Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jinu doesn’t have much of himself left. 

He traded it all for clean sheets, chipped away at it for a full belly, and what he managed to keep became so twisted, a mockery of a man that may have once been. The voice he used to sing his sister to sleep now sings to take souls; the raggedy old bipa his parents handed him as a child is stained with blood.

But not having much left doesn’t mean there’s none at all. Rumi—perhaps it was her voice, her unwavering hope, or her soul that called out to him—dug Jinu up from the grave, dug up the beggar from Joseon. She gave him what he had been yearning for: himself, his soul, the idea that he’s not entirely a lost cause.

Even as tears stream down Rumi’s face as she begs him to stay, even as the flames scorch his back, even as he thinks I wish I met you sooner, he gives the last bits of himself to her. So she can save everyone. So she can make it to tomorrow. And him?

Well, what does it matter anymore, really?

i.

An arm loops around his neck, shoves him ever-so-slightly down, pulling him into the perpetrator’s pace. “Did you see the look on the hunters' faces?” someone—wait, no, he knows that voice; Abby—says-slash-shouts in his ear, voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

Jinu blinks.

His vision is out of focus; everything is fuzzy around the edges, vibrating just a tad, disorienting him. His back—his back still aches with Gwi-Ma flames, flesh raw a ragged from the burns. He still feels Rumi’s hand ghosting around his cheek, her voice ringing in his ears. This can’t be right; he was just there—

“—Jinu?” Abby asks, shaking him a little. He adjusts so his face is in Jinu’s view; those flared eyebrows are twisted with worry. “You good man?”

“Chickening out now?” Baby spits out, sneering at him.

“Or are you caught up in the spotlight?” Romance says, dreamily, wistfully—a true lover of all things focused on him.

Jinu puts all of his attention onto a single pebble. Musters up some strength to keep the double-vision at bay, eyes hurting with the strain. He takes a deep breath. Blinks some more. The edges of everything are still loose, but he can manage this much. Has to.

He swipes Abby’s arm off him, laughs. “Sorry. Was just… underwhelmed,” he says, trying to sound bored of the whole ordeal. Like everything is going to plan and then some. Like he’s not losing his fucking mind.

Abby brightens. “Right?” He straightens his shirt, makes sure everyone can see the muscles that are so poorly hidden—braggart. “The pink haired one couldn’t take her eyes off me… think I saw her go for my button!”

Ahem! “Excuse you, she was looking at me,” Romance says, bitter, offended that he may be second place.

“Nah, dude, she was drooling over all this.” He pops open the last button, chest bared fully for the umpteenth time; Abby runs a hand down himself, smile wide.

Romance stares, unimpressed. “She enjoys more delicate things.”

“And you know this because…?”

“She was looking at me!”

“I think he’s messing with your eyes.”

“I’ll mess with your—”

“—the short one liked me,” Mystery says, quiet, placing himself between the other two. Trying to stop the fighting.

Jinu has lived this before. 

The dialogue was different, but Abby and Romance fighting? That happened. Mystery being happy the maknae drooled over him? Most words he heard from the guy in centuries—barking doesn’t count. All of them still having some form of a personality, their strings yet to be snapped, their remnants yet to be taken. Like they’re almost still in there.

Two options. One—he zoned out and had the most profound premonition. Two—all that did happen, and then he was flung back to the very beginning.

Jinu goes with the latter. He’s a soul sucking demon born in Joseon. He’s lived over four hundred years. He created a demon boyband to get his memories erased by a sentient flame; there’s a lot of stranger things he’s seen. Maybe it’s some honmoon magic. Maybe it’s trapping him here. The new honmoon woven from new souls, pissed at how he hurt its precious protector.

But speaking of souls—

—what of his?

He gave it to Rumi, wrangled it free from Gwi-Ma. If he’s here then…? He tries to feel for it in his chest, that low rumble that lets him know he’s not entirely an empty shell; nothing responds.

So great! He did something good for once, and it got undone not even five seconds later. And he’s back to being Gwi-Ma’s lackey, soul controlled by him once more.

Because Rumi shouldn’t have it at this point, right?

Fuck him. Fuck Gwi-Ma. Fuck whatever dragged him back here.

He pays attention to the others’ prattle, at a loss as to what else to do. They’ve all stopped in a back alley, all enjoying their little bit of fresh air. Abby turns back to look at him. “We have some time until that game show, right?” he asks.

Right, leader. He’s the leader, and he needs to act like it. “There’s a few more places where we can perform Soda Pop.” Same as before. “Seoul is huge.”

“...are you fucking kidding me?” Baby. Same complaints.

“We need to gather more fans. It’ll only be a few shows.”

“And if we still have time…?” Romance asks.

“Promote the show, make sure everyone has their places ready for the bathhouse.” He sucks in a deep breath. “We can’t leave anything to chance.”

And he can’t betray Rumi again.

Rumi rushes after him, intent to kill, hacking off bits and pieces of the bathhouse along the way. Sucks that they’re back to square one, but it’s fine, he knows where to scratch, where to discover her patterns. How to win her over—

—the sword to his neck creeps closer; Jinu locks his eyes with hers.

Something in his chest lurches, reaches out for her—and, huh, what’s that? Rumi isn’t supposed to have his soul, but… he can feel it. Sense it under her skin. See a shimmer of blue in her eyes.

The world spins; relief courses through him—Gwi-Ma doesn’t have him, completely—and a newfound fear—what does this mean for her, for them?

Jinu plays it off that her patterns caught him off guard, goes slack-jaw at the idea of a hunter who’s part demon, does the same song and dance as before. Holds her to his chest, savors the briefest of contact.

Letting her go hurts.

And later when Gwi-Ma calls for him, whispers amping up, Jinu realizes something: his soul is freed. The tug of Gwi-Ma barely exists, a remnant from a bygone era. He could resist, he could stay above and seek Rumi out and make her understand, but—

—he lets himself be dragged down. Gwi-Ma can’t know anything is different, can’t suspect a change—not in his prized little songbird. 

The same words fall out his mouth; they still sit like lead against his tongue.

Jinu pays attention to his other side while waiting.

Rumi jumps around him.

“I’ll make sure the Saja Boys lose tomorrow,” Jinu says.

And this time, no torture from Gwi-Ma will cause his course to change.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” Abby yells, shoving him against a wall. His teeth flash fangs, nostrils flaring, eyes glowing yellow, pupils but tiny little slits.

“What do you mean we can’t perform?!” Romance says, only slightly calmer. His patterns writhe over his body.

Jinu’s mind is made up. Rumi’s crazy plan will work this time. “We can’t—”

—Abby slaps him across the face.

He’s had worse. “We can’t,” Jinu repeats, voice taking on a desperate twinge. If they could just understand—

“—we don’t have any other plans!” 

Abby pushes him deeper into the wall, choking him with his forearm. Right in the Adam’s apple. The pressure on his throat is unbearable, body aching for a single bit of air. Were he not already technically dead, he’d be close to it. Black spots pop in and out of his vision, blot out his view of the Saja Boys.

Fuck.

This won’t kill him, but it will hurt him. He scratches at Abby’s arm, claws out.

With a hiss, Abby releases him; Jinu drops to the floor, gasping for breath. His hands go to check his neck—burning still. “If you won’t ruin their show, we will,” Abby spits out, back turned to him.

With a nod from Abby, the four of them disappear into smoke.

Fuck!

Huntrix is five seconds from going on.

OK, new plan: fight to keep that performance perfect.

Jinu teleports, right to where they are; he launches himself at whoever’s closest—Mystery.

He tackles Mystery from behind, holds him to the ground in a headlock.

“What the fuck!”

“Jinu, you bastard!”

He tumbles through space with Mystery as the first few notes of Golden begin to play. Jinu jumps back when Mystery goes for his face with claws, but it doesn’t matter. He leaps right into Romance, who holds his hands behind his back, grip bruising. Baby kicks him in the gut; Jinu teleports further away, takes them with him, and takes control of their confusion to free himself. He rushes forward—

—and right into Abby’s fist.

“This was your plan!” he screams out. No longer does he hold his human form, all demon, patterns lighting up in anger. “Do you want the honmoon to turn golden?!”

Jinu wipes where his skin stings, meets his gaze. “What if there’s another way?! One where we don’t have to go back there?”

“What fairytale are you believin’?”

“Rumi said—”

“—you’re fucking working with one of them?!” Baby socks him on top of his head.

“...we trusted you,” Romance whispers. “We trusted in this plan!”

Golden reaches its climax; Jinu balls his hands into fists, fingernails making indents in his skin. Just a little more, just a little more. “If we’re on this side, then—”

“—bullshit!”

“—listen to me, this is for all our sake’s—”

“—no it fucking isn’t!”

We’re going up, up, up—

—Abby steals the role of leader, face stern with what must be done. A look of hurt surges across his features for a split second; then, nothing. He disappears again, leaving the other three behind with Jinu.

They’re too slow to cage him in; Jinu shoots himself after Abby.

