in the underworld, but Mystery and Abby had taken to making comfort foods, especially at times like this.

Baby stares at him, wide eyed, from the sleeping alcove he’d woken in but hadn’t yet dared to leave, terror and anguish written all over his face, shimmering in his too-wide eyes.

Abby keeps his arm extended, his offering within Baby’s reach. “Eat,” he says quietly, his eyes shimmering with an emotion Baby can’t identify. “You’ll feel better. Promise.”

Baby blinks at him, eyes flicking down to the piece of bread. He can’t remember the last time someone offered him something as a means of comfort. His first thought is that it must be a trick, designed to humiliate him. Adding insult to injury, just like the voice in his head. No one ever gave him anything for free. No one ever gave him anything without coming to collect.

But there’s…something…about the way that the demon is looking at him. Something warm. Something…kind. He doesn’t know the last time someone looked at him in such a way. He doesn’t know if anyone ever has.

And suddenly, Baby realizes that he wants to trust him. Even if he gets burned again. He wants to. So he reaches out a shaking hand to take the offering.

Abby’s mouth curves into a half-smile.

After a moment, Baby nods, then carefully extracts himself from their embrace.

“Are you hungry?” Romance asks, standing up from the couch and stretching his arms over his head, his joints popping with the movement.

He shrugs, genuinely unsure if the ache he feels in his stomach was hunger or worry or loss. “I don’t…I’m not sure,” he admits.

“I’ll find something,” he says, reaching down to ruffle Baby’s hair softly. “Go shower.”

He nods, because at least it’s something to do, and lifts himself off the couch. He feels stiff and achy, realizes that Romance is probably right and he will feel better after a shower.

He sighs as he closes himself in the bathroom. He takes stock of his body as he strips off his old clothes, throwing them unceremoniously into the laundry hamper. An impressive bruise is blooming over his right shoulder, probably from where he had hit the ground after his last teleportation attempt. He’s still too thin, looks thinner without the little bit of extra height and meat on his bones of the reaper form Gwi-ma had bestowed upon him. His face is very pale, so much so that the bags under his eyes look more like bruises.

He turns on the shower, cranks up the temperature to what the others would describe as an unbearably hot degree, breathing in the resulting steam deeply. Stepping under the spray, he gives himself a moment, allowing the warmth of the water to soak into his muscles, into his bones.

It does make him feel better.

He washes quickly, feeling a little bit anxious at being away from Romance. Worried that Gwi-ma will reveal himself while he is in the shower, and he’ll come out to see that it was all an illusion. Will step out of the bathroom to stand on his altar instead. Will receive his punishment for his failures.

After drying himself, he grabs one of their bathrobes and wraps himself in it. After cautiously stepping out in the hall, he peaks back into the main room to see Romance moving around in the kitchen, and relaxes.

Instead of going back to his room to find something to wear, he goes to Abby’s.

It looks the same. It feels unreal that just yesterday morning, he’d woken up in those very rumpled sheets, his limbs tangled with Abby’s as the bigger man had held him close, Mystery’s back pressed against his, Romance starfished across them (but mostly sprawled across Mystery’s legs). All of them, except Jinu. Finding comfort before the storm. Knowing that, however their plan went, things would never be the same.

It wasn’t uncommon for them to share a bed, even though their apartment afforded them each the privacy of their own rooms. It had been the same in the underworld. There, they’d only had two actual beds, carved into alcoves in the stone walls of their dwelling, but their bodies tired slower and someone was always on watch; with sleeping in shifts they could have all had their own space. But touch was a rare form of comfort for them, so when Gwi-ma allowed it, they soaked it up for however long they could. Slept curled around one another, nestled in to each other for warmth. Mystery used to let Baby tuck into his side while he read, because Baby didn’t mind his stillness and could sit with him for hours. Sometimes he’d sleep, but mostly he’d just rested. Relaxed somewhere that he’d felt safe.

He sighs for what feels like the millionth time, forces himself to look away and focus on the reason he’d come into Abby’s room in the first place. Upon reaching his dresser, Baby opens a drawer and pulls out one of Abby’s hooded sweatshirts. The periwinkle blue one, with dozens of little saja lions embroidered in black thread. 

Even freshly washed, it smells like him. He pulls it up to his face, inhales deep, then blinks back the tears that suddenly spring to his eyes.

You think you deserve their comfort? Their love? Stupid little baby.

He jolts, frantically looks down at his hands, expecting to see the patterns glowing against them, but there’s nothing. It’s all in his head, he realizes. It’s only a memory. Only an echo of Gwi-ma’s voice. He hears the words, but they don’t seem to crawl around in his mind, don’t seem to burrow themselves into his insecurities and self-doubt. Doubt that the demon king had spent the better part of a decade carving into Baby’s soul until claiming the boy for himself.

His hands still tremble, but his fingers tighten around Abby’s hoodie, thumb brushing idly against the stitching. He clutches it to his chest, like a prize, then slips down the hall to his own room to finish getting dressed.

Digging through his own dresser, he finds clean boxers and a pair of soft joggers. He drops the bathrobe from his shoulder and tugs them on. His fingers skim over the fabric of Abby’s hoodie, softly, reverently, before he pulls it over his head, Abby’s scent spreading over him like a blanket. He may as well be wearing a blanket, for how the fabric dwarfs him, reminding him of the stark difference between Abby’s broad shoulders and his narrow ones.

But wearing it makes him feel warm and safe and decides that he doesn’t care. He wraps his arms around himself.

Abby should be here. Mystery should be here. Hell, even Jinu should be here, because Baby desperately wants to know why he chose the hunter over him.

More tears come to his eyes. He doesn’t understand how he has any more left, how they can possibly keep falling. With a whimper, he presses his back against the wall, slides down it and hugs his legs to his chest, pressing his face into his knees. He can’t shake it, the guilt, the feeling that he’s failed them. The feeling that it’s somehow all his fault.

You’ll never be good enough for them. Never be worth their love. They’ll see you for what you are eventually, just like everyone always does. Useless. A burden.

It is his own voice echoing Gwi-ma’s words, the words he’d carved into Baby’s soul for decades. The words he’d never been able to disprove, because they always rang true.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into his legs, the tears coming faster again. “I’m sorry.”

If he had only been better, stronger, smarter, more, he could have kept them together. He could have protected them. But he was their burden, the weak one that needed protection, the one that hesitated, the one that they were better off without.

“I’m sorry…”