Chapter Text
ACT I
The sky is dark and cloudy, the heavens throwing down sheets of rain that leave the asphalt slick and streaked with the color of nearby neon signs.
Haerin wipes the water away from her eyes as she stalks down the alley, boots pounding against the pavement making little ripples in the puddles, fracturing the reflections of the sky above. She slinks around the corner of the building and pokes her head around the corner to keep eyes on her mark.
The demon she's pursuing looks more humanoid than the others she’s encountered before, no long tail or pointed horns, only sharpened canines and reflective eyes. She’s tall with strong, set features, and she glances over her shoulder, her eyes scanning over the corner that Haerin’s tucked herself into before she keeps moving further down the street, weaving in and out of groups of drunks stumbling down the sidewalk.
After a moment Haerin follows behind her, ducking into doorways and between umbrella clad couples to stay out of sight.
Her knife, her halo, is clutched tightly in her hand, hidden in the pocket of her jacket. It burns cold against her skin, the metal pressed tightly against her palm–a small comfort as her pulse thrums in her chest.
It’d been difficult at first, being alive, but she likes to think she’s used to it by now. Still, the harsh beating of her heart puts her on edge, and she huffs out a sharp breath as the demon disappears into the neon entryway of a club, blending into the groups of people clustered around the entrance.
The bouncer barely spares Haerin a glance as she enters the club, where she’s greeted by thumping music and swaying bodies as she steps inside. She'd been forced to check her coat, the whole thing dripping water onto the floor, and she feels exposed without it, people brushing up against the exposed skin of her arms.
But she pushes through and makes her way over to the bar where it's slightly less crowded, scowling as she looks around. The demon seems to have disappeared into thin air in the few seconds that Haerin lost sight of her. Her frown deepens, and she grits her teeth as she scans the crowd again. It’s harder to pick up a trail here, with so many people, so much raw emotion clouding the air.
“Did it hurt?” a voice behind her asks.
Haerin almost doesn't turn, not sure if she heard correctly, or if the words were even addressed to her. But there's an air of expectation to them, so she does.
A woman leans against the bar, her curly hair tied up in a bun, wispy strands framing her doll-like face. She feels out of place somehow, even though she looks at home in the club with her perfect lipstick and low cut top. The woman’s eyes are a warm brown, but they pierce right through Haerin's own eyes, staring up through her eyelashes. Her lips are parted, glossy and red as they wrap around the straw of her drink.
Haerin blinks. “Eh?”
“When you fell from heaven,” the woman asks, and her lips curl up into a smirk.
Haerin takes a second to consider the question. It hadn’t hurt, exactly, falling from heaven, but becoming human, or at least something like it had changed something about her. And what was pain if not change?
“Yes.”
The other woman holds her gaze before her eyes sparkle and she lets out a laugh, tilting her head back slightly. “You’re funny. What’s your name?”
“Haerin,” Haerin cracks a smile as she shakes the woman’s hand. It’s small and soft in hers, warm and slightly damp from where she was holding her drink.
“Danielle,” Danielle says, eyes still sparkling. She nods towards the space next to her by the bar. “Wanna join me? Since it looked like your date ditched you.”
Haerin doesn’t have the heart to correct her. What would she say anyway? No, I was tracking a demon, actually. But they got away and they're probably going to go tempt a human and damn them to hell.
Normally, she’d reject the offer. The night is still young, demons still prowl the streets. But something compels her to stay. Her chest feels funny when she looks at Danielle