They’re on the edge of the stage, just out of view of the cameras, of the crowd. Abby may be bigger, but Jinu has more experience, is more capable than he’s proud to admit. He yoinks him back by the collar of his shirt; the other two join Rumi, voices harmonizing.

The honmoon ripples around them, blue and gold.

She’s doing it.

They’re doing it.

With the final note shared between the three, the honmoon glows brighter than ever, transforms itself a flawless golden, seals itself forever.

Jinu and Abby stumble onto the stage; Rumi turns to him, eyes sparkling, sweat dripping from her brow, “Jinu—”

—he freezes in place, body not responding, unable to reach her. The honmoon slithers around his legs, curls up his back, and pulls him down, down, down.

All he sees is Rumi falling with him.

The cold of the Underworld never changes, Gwi-Ma sucking all the warmth, trying to keep himself alive. The ground is just as hard as always, just as painful to fall onto.

This isn’t right.

Jinu looks up, runs his hands over the stone—rough, jagged. This isn’t right.

The dust around him lessens, and he musters up some strength to stand, stares at the vacant void he’s found himself in. Dark, dingy—where he’s spent most of his life, no home to be had. No color to be had. He starts to walk, one foot in front of another, fingers trembling the entire time. This wasn’t—they were supposed to be free. Not here.

Jinu looks above once more and the honmoon holds brilliant gold. Impenetrable. Perfect.

He did everything right this time, and yet, and yet—

—Jinu has long thought himself over hope. Accustomed to despair. Rumi reignited his fleeting flame, and the despair he felt transfromed—no longer was it over his circumstances, but instead about how he wronged her. Let his fear win. How he should have loved her more.

And here he is now, doubled-over, sobbing into his knees.

He had a second chance. They had a second chance, and he did it all right! He chose Rumi! The honmoon turned golden! Everything was in place! She was shining so brightly!

And now he’s back here. Forever. Trapped.

Fuck.

Jinu tries to stamp back the tears, tries to get himself under control. It’s all so fucking pointless, though. His muscles spasm, his eyes burn, and his throat is hoarse from sobbing, ache from being choked out making each breath a tiny knife.

All he wanted, all he hoped for—dashed. Gone in an instant. Just when he dared to let himself think it could be OK this time. Hope only hurts, but he never learns, does he?

Footsteps tap behind him, soft and cautious. Maybe it’s one of the boys coming to take revenge. Maybe it’s someone else coming to serve Gwi-Ma his head.

He won’t fight it. He can’t.

The footsteps grow louder, and Jinu braces for the end, his punishment this time.

If only Rumi—

“—Jinu?” she asks, careful.

He moves to look at her, still in her stage outfit, patterns all over. Her hair is a mess, her eyes—one yellow, like his—glisten with her own tears.

Jinu swallows. “I—”

“—it. This wasn’t…” she examines her hands; one is clawed now, discolored to the bone. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

He reaches for her, hand shaking, and brushes against her leg. She shivers, sucks  in a deep breath. Rumi drops to sit by him, knees on the stone, expression blank. Motionless. Defeated—he didn’t even see that last time. “This isn’t… this isn’t your fault,” he whispers with a scratchy voice. It has to be his.

She wraps her arms around him, lets her tears flow freely, clinging to him all the while. Into the crook of his neck, she mutters: “Did you know this would happen?”

Jinu shakes his head. “No. I really believed it would work… I…”

She holds him tighter. Her puffs of breath stab him. “I’m so sorry.”

Jinu encircles her, pulls her flush against him. Tries to let her feel his love, tries to offer her any comfort; it all feels so paltry. “This isn’t on you.”

“We were supposed to fix it.”

“You thought it would work. You couldn’t have known.”

“All my life—”

—shhh. “It’s OK… It’s OK.” He doesn’t feel very OK, but he hasn’t in centuries. So what does it matter? Rumi, though, Rumi can still… “We can…”

“...what can we figure out?”

“You’re still half-human… so you may be able to wiggle though…”

Silence washes over them; Rumi pulls back—just a tad—and looks at him in the eyes. One hand moves to trace over his face, trace over his nose, his lips. Like she’s memorizing every bit of him. Her voice chokes as she asks, low, “But what about you?”

Oh.

A broken laugh bubbles up within him. “It won’t work for a guy like me.”

“But… you… we should be together.”

“But you can still break free.”

“But it won’t mean anything if you’re not there!”

I love you, he thinks. He says: “I’ll be fine.”

“Jinu—”

“—done yet?”

Ice envelops him. He knows that voice, would know that voice wherever.

Gwi-Ma.

The remaining fog around them vanishes; in its place are demons of all shapes and sizes, all glaring at them with nothing but pure hatred. Gwi-Ma looms in the distance, Saja Boys underneath him, nothing more than limp puppets.

Rumi stiffens. “You—”

“—you talk big for someone who couldn’t even save herself.” She growls, teeth gnashing together. Gwi-Ma continues: “Although, I will commend you for successfully ruining my plans.”

The edges of the fire rise, wicked smile forming. “And everyone wishes to congratulate the happy couple.”

Jinu can’t fight anymore, body thoroughly beaten and bruised. Rumi props herself up on his arm, blood spilling onto the ground, outfit torn to shreds. This hurts him more than his own aches—seeing her like this, seeing her dim. The static in her eyes.

“Impressive,” Gwi-Ma says, voice full of fake mirth, “you managed to hold everyone back.”

He squeezes Rumi. She squeezes back.

They both know.

“But I wonder how you will fare against me?”

In the end, they go together.

ii.

“Did you see the look on the hunters' faces?”

Jinu gasps.

Abby’s arm around his neck is like a noose; the violence not long ago, the flames still charring his skin.

Abby seems to notice his discomfort and backs off, angling himself once more to see Jinu’s face. “You OK man?”

No.

He’s back here again, back as they’ve just ran away after performing Soda Pop for the first time, back to when he and Rumi are complete strangers, back to when he thought himself a mastermind. A man with a plan.

All his plans turn to mush, in the end.

Abby shakes him. “Jinu?”

“Back up,” Romance says, “he’s probably overwhelmed.”

“But—”

“—I’m fine,” Jinu heaves out, like a man barely recovering from drowning.

“...you don’t seem fine?”

And he’s not. He’s really not. But he can’t slip up now.

So he musters up every bit of his leader persona and runs over the rest of the day again, cold sweat on the nape of his neck the entire time.

“Be on this side,” Rumi says, full of conviction. Full of hope.

Jinu breathes in through his nose. Delicate. He has to be delicate. “Do you think that will work?”

“It will.”

Jinu shakes his head; no. “Rumi—”—she jumps at her name from him—“—the golden honmoon… isn’t it supposed to keep all demons away?”

“Yes.”

“Then… why would we be any different?”

She scowls, eye flashing yellow for a mere second. “What do you mean?”

One wrong move and she lobs his head off. He has to let her down gently. Has to explain to her whole life’s goal doesn’t include her in the end. But he’s never been good with delicate things. “The honmoon will drag us both down,” Jinu says instead. He winces.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do.”

“How?”

Because I lived it. But she’ll think he’s crazy, right? Or worse: just fucking with her. “Because… it’s just… that’s how it’s supposed to work…”

“And I’m not supposed to exist.” Rumi softens, holds out her hand. “It… I’m sure it will make an exception. You were human once and I’m human—”

“—you’re part demon.”

“I’m a hunter.”

“Who’s a demon.”

She takes her hand back. Her chest puffs out, hoodie straining to keep her together, to keep her calm. “We just have to hope.” Rumi turns on her heel, back rigid and facing him. “Let me know what you decide before the Idol Awards.”

The honmoon can’t turn golden; Jinu can’t betray Rumi again.

So he does the next, most logical step: completely destroys the stage. Arrives in the dead of the night and ruins everything. Rips it all to shreds.

He’s always been good at that part.

Jinu waits for her in Bukchon, where everything began. He doesn’t bother with jumping on the roof this time, doesn’t need to. He browses the news about the Idol Awards cancellation, about how there was a mysterious—fire? they’re going with fire—and the awards will be held soon! But not tonight.

Rumi pushes him back into a wall; his phone flies out of his hands and onto the ground, shattering. “It was you.”

Jinu raises his hands, guilty. “I stalled for more time.”

“We can’t even strengthen the honmoon now!”

“Well, maybe it’s for the best!”

She stomps on his foot, grounds her boot against his toes. “I thought—I thought you’d be on my side!”

He feels her flare under her skin, his soul jostled about, like she’s rejecting it, rejecting him. “I am!” he yells back. Oof. “I am,” he says, trying to control his voice. It has… mixed results, but Rumi lets up, the pressure she’s placing on him lessening.

“How is ruining everything on my side!”

“I did it to save you!”

“The honmoon wouldn’t hurt me!”

“Yes it would!” He braces himself. “It… it did.”

Rumi steps back. Her eyebrows cover half her eyes; her lips twitch. “What do you mean?”

Alright, well, fuck it. He’s come this far. “I’m going to sound crazy.” Jinu runs a hand through his hair, delights in the fact Rumi still watches the movement. His soul settles back in her. “But… I’ve seen it. You. In the Underworld after the honmoon turned golden.”

Rumi scoffs. She crosses her arms. “How?”

“I…” he’s not sure he's ready to explain his whole situation, so he settles for: “Sometimes I have… premonitions?”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“No—but just—please listen.”

“I’m listening.” With her hands now on her hip and a glint in her eye, like she’s already decided everything.

But hey, she hasn’t run away yet. “The honmoon will treat you as a demon. It will send you to the Underworld where Gwi-Ma will be waiting.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So we can’t have it turn golden.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So—”—he bites his lip, remembering the first time—“—we have to… make a new one.”

Rumi tilts her head. “And how do we do that?”

“...destroy the old one.”

“Jinu.”

And he gets it. She never had a choice to protect the honmoon; she was born into it, raised for it. The first notes she ever sang caused it to dance around her surely.

But it can’t stay.

Jinu forces down the lump in his throat. “Just… think about it. What’s best for you.”

Because this… isn’t about him. It’s for her sake now. He’s already died—three times now; a new world record—so he’s existing on borrowed time. But Rumi still has a chance, still has life in her.

And he’s tired of snuffing lives out.

Rumi blinks slowly. “What’s best for me…?”

“Yeah.”

“...what do you gain from all this?”

You. “Who knows?”

Rumi offers to meet up again approximately five hours later, right when the show would have gone on. She sits on the Seoul Hanyangdoeseong, hands in her lap, the picture of a perfect idol.

Jinu waves like a moron.

Despite everything, a smile graces her lips. She pats the area next to him, and he sits, mindful about the distance. The memory of her in his arms pokes at his mind; he tamps it down. This here and now is different.

“I can’t destroy the honmoon,” she says, careful. Her fingers twitch, scratch against her skin. “But I can… tell them.”

“The others about your patterns?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you… need moral support?”

Rumi snorts. “No. This is… something I have to do on my own.”

“Alright…”

She jumps back up, adjusts her hoodie. “Well, bye.”

Wait, wait, wait—Jinu jumps after her, grabs her wrist. “You called me all the way out here just for that?”

“Not like I have your number.” Rumi takes her wrist back, huffing all the while. “And unlike you, I want you to know where I stand.”

Ouch.

Alright, well, maybe it’s deserved.

The other Saja Boys look ready to kill him—again, that is.

“Hi guys,” Jinu says, trying to finagle himself past them and back into their human realm HQ—a small apartment, perfect for crashing. Nothing fancy, but he’s not one to want to spend his days in the Underworld if he can avoid it. This at least gives them… something to return to. Somewhere else.

“...a random fire?” Romance says to his side.

Abby blocks him, knocks the key out of his hand. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

Jinu shrugs. “Things like this happen. Maybe a wire was—”

“—bullshit,” Baby says. “You… we were supposed to win.”

“We can still win after they reschedule.”

“You think that guy is patient?”

No. “It’s just… one of those things?”

“What the hell is going on with you, Jinu,” Abby sighs. He looks genuinely upset, slight trembling in his lips. “You’ve acted weird since we debuted.”

Jinu scoffs. “I’ve been the one running myself ragged—”

“—you…” Mystery frowns. “I saw… I followed you today. You met up with the leader…”

“...you followed me?”

Abby places a hand on his shoulder—if he tries to teleport now, he’s taking Abby with him—firm enough to bruise a regular man. “Quit changing the subject.”

“You and a hunter…? Together?” Romance says, scandalized.

Jinu rolls his eyes. “I’m trying to get her on our side.”

“And how does that help us?”

“Well…”

“Jinu.”

He holds back she’s half-demon. He doesn’t want them to know, doesn’t want them to try and use her. “Maybe they’re tired too? Having to be perfect all the time.” None of them buy it, but none of them say anything to it. “Anyways,” he says, finishing his little spiel, “rest up. We'll need to perform again soon.”

Abby releases him, and Jinu decides to just teleport into the apartment, save him the trouble of finding the key. He knows he’s running out of time—all this will come to a head sooner or later, but for now, he lets himself look out the window, gaze at the moon.

Is Rumi watching it too?

Rumi comes to him in tears, a message sent through his beloved tiger. They meet in an alleyway, away from prying eyes.

Jinu hurts just seeing her like that, feels the burden on her soul in his own skin. “What… what happened?” he asks. His hands wave around her, never daring to touch her.

She wipes her eyes. “They need time.”

“Time?”

“To think about it. About me.”

As much as he would like to curse at the other hunters, he knows change is hard. Can he fault them too much for it? All hunters have known for centuries is that demons are evil and all things with patterns must be killed—the quicker the better. Their entire worldview must be flipped, and maybe it’s better they process it away from Rumi. Before one of them says something they can’t take back.

Still.

He wishes it could be all she imagined. Wishes all her hopes came true.

Jinu steps closer. Rumi’s breath stalls, but she does not run. “How did they say it?” he asks.

“Just… It's just a lot. For them.” She sniffles. “I don’t even know why I’m sad. They weren’t even mean.”

Because all she’s longed for is to be herself, and even still, her true self is met with more questions.

Jinu touches the top of her head. “Well, you can always blame this nasty demon.”

“You aren’t nasty.”

“Handsome demon then.”

“Full of yourself.”

“You fell for me.”

“You shoulder-checked me.”

Oh right. He did do that.

Rumi looks back up again, smiling now. There’s light in her eyes again, a flame rekindled. “I’m going to talk to them again.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to leave it like this.”

She’s the brightest star in any sky.

And his star is destined to dim early.

He struts back into their little headquarters, pleased with himself. They’re figuring it out, getting it together this time. Once her friends accept her—because he saw at Namsan Tower how quickly they fold, training be damned—it’ll all fall into place, right? Rumi will get what she deserves.

And so does he.

A claw forces its way through his chest, ripping him in two; he was so caught up in Rumi’s plight that he forgot about his problems. Didn’t see them as important while she cried.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he told me told us that if we didn’t—”

—Jinu laughs as he dies.

Right.

None of them are ever free.

iii.

“Did you see the look on the hunters' faces?”

Here we go again.

“Will you—”—Jinu has to duck to avoid Rumi’s sword—“—listen for five seconds?”

She hits a wooden post, snaps it clean in two.

God, she’s strong.

He has to teleport to dodge, trying to speak in between her trying to kill him. “You—”—dodge—“—you’re a half—”—she aims right for his head; he gets a surprise haircut—“—demon!”

Rumi pauses like a deer in headlights, sword stopped mere centimeters from his throat.

“I won’t tell them,” he continues, desperate, “but I think we could get to know each other?”

The sword presses right against his jugular. “How do you know that?”

“Sensed it when I bumped into you?”

Rumi lowers her sword, steps back. “No demon has been able to before.”

He winks. “I’m one of a kind.”

Sword back to his throat; right. Feisty. “Listen here—”

—a shin-kal whizzes past them and straight to Jinu’s head.

iv.

“Did you see the look on the hunters' faces?”

He’s struggling to remember.

If turning the honmoon gold dooms them, if postponing the Idol Awards dooms them, if trying to talk to Rumi in the bathhouse dooms them, then what can Jinu even try?

Go straight to the hunters and beg for mercy?

Yeah, right.

It’s the gok-do that gets him this time.

v.

“Did you see the look on the hunters' faces?”

Jinu cancels the game show event. Says he’s not feeling well.

The hosts seem to understand, but the Saja Boys? They know he’s lying.

And he is, but, like, still. He has his reasons. 

Huntrix can’t try and ambush them now, can they? And he can try and think through all this without giving them an opening.

He lays on top of a hanok, stares at the stars. They’re so, so far away, perpetually out of reach, perpetually mocking him. Have they seen all this? Are they laughing at him? Laughing at his life. His afterlife. At the fact that no matter what he does he seems to fail. Maybe this is his family’s revenge; maybe they’ll finally be appeased if he suffers some more.

Jinu sighs. No, no—they weren’t cruel. Gwi-Ma has distorted it, but he’s sure his mother would weep for him, his sister shout for him. Maybe they’d be proud he’s finally got some of his shit together.

All he wants now is Rumi’s safety, her happiness.

He can’t see either if the two weeks restarts each time he dies.

His soul is with her—is that part of the reason he’s flung back in time? Is this… the after-afterlife? Jinu just stuck in a two week loop, endlessly trying to change a prewritten conclusion.

Idols sure are kept busy. Between all the promos, the fan stuff, and these silly weekly ratings spots, Jinu wonders how they have time to make any music. Back in his day, he would have been killed for not having something fresh every week—but then again, most idols don’t even write their own lyrics. Don’t even thread their own melodies. Huntrix is a rarity.

Jinu’s eardrum aches as another idol laughs near him, shrill. He’s in the greenroom, waiting for the Saja Boys cue to go on stage and promote themselves. It’s such a stupid event, one that he keeps having to relive.

But, hey, it’s a public place. Rumi is there. She has enough common sense to not lunge at him.

He slides next to her as she pours herself a glass of water. This is the week Huntrix is supposed to win, so he imagines she’ll be more amenable today, take some of his words to heart. Less of a fight risk.

“What do you want,” she hisses under her breath.

“Just to talk,” he says, casually. “I’m bored.”

“Don’t you have souls to steal?”

And, OK, he hasn’t shared his pain with her, hasn’t tried anything yet, but it still stings. She doesn’t know any better, she’s trying to hide herself… well. Still hurts.

“I also have idols to talk to,” Jinu says, trying to play it off as a joke. “Like, for example, the leader of Huntrix.”

“Well she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“She does if I know her little secret.”

The cup crumbles in Rumi’s hand. The water spills over, spills onto the floor. She glares up at him, veins bulging on the side of her head, all tightly controlled to not tip the other idols off. “And what,” she starts, clipped, “is that?”

“That you’re a half-demon.”

She grinds her teeth together. “You won’t get into my head.”

And then she’s gone.

No letter comes for him this time.

They’re forced to perform at the Idol Awards. Rumi had nothing to do with him, and he can’t just throw it right now, can he? So they perform. They steal some of the fans.

Huntrix wins, but the honmoon remains blue. Safe.

It should be good enough. It’s not a crushing victory, but it’s a victory nonetheless.

But Gwi-Ma doesn’t accept that.

He drags the rest of the boys back to him. Jinu watches, resisting the pull. He doesn’t have to share their fate, and the claw in his back still hurts. He won’t say he’s a fully changed man—maybe he’s still a little petty, or maybe he has some naive hope that he and Rumi can work it out this time. Meet in the middle. 

Abby drags his way back up, latches onto his ankle. The look on his face is utterly broken, utterly betrayed, and Jinu realizes: it’s already all over.

Their execution isn’t swift.

vi.

“Did you see—”

—Jinu dies by the other hunters’ hands this time, both of them working perfectly together.

vii.

“Did you—”

—Rumi barrels ahead with the golden honmoon even after his warnings. He flings himself in front of her again, lets it all go.

viii.

“Did—”

—Rumi dies at the hands of Baby, smug that he took down a hunter, that he cornered her well enough. Jinu had been acting strange, so he took it into his hands to deal with Huntrix, and the results were positively lethal.

The life leaves Rumi’s eyes, body broken and bloody.

Jinu follows soon after.

ix.

Abby’s words don’t even reach him anymore.

He wonders if he should even try to escape this loop, if maybe it’s enough to live in these two weeks forever.

x.

The bathhouse ambush follows the same old script, the same old plot.

He changes it up, just a tad. Rumi holds out her sword to him, both of them circling each other in a dance, and Jinu decides fuck it. 

He steps forward, she prepares for war, but the tip of her sword touches his chest, right where his heart should be. The sword glows and crackles, reacting to him, pulsing in time with his breath; Rumi’s eyes dart to it then back on Jinu, wide and unsure.

He smiles. “Hey Rumi, what am I supposed to do?”

And then he walks into her blade. It pierces him true, and he relishes holding her, if only for a mere fraction of a second, their time limited.

Just when things start to fade away, he hears it, barely: “J-Jinu?”

xi.

Jinu?

Jinu?

The Saja Boys chatter around him, but Rumi’s single word keeps echoing in his head, all he can hear. She shouldn’t have known his name yet. She shouldn’t have that gentle a tone yet.

Did she—

“—we have some time until that game show, right?” Abby asks into his ear, cutting Rumi off in his mind.

Jinu swallows. “Yeah.”

“So what will we do until then?” Romance says.

He should stick to the plan, should make them perform Soda Pop again or, at the very least, do something mildly demonic so Gwi-Ma doesn’t get suspicious.

He can’t.

Not this time.

Jinu waves them off. “Explore the modern world.”

“...together?”

“By yourselves.” He flicks his wrist, gestures to the other side of the alley. “Scope out the lay of the land.”

Romance bounces on his heels, face trying (and failing) to remain an artistic neutral. “You sure?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t have to tell him twice; Romance disappears in a flash. Baby follows with a grumble, Mystery with a silent nod, and Abby lingers. He examines Jinu with just his eyes. “This wasn’t… in the plan,” he says, squinting.

“Plans change. We’ve gone viral enough.” And because he has to somehow justify it: “Think of it as building hype. We can cover more ground separated, and fans will freak out if they see one of us. PR, yeah?”

Abby doesn’t seem to buy it, side-eyeing Jinu still, but he can’t really find fault with that logic. With a small alright, he backs off, vanishes as well.

Jinu waits approximately five minutes.

Just to be sure.

And then he shoots himself to the edge of Seoul, where nature still exists. Private. Intimate. The sun is still high in the sky; the hunters may be getting ready, but there’s hours before the ambush.

Jinu whistles.

Derpy—his overgrown tiger, blue with a head like a cinderblock—phases through the lines of the honmoon. His pupils leave only a tiny ring of orange around his eyes, some form of a smile on his lips. The magpie—Sussie—rests atop his head. He gives both of them a scratch with a chuckle.

Then he pulls out his phone, finds one of the millions of pictures of Rumi that he may or may not have saved for research. He shows it to Derpy. “She lives in a big tower in the heart of the city,” he says. What’s left of his heart pounds. “Go and bring her to me.”

If he’s right, he shouldn’t need a letter.

Jinu twiddles his thumbs, nibbles his lip. It’s been—it’s been plenty long enough. What if she doesn’t come? What if Derpy and Sussie got a swift sword to the face? Derpy is too loving, too trusting; he wouldn’t sense the danger until it’s too late. And Sussie is still, ultimately, just a small bird. Neither of them would stand a chance.

This may have been a bad idea.

Resetting is always an option—because Jinu doesn’t think he’ll manage if he got those two killed—but he has such a small twinge of hope. He wants to keep it. Wants his hunch to be true.

Wants Rumi to remember him. It’s selfish. It’s possessive. But he wants it so bad. Wants to not be alone again in all… well. Whatever’s going on.

Sussie jumps atop his head, not-so-gently pecks his hair, and tears start to prick at Jinu’s eyes.. In the sky, Rumi is riding Derpy, braid trailing behind her, hands petting the tiger all the while. He thinks he sees her mouth moving, cooing sweet words to him. Jinu releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the weight on his shoulders lessen after all this time. The first tear runs down his face; he tries to wipe it away before Rumi can see.

Rumi hops off Derpy and sprints his way. Jinu opens his arms wide for a hug—it’d make sense, right?—and she launches herself into him, feet in the air. He twirls her around; she buries herself into his chest. The tears fall onto the top of her head; he’ll say sorry later, but now—now he needs to hold her. Needs to envelop her. Needs to feel that she’s here with him.

She’s so warm, so alive. Never has there been a more perfect moment.

She backs up, gazes at him with sweet eyes. Jinu readies himself for what’s next; he’s too worn down to fight it.

And then she hits him.

Multiple times. Rumi’s fist attacks his pec with purpose.

Jinu reels, thrown from his delusions. “Ow—”

“Why—”—smack!—“—did you—”—smack!—“—do all—”—smack!—“—of that?!” She adds in her other fist, goes another round. For good measure, surely.

Jinu holds onto her wrists; they tremble in his hands, emotion coursing through her veins. Her face is hot—from crying, from anger, from hopefully something else—and she burns a hole into him with her eyes. “You’re an idiot,” Rumi cries out. She headbutts his chin, weakly.

Jinu can’t help but to chuckle, love coursing through him. “How much do you remember?”

“All of it!”

“...all?” Like—the first time? Or—

“—each time!” She takes her hands back, wipes her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. She shudders. “Why did you…”

“...why did you remember?” he mutters. His theory was right, but the why is unknown; she’s had his soul this entire time, and it’s done nothing to dig up her buried memories. And Jinu doesn’t think there’s a single deity out there that pities him enough, so—

—Rumi breaths in through her nose, eyes tinged red and mouth set into a thin line. She steps out of his space, leaves ample distance between them. “Watch this,” she says, serious. She holds her hand out, reaches into the honmoon to pull out her sword; what forms from the lines is not the one he remembers, not the one he’s seen in this seemingly endless cycle—it’s larger, decorated differently.

Jinu blinks.

“The first time,” she says while dismissing it, “when you gave me your soul it… caused it to change.”

He didn’t know that. “But why now…?”

“...I still have your soul, right?” It’s small, hopeful almost.

“Yeah…”

Rumi sighs in relief. “I knew it. I always felt… different after the first time. Like there was something there…” she places a hand to her throat, taps against the center. “My voice always came back quicker… easier. Even when we weren’t close.”

Lots of new revelations. Lots to think about, to recontextualize. But more importantly: “You nearly chopped off my head multiple times. Why did your sword only change permanently now?”

Rumi’s mouth twists, eyes go to the ground. She kicks at a rock; it doesn’t go anywhere. “Maybe…”

“...maybe?”

“...because of you…”

“...me?”

She clenches and unclenches her fist, teeth biting on that plush lower lip of hers. He almost wants to drop the question, but then she meets his eyes once more: “Because you… walked into it.” Tension thrums under her skin, everything locking into place. “It caused a reaction, and I got my memories back and my sword changed and, and, and—”

—Jinu holds her again. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair.

She holds the back of his jacket, nails still felt even through his layers. “You should be.”

“You and your friends got me good a few times, though.”

“Not what you should be sorry about.”

“...then what am I apologizing for?”

Rumi rests her chin on his chest, head angled to meet his gaze. She tilts her head, eyebrows covering half her eyes. “You… why is it so hard for you to just stay?”

Jinu’s throat suddenly feels very, very dry. “I—”

“—even back then, was giving me your soul the only option?” Her voice rises: “Or when we went to the Underworld! You just—you just accepted your fate!!!”

“That’s—”

“—and every other time!” Rumi adjusts so her face is back in his chest. Into the fabric, she says, “Have you ever thought I want to live with you there?”

Ah.

Emotion swells up in Jinu; love, regret—all of it swirls together, makes his chest feel lighter and his stomach drop into a pit. He just can’t seem to do right by her, can he?

He rests his head atop hers, and the two of them cling to each other, tears falling all the while.

The sun has begun to creep down, the sky turning amber by the time they untangle themselves. Both their eyes are red and puffy, and just one look at Rumi has Jinu laughing even with his sore lungs.

She rolls her eyes. “You look the same.”

“I know.” A pause. A memory. “Don’t you have an ambush to go plan…?”

“...I told them I was sick. Can’t tonight.” She tries to discreetly wipe away some lingering snot; he still notices. “What about your TV appearance?”

He sighs. Right, right. “They get… anxious if I don’t follow the plan. It… goes bad. For them.” For him, too.

Rumi clicks her tongue. “Gwi-Ma?”

“Yeah…”

She laces their fingers together, thumb running over his knuckles once, twice. “And you…?” she asks, looking up at him through her lashes.

Jinu squeezes. “Only if I let him.” He returns the favor, smiling more as her eyes glance at their connection. “The patterns are his but… my soul is yours. I just let myself be dragged down to keep up the act.”

“...and the voices?”

“Stopped.” Save for his own guilty concious—just a consequence of living.

Rumi perks up, grins that goofy, awkward one that would never make it past PR. It’s his favorite. “Alright. Alright.”

He takes his hand back—relucatnly, tips of his fingers lingering against her until the last second—and stares over the horizon. He doesn’t want to leave, but acting off always makes waves. Always gets someone hurt—usually him, but Rumi’s lifeless body still flashes in his mind. So, he’ll go. He’ll put up with it. For this one chance they might have. 

Voice heavy, Jinu says, “I have to…”

“I understand. Meet me in the usual place?” And then, teasing: “If you can still talk after the hot sauce.”

He huffs. “I’ve built up a tolerance.”

“Uh-huh.” Rumi stands on her tippy-toes, kisses him close to the mouth. The ground under him shakes, a new center of the universe forming right where she stands. 

She pulls back far too soon, and he finds himself whining when the cold air brushes against his skin. She doesn’t meet his eyes, body stiff. “I’ll… see you later,” she says, robotically waving up and down.

She jumps back onto Derpy, rides back into the city, and Jinu can only touch where she once was, awestruck.

He stares at the sky long after she’s gone.

“I thought the hunters would ambush us…?”

He points a finger up, like a teacher in a lecture, like a scientist saying eureka. “They probably know that we know they’d show up and are trying to keep us on our toes.”

And, god, his throat still burns.

Rumi sits atop one of the hanoks at Bukchon, arms wrapped around her thighs and under her knees. It’s a tad weird, honestly, to see her waiting for him; he’s always been the one to stand on the roof, tapping his foot and counting down the minutes until she arrives, until she tries to slice off his head. Even when it’s her idea, he’s left waiting, waiting, a bitter old man too concerned with times.

He thinks to jumpscare her, just for payback; instead, Jinu smiles, warmth bubbling up in his chest. “Hi,” he says while walking into her view. “Wait long?” He sits right by her, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Rumi shakes her head. “No. I just got here myself.” 

“Sneak out again?”

“Yup.” She deflates, eyes glazed over, body flat. “I hate lying to them.”

“I know.”

The moment passes, never one to be kept down for too long. “So, let’s rip the band-aid off.”

Hmm?

“We’re going to have to figure something out, right? And we’ll need their help.”

“Ok, so you’ll—”

“—we’ll,” Rumi finishes. She places her hand on top of his, stares straight into his eyes; Jinu swears he sees stars—not reflected ones, either. “We’ll just… tell them everything.”

“...everything?”

“You looping, me being half demon, the honmoon… all of it. The golden one, the new one.” She pats his hand. “They can’t help if they’re in the dark.”

And Rumi never took a shin-kal or gok-do to the head. “I…”

Rumi moves closer to him, lips mere centimeters from his; the words die on his tongue, brain too busy processing what to do with a pretty woman near him. “I know it’s scary. It was scary for me when I told them… but they will listen, even if it’s tough to hear.” Her lower lip touches his.

He should have flirted more in Joseon; maybe he’d have some immunity. 

But he didn’t.

He’s simply pulled into her orbit—his sun, his moon, the stars in the sky. How can he say no to her? How can he try to dim her? God—he’s pathetic in a new way.

“Alright,” Jinu says, slow. Anxious. “Just… you explain things and I wait in the closet or something?”

Rumi nods. “You can come in when I give the cue.”

“What will the cue be?”

“Your name?”

“Sure.” Easy enough.

Rumi pecks him on the lips.

The closet is more of a mini mall. Jinu chills in the chair, plays with the zipper of his jacket. Rumi’s voice carries through the wall, through the rows and rows of clothes, muffled but clear in Jinu’s ears.

The others? Not so much.

He can parse, however:

“So, like, you’ve relived the same two weeks over and over? Like a movie?”

“The golden honmoon kills you?”

“Not kills. Just pulls me under. Gwi-Ma kills me.”

“...your dad was a demon?”

“We can make a new one? With your new sword?”

And there it is: Rumi mentions how her new sword formed, and Jinu stands up, brushes off his jeans, and walks through the door like he’s some secret talkshow guest. Surprise! The other two freeze—starstruck in any other reality but this one; Rumi takes his hand and leads him further into the room. Leads him further into the wolves’ den.

He scratches the back of his neck. All his bravado crumbles in front of his—girlfriend’s friends? can he call her that now?—in front of the others. Their eyes roam over him, judging him. Harshly.

Rumi holds up their tethered hands. “Jinu has been the one repeating each time he dies.”

“I gave her my soul and I guess there’s… some chain reaction?” He cringes, voice going a higher pitch.

The pink one—Mira—narrows her eyes. “So what exactly have you done?”

“What?”

“To get out. Or are you putting this all on Rumi?” 

“Mira!”

Jinu raises his other hand to stop Rumi’s remarks, to stop her from leaping away from him and to Mira. “I promise I’ve been trying.” For Rumi’s sake. “Rumi only just now got her memories back, right?”

Rumi stops fuming, snapped back to the present. “Yeah.”

The youngest one—Zoey—raises her hand, practically vibrating in place. Rumi points to her and she goes on: “Do you two have like… a plan now?”

Well—

—no. They’re dumping all this on them and they have nothing.

Rumi speaks up: “I have… an idea? But… I need to think more.” Oh! Cool. They have a notion.

Mira rubs her temples, groans. “This is a lot.”

Zoey glances at her, glances at the leaders. Her lips go to one side then another, bunching with her nerves, the miasma of the room making her grow pale. “Why don’t we… talk tomorrow? And go to bed now?” she says, cautious. Hopeful to leave. “So we can… process everything?” She offers a lopsided smile to smooth things over.

Rumi senses what she leaves unsaid. “That’s a good idea,” she says. She adds on: “I’m… tired too.”

Zoey claps, jumps right up. “Great!” She loops Mira’s arm with hers, tugs the other woman to her feet. “Come on Mira, it’s time to sleep!” And with that, she rushes out.

Jinu thinks there’s a dust cloud in their wake.

Rumi laughs, fond. “She gets… nervous,” she explains. “I think she was worried Mira or me would do or say something?”

Uh-huh. “I see…” Reality settles back in, and he reluctantly lets go of her hand. “I should return to my guys,” he says in one breath.

“Do you have to?”

“Claw in my back, remember?” He takes a chance and kisses the top of her head; Rumi does not run away. “Get Derpy to tell me when tomorrow.”

“Where have you been?” Baby asks, leaning against the wall outside of their headquarters.

“Out,” Jinu says, casually. “First time I’ve been able to explore in centuries.”

“Gwi-Ma wondered where you were.”

Ah, shit.

He hadn’t even felt the tug, hadn’t even had his patterns show the proof. He was with Rumi all evening—did that cause it? The closer he is to his soul, the less Gwi-Ma can sway him?

He could skip; he may be fucked.

“Did he now?”

“Yes.” Baby slides from the wall, pokes him in the middle of the chest. “Remember this was your crazy idea. If you fuck it up, we’re all fucked.”

With a snarl, he turns around and walks inside, slamming the door to drive home his point.

If you fuck it up, we’re all fucked.

Hmmmmm.

Derpy spits a save the date card onto his face around noon, proud of himself. Jinu kneads his ears—what a good little mailman. In Rumi’s delicate handwriting is a time and place; he makes sure his boys are occupied by then, then slinks away, unnoticed.

Rumi is waiting for him at the Seoul Hanyangdoeseong, careful so they avoid prying eyes. She picked a more remote location, but still. International superstar. Jinu pulls his hood up to match hers, tightens the strings, and they both look ridiculous. It’s a good ridiculous, though.

“I’ve been thinking,” she says as he approaches, resting her hand atop Derpy’s head, “about what we should do.”

“So have I.”

“Do you want to compare notes before I get Zoey and Mira in on it?”

Mhm.

Rumi takes a shaky breath, holds up a single finger. “OK, so. The honmoon can’t turn golden, unless we just want to die again.”

“Yeah.”

Another finger. “We need… the new one. The one we all made the first time. Like you suggested once before.”

“Can it be done?”

“It can, but…”

Jinu raises an eyebrow. “...but?”

“...only if the old one is destroyed.” Rumi stretches all her fingers out, hand in front of her and examines it, patterns peaking out and faintly glowing. “I can, I think, after it's weakened.”

OK, he had been somewhat right that time. There's one thing he never quite got past in his ruminations, more concerned with warning her: “So how do we weaken it? Need more Soda Pop?” He winks at the end, stupidly. There’s a prickle on the back of his neck.

She glares, drops her hand. “I don’t think you’re going to like what I thought up.”

“Try me.”

Rumi angles herself so she’s perfectly in front of him, body tuned to every bit of his existence. He hears her heartbeat resound in his ears, watches the way her mouth twists and turns. She takes some breaths, fiddles with her sleeve, before rushing out: “You need to do it again.”

It. 

Jinu knows. He knows what it is, but… “...do what?”

“Ruin the Idol Awards. Reveal my patterns on stage. Make the world think Huntrix broke up.”

The prickle grows to needles, poking him all over. A thousand little cuts. “Rumi—”

“—I know it’s a huge ask—”

“—I promised myself to never betray you again—”

“—it’s not a betrayal if I know it’s coming, right?—”

“—and what about Zoey and Mira… there’s no way—”

“—if we can just explain the plan, then…” She scuffs her shoe against the ground. “I said you wouldn’t like it.”

His legs feel too weak to support the rest of his body; he barely keeps himself up, shaking all the while. “I don’t.”

“But it’s the only time the honmoon was destroyed… if we can just lose the trust of the fans long enough to tear it apart…”

“...it’s so risky, Rumi. What if it doesn’t work? What if you get hurt again?” Her figure from then is etched into his memory permanently, along with the knowledge that it was all his fault. That he was too much of a coward.

“I know. But how else can we destroy it by then?”

“I…” he shuts his mouth. No answer, in the end.

Rumi places her hands on his forearms. She pleads at him with her eyes, wide and full of sincerity. “You’ve tried so many other ways… let’s… let’s just try this.”

Jinu sets his jaw. Even if she knows it’s coming—surely the memory would hurt? The looks in people’s eyes, the parrotting of what she always told herself. All of it. Rumi isn’t made of glass, but she’s still not bullet-proof. “I’m not sure…”

“...I’m fine with who I am now, Jinu.” She tightens her grip; her heat seeps into him. “But this honmoon isn’t. It has to be destroyed.”

“What if it goes wrong?” he asks, small. Scared—a coward still, but one born of love this time.

“Then we go back to the drawing board.”

He holds her gaze. Unlike his, Rumi’s eyes burn with resolve, ready to dive headfirst into the fire. Her mind is made up. Her path is laid before her, and all she needs is him by her side to weather it.

He’s a coward, a fool, but he’s hers. Jinu took flames for her once before—what’s a little more?

“Alright,” he says, hesitant, the word having to force its way out. “Alright.”

Rumi relaxes, smiles with her eyes. “Thank you.” She rubs up and down his arm, soothes him. “What were you thinking?”

Right. His idea. “It’s… about the Saja Boys.”

Her face puckers—probably an instant reaction, no good memories to be had with his ragtag crew. She quickly evens it out, that PR training being put to good use. “Do you think they’ll be trouble?”

“They… well, you know.” Shrugs. “The time you told your friends one of them killed me from behind.”

Rumi gasps. “I was wondering why—they can—”

“—’think Gwi-Ma probably noticed I was being weird. Threatened one of them to do it. Gave them an extra bit of strength and an ultimatum." The wound has never happened, but there’s a pang in his chest. “And Baby told me off last night. I missed a summon from Gwi-Ma.”

“That’s…”

“...but he did remind me if I can’t pull this plan off, we’re all fucked. And… I thought about each time they stood in our way.”

Rumi catches on. “You have an idea.”

“I do.”

“Is it a good one?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Let’s hear it.”

Time to lay his cards bare: “What if we could get them on our side?”

Rumi blinks, once, twice, thrice. Her tongue sticks out, eyebrows crinkle, like she’s actually considering it. “How?” she asks, innocently, not ready to decide until she hears all the facts.

“I don’t know… they’re more gone than me.” They waver between heartthrobs and mindless zombies, each having traded most of themselves away. Yet, there’s still something in each—even if it’s mostly an act, each relying on the memories of how they used to be. “But… anyone can change?” he squeaks at the end, embarrassed to be so open and honest about what Rumi brought out of him. Like she hasn’t seen the results.

“Anyone can change…” she mumbles. Her tongue licks her upper lip; Jinu tears his eyes away.

“I don’t think they’d listen to me.” Any deviations from his leader persona only causes problems.

Rumi nods. “Probably… but… there are some people they may listen to.”

“Who?”

“Zoey and Mira…” Jinu recoils, eyes bulging. Rumi raises her hands in defense. “I won’t ask them to do anything dangerous! Ever… but if us getting to know each other caused us to change… then… maybe they just need someone not from the Underworld.” She drops her hands. “It’d be the girls’ choices, though.”

Jinu wants to shoot it down, wants to poke holes in her logic with every fiber of his being; instead, he says: “We can… ask. When we go over the plan.”

Rumi hums in agreement. “Yeah.”

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? That was his plan with the Saja Boys, and now it’s time to take another gamble—in himself, in Rumi, in Zoey and Mira, in everyone.

“So, what do you think?” Rumi says, capping the marker she used to draw all the details out with.

“It’s a good thing you can sing,” Jinu says absent-mindedly. She pinches his side; it doesn’t hurt, but he acts like it. For appearances, to ease any tension.

Doesn’t quite work. Mira stares dumbfounded. “You want the Idol Awards to fail?”

“Yes.”

“And the honmoon ripped to shreds?”

“Yes.”

She bolts up, hands balled into fists so tight her knuckles glow white. “Have you lost your mind?!”

Zoey stands up—only a tad calmer—pats her shoulder. Rubs circles into it. “Rumi and Jinu won’t survive if this honmoon goes golden,” she says, somber.

“I know!” Mira takes her shoulder back, shakes off Zoey’s kind hand. Mira’s eyes are wet. “I know… but…” she sighs, “this is all we’ve worked for. What we were supposed to protect… but…”

Zoey returns her hand to her shoulder, never one to be deterred. Give a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah.”

Rumi points to one of her crude drawings. “We can build a new one.”

“After we interrupt the Saja Boys’ concert and stop Gwi-Ma?” Mira’s frowns. “This is… risky, Rumi.” She glares at Jinu, eyes sharper than the end of her gok-do. “Do you have anything to say?”

Jinu nods. “I said the same thing, but… I’ve tried solving it on my own this whole time.”

“But two heads are better than one,” Rumi says. She puts her arm around Jinu’s waist, leans into him. “I want to make it past the Idol Awards too, with all of you.”

That silences Mira. She plops back down, arms crossed, leg bouncing.

“This is still a lot to take in,” Zoey says. She looks back at the art of the master plan. “And you want us to get to… know the Saja Boys?”

“Only if you want to try.” She places her hand on Jinu’s chest. “He changed.”

“And they will?”

“It’s a risk.”

He sees the debate rage inside Zoey for all of three seconds; then she holds her chin in her hand, foot tapping against the floor. Pondering. “When and how?”

“Jinu and I sent letters and meeting times through his magic tiger—”—Zoey swivels her head, trying to find him; Derpy was, tragically, told to wander about—“—and that’s how we… got close.” From his angle, Jinu can see the tips of her ears turn red.

Jinu idly tugs on one; she shivers, clamps her free hand over it, scowls at him. Cute.

Zoey watches this all, eyes unblinking. “But we… and they? Don’t have access to a tiger.”

“Yes, well—”

“—but,” she continues, head tilted down to show how serious she is, “we’ll see them… soon? At the rankings show.”

Mira sucks in air like she’s just been punched in the gut. “Zoey!” she shouts out, attention all on the other woman. “You’re considering it?!”

Zoey gulps, throat bobbing. “If it’ll help Rumi and… Jinu to just see if some of them aren’t all gone then, yeah?” She rubs her hands together, self-soothing. “Everything we know isn’t… it’s not right. If there’s a better way…”

“When have we encountered nice demons?”

“They don’t have a chance to be nice!”

Mira sinks into the couch. “What if they try to jump you?”

Zoey calls forth her shin-kal; Jinu grimaces. “I’m not that weak.”

“If it’ll make you feel better,” he cuts in, eager to get those things out of his sight, “I can have my tiger follow her? And if there’s any trouble he can come get you.” It works; Zoey stuffs her weapons back into the honmoon, and Jinu relaxes as much as he can.

Mira grumbles. “Do you have anymore pets?”

“A magpie.”

“Can they teleport too?”

“No, but he flies fast?”

Mira curses under her breath. She faces Zoey, brow set. “Tell me when you’ll try your luck.”

“Because…?”

“If there’s only one teleporting animal, then we’ll have to share…”

Rumi lights up, holds Jinu closer. “You mean you both…?”

“This whole thing is crazy,” Mira says, “but I’m not letting you guys go it alone.”

Zoey flings herself at Mira, nuzzles cheek to cheek, left and right. “I knew you’d say that!”

Mira lets out some more half-hearted complaints—she has a reputation to uphold—but her face is full of adoration. Of respect. “Yeah, yeah,” she says, sighing.

Jinu looks down at Rumi, the flicker of hope in his chest—painful, after everything, but if Rumi won’t give up, neither will he. He did once, and look at where that got him. She sparkles, more clearly now than ever before, patterns pulsing rainbow before turning back to normal. He feels light-headed, wonders—is he feeling her emotions, or is this all him? And does he care?

Mira and Zoey finish up their little moment, rub their eyes clear of any lingering sentiment. “I’ll take Mystery,” Zoey says, wasting no time.

“I’ll try the buff one,” Mira adds.

“Romance likes you too,” Jinu says.

“Sure. Whatever.”

Zoey frowns. “What about your maknae?”

Jinu winces. “Baby is…” a bastard… “complicated?”

“You don’t think…?”

“I don’t know, but if the others turn, then…”

“...he’ll follow?”

“Maybe.”

Rumi and Jinu keep a careful distance backstage; he feels himself wilting, a weed thrown into the trash, needing her attention to thrive, but no. For all this to work, they can’t appear close. When he tells the others the Idol Awards plan, he can’t seem conflicted. If they change, he can’t let them know it was all part of the plan.

But, man, it sucks.

She’s talking with another new idol, smiling, giggling, offering advice.

The only solace he has is the fact it’s all her stage persona.

Zoey gives him the meeting time she’ll have with Mystery; it’s in the evening, on a semi-busy street. They’ll have a chance to blend it, but there will be witnesses, so neither can just start attacking.

He has Derpy memorize it to the best of his abilities while Zoey messes squishes his face, unable to tear her hands away. “How did you manage this?” he asks. Mystery is, well, a mystery. Even to him.

“Slipped it into his pocket.”

“And he just agreed?”

“He nodded so it counts?” She giggles, bright. “Does he talk much?”

“He… can.” He sings, he’s gotten him to say some lines for their promos. “But he mostly… bites?” Every fan sign event ends with him barking. Jinu is lucky he went with the correct concept: a man who keeps people on their toes.

“I don’t mind that.”

Zoey returns from her outing, Derpy having been a humble observer all the while.

“Well?” Rumi asks, standing up beside Jinu and Mira. “How’d it go…?”

Zoey gives a peace sign. “We’re meeting again in a couple of days. He likes hotteok.”

Mira’s encounter happens unexpectedly. She rushes back into the apartment, work out clothes on and hair hidden, ranting and raving.

Jinu tries to make sense of it. “What—”

—she sticks a finger to his chest, hard. “He works out in the park!”

He? Oh—“—Abby. Yeah he does that.” A habit formed each and every loop.

“I went for a run! Went to get some fresh air for once!”

Ohhhhhh. “Well, how’d it go?”

“We had to help the grannies with their morning class!”

“Did anyone know it was you two?”

“No!” Mira grits her teeth, bobs her fists up and down. “But he did better than me!”

Right—the dancer. The athlete. A seasoned hunter who can swing a single demon around like a ragdoll. Jinu tries to appease her: “Well, you know, demonic strength—”

“—and the other pink one just clapped!”

Hello? “You talked to them both?”

“Yes! And they both suck.” She stomps off, feet heavy with each step—hopefully leading her to the shower—before calling back: “I’m giving them dance lessons tomorrow morning!”

Does Abby need dance lessons? He’s sort-of their dancer. When he’s capable. And Romance too? He’s too much of a showboat to lack dancing skills. But well, Mira’s pride is bruised from not having the best work-out plan for Seoul’s grandmas, and she wants the upper hand.

And another meeting.

Jinu is away from Rumi, having done some promo work for the Saja Boys when he feels the tether. The slightest illumination of his patterns—closer to a mosquito bite than anything else.

Still.

He rolls his eyes and lets Gwi-Ma have him.

The Underworld is crowded, more and more demons popping up. The stream of souls hurts to see, each a life snuffed out. Less than the first time, but nonetheless an unpleasant sight.

Jinu swallows. If he pulls back now, the fire will sear him once more, cover the world in flames.

“My little soda pop,” Gwi-Ma sings behind him. “It’s catchy. I told the others that.”

Jinu flinches. Showtime, for better or for worse. “I was busy.”

“Busy?” Gwi-Ma asks, tone mock-shocked. A demon cowers in the corner. “So busy that you somehow refused my call?”

“One of the hunters has patterns.”

“She does now?” he drawls it out. “I have no control over her.”

And thank all the stars above for that. He tries to look vicious, tries to look like he’s plotting something, and repeats, “But it means she has shame, and we can use it.”

The words always taste like bile.

Romance and Mystery—well, he thinks—have snapped, the thread of personality breaking, reverting back to their mindless selves. Staring into space. Slouching, drool on the corners of their mouths.

Jinu really made a deal to become like that. Really thought that was the better option.

Abby still has himself; Baby too. They squabble over the last bag of treats.

“I need it more,” Abby says.

“Bullshit!” Baby yanks it harder, tries to reclaim his so-called prize. “You had the last five!”

“I have more to feed!”

Baby’s eyes flash yellow, teeth turn to fangs. “You don’t need anything! You’re a demon!”

“They taste good!”

“And a simpleton!”

Jinu watches them, somewhere between fond and annoyed. Yeah, sure, they’ve stood in his way, killed him, but they are pretty funny to have, are pretty decent idols.

It’d be nice if they lived, too. Away from it all.

The Idol Awards are tomorrow.

Rumi and him lay on a blanket on a Bukchon roof, staring at what stars they can see; Jinu finds himself staring at her instead, shining even in the darkest nights. Somewhere in the distance, Derpy and Sussie doze.

He needs to tell her, now. “Rumi—”

“—don’t.”

It stings. “Why not?”

“Tell me after… everything.”

“As a reward?”

Mhm. “And I’ll tell you something too.”

He brings her hand to his lip, kisses each knuckle. “Looking forward to it.”

“So that’s why we’re calling it off,” Jinu says, hands gripping the dressing room vanity for dear life. Cold sweat rakes over his body, but he pushes through it. “We’ll expose her on stage then swoop in after Huntrix breaks up. We’ll perform at Namsan Tower, get everyone in one place for Gwi-Ma to feed.”

The rest of the boys stare..

“That…”

“...is pretty heartless,” Romance completes.

The first time, they all cheered.

He tamps down the spark; it’s too soon, and he can’t slip up now.

“—we have to crush the hunters, once and for all. Or else we’re all screwed.”

“Makes sense,” Baby says, none the wiser. “They won’t come back from that quick enough.”

Jinu nods.

Abby, though: “Are you sure?”

“Do you want to face Gwi-Ma if we fail?”

That shuts him up.

Silence falls over them, loud and oppressive. Jinu hopes they're weighing their options, hopes they’re thinking back to whatever positive memories they’ve gathered this time.

Jinu can’t look, can’t listen as Takedown plays.

The honmoon tears and shreds itself, the public having given up on Huntrix.

Abby looks in awe, mouth agape. “You… did it.”

“Yeah.” Jinu turns to leave, not wanting to see it any longer. “We have a show to do.”

“Are you ready to forget everything?”

Jinu bites his tongue.

Your Idol goes off without a hitch, each member echoing their performance from a lifetime ago. Zoey and Mira stand in the crowd; Jinu wonders if they fell victim to Gwi-Ma’s siren song once more, or are they merely faking? Ready to attack when Rumi makes her entrance? He knows she’ll save them—he wouldn’t love her so much if she wouldn’t—knows this, too, is just a part of their masterplan. But there’s a nagging feeling in him, and he can’t say it’s Rumi’s nerves; it’s all his.

When she sings the first note, Jinu hides his smile.

The moment of truth.

Gwi-Ma devours all his lackies, roars strong enough to shake the earth, puts everything he has into a concentrated blast. Flames dance around Rumi, and she holds it all back, even as her voice is drowned out, even as the heat increases.

Jinu is behind her in a flash, one arm around her, one hand to the sword. It glows more, shines more, as if him being near it gives it more power. A barrier akin to the one Jinu made forms around them, and for the briefest of moments, he sees the light at the end of the tunnel.

And then, cracks appear. They form at the center, spreading out like a star.

No, no, no—

“Rumi!” the hunters call in unison, voices overlapping. They’re by their side, hands on Rumi’s shoulders, souls joining in. The cracks begin to mend, barrier beginning to push back onto Gwi-Ma.

Wait, if Zoey and Mira are here—

—Abby and Romance flank his right, Mystery and Baby to his left.

“You fucking dickhead!” Baby shouts in his ear. “You fucking ruined us! We’re fucked to hell and back because of you!” But the entire time he channels some of himself into the barrier, makes it stronger, sends more of it into the flames.

He’ll laugh about this later.

Jinu holds Rumi tighter, focuses on giving her his everything. “Go on,” he whispers in Rumi’s ear. “Do it.”

She slices Gwi-Ma in half.

Each soul turns into a thread, iridescent and blindingly beautiful.

“You fucking gambled on us?! Used us as a bet?!”

They’re back in the tower, thoroughly exhausted after their special joint concert and show. Both groups are charting in record numbers, videos all over the internet.

An unmitigated success.

Except now the others now it was a part of a bigger plan. Knows they may-or-may-not have been pawns in a larger game.

“I feel… used,” Romance says, holding his hands over his chest and wistfully turning away.

“You ate souls until a week ago,” Mira deadpans. She slaps his back. “And now you don’t have to.”

“Technically,” Mystery chimes in, voice uncharacteristically loud, “we’re Jeoseung Saja… we’re supposed to guide souls…”

“Gwi-Ma just ruined it,” Abby finishes. “But I guess we can—”

“—fucking hell no! We’re not doing the idol thing and the reaper thing!”

Everyone freezes; everyone stares at Baby. His hands are on his hips, bubble in mouth, and his eyes are yellow.

Everyone exchanges a look amongst the group.

Then back at Baby.

He—he never deflates, but Jinu wouldn’t call it any form of relaxing—scrunches his eyebrows. “Why’s everyone so quiet?”

“We never said anything about continuing,” Jinu says. He feels like getting under his skin: “And the Underworld is free to operate properly—”

“—do you really want to go back there? They can figure it out. We’ve done our part.” Baby preens, eyes lighting up with mischief. “Actually, everyone should be thanking us. Maybe we could be—”

—Abby clonks him on the head. “Not so fast.”

“You would be a terrible king,” Mystery says.

“I’d weep to see how you redecorate,” Romance says.

“You guys fucking suck! So all of you had little parties—”

“—alright,” Rumi says, directing the conversation back to her. Taking control before it spirals. “We’ve all had a looooong day… let’s rest and recharge and meet tomorrow?”

“Sounds good,” Mira says. She takes long strides away from the group, escape route locked and loaded.

“You guys can take the couch…?” Zoey says, wincing. Not the most hospitable. She gestures to it, all white and cushiony. “It’s comfy.”

“We actually have a place,” Mystery says.

“Really?”

“We needed some place to help keep an eye on the human world… it’s small but we manage.”

“...how small?”

“One room—”

—Zoey drags him by the wrist, forces him down on the couch. Jinu thinks of dogs being told to sit. “I promise you this is better.” She then leans in to say something else to him, but Jinu can’t hear. Not sure if he wants to hear.

Baby jumps over the back and flops down. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“I’m going back to our apartment,” Abby says. “There’s a bed there, and my back will get all messed up.”

“You’re just worried your muscles will lock up,” Baby says. “It’s all you fucking talk about.”

“My body is my weapon.”

Jinu hears a gag from behind a wall; must have been the wind.

Romance smiles, fox like and full of unholy ideas. “I’m not tired, so I’ll be stepping out for a while.”

“Gonna find someone else’s bed?”

“If we both so desire it.” He looks at Jinu and then at Rumi. “I’m assuming, dear leader, that you’ll be here?”

“He will,” Rumi answers.

“Oh my.”

Jinu would love to say he confesses to Rumi as soon as the door shuts, but the truth is, both of them take one step and collapse, exhausted beyond belief.

Muffled yelling pulls Jinu back to the land of the living. Rumi—because he would know her anywhere—comes into view, blurry in his vision. What he can make out is her frowning, eyes directed towards her bedroom door.

“You used my skincare products?!”

“Who knows what will happen now? I didn’t have to worry before, but you have the good stuff—”

“That’s it—”

“—Mira! No! Don’t kill him! Put that thing away!”

“He’s a thief!”

“We don’t have anything left, technically, so you’re being rather heartless now.”

“I’m going to shove this so far—”

Jinu closes his eyes.

This is a conversation he’s never heard, an outcome he never expected. The tomorrow that eluded him has arrived, noisy and angry.

He cries.

A day of squabbling, a day of Huntrix and the Saja Boys coexisting. It’s a miracle. It’s a wonder. It’s going to drive him fucking insane.

Jinu grabs onto Rumi’s waist and teleports away—far, far away. Across town. Back to their place.

She punches him in the shoulder when they come to. “Warn me!”

He drops his head to the crook of her neck, moves against her skin. Laying it on thick. Irresistible. “Sorry.” Warps his arms loosely around her. “Forgive me?”

She pats the back of his head, sighing. “I was getting annoyed, too.”

“So we’re good?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She pushes herself from him, lets some distance gather between them. Her eyes shyly dart from his face to the roof below them, mouth opens and closes, and he is not letting her say it first.

“I love you,” Jinu says, rushed, barely comprehensible. “I love you, Rumi,” he says again, letting each word hang in the air.

When they find their way to her, Rumi’s face erupts crimson. Her hands flail around, look for anything to help her keep balance; his arms are, sadly, her only option. He pulls her back into him.

“I love you,” he says again for good measure.

He feels the hitch of her breath, feels her pulse, her everything; his cheeks grow sore from the size of his smile—a first for him.

And then: “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

He turns to stone, body rigid. Hmm?

“I know you love me,” Rumi says, “it’s, uh, obvious. I have your soul. You tried to save me each time.”

His ears ring, vision goes double. The ground under him isn’t solid anymore. “Oh, haha…” and now he’s the one having to use her as an anchor, lest he tumble off the roof and onto the pavement below.

“...Jinu?”

Haaah.

“Oh boy—Jinu, if you're obvious, then so am I!” She places her hands on his cheeks, smooths them with her thumbs, tries to bring him back to reality. “I love you, obviously!!!”

Jinu snaps back, instant. “Then what did you want to tell me?”

“You…” she says, fond. Her eyes only reflect him. “I think… I think I know why you kept going back in time.”

“You do?”

“It was… well, it wasn’t just me, I do have your soul! So it’s both of us?”

“Rumi.”

“You remember each time, and I do, too, now. You were… desperate to save me. You never cared about yourself.” Jinu nods; it's the truth. “But… I always wanted to save you too. So… I think after you gave me your soul, I… I kept turning things back.” She adds quickly: “Unintentionally! Because, as we’ve said, I only just remembered, buuuuut—”

“—so you rewrote time for me?” Jinu says, smirking. He holds her at arm’s length now, head dipping, voice deepening.

A blush still dusts her cheeks. “You gave me your soul… so it was the least I could do.”

Whatever seduction he had in mind falters. All that’s left is a primal need to kiss her, like he’s drowning and she’s his air, like she’s the earth and he’s the moon.

It’s not earth shattering; there’s no bells ringing in the distance, no fireworks blasting to signify their union. Instead, it’s like a promise. A comfort. Heat against heat, soul against soul. Proof that they’re one, proof that they’re entwined through space and time.

He’s still breathless when it breaks.

Rumi traces her lips with a finger, dazed. “That was my first real kiss,” she says.

Shit. “Wait, really—”

—she yanks him back to her with the collar of his shirt, presses herself to him insistantly.

The future—the future isn’t clear now, loose ends and what-to-dos needing to be sorted out, but as her tongue slips into his mouth, Jinu knows one thing.

He won’t be alone.

His future is with Rumi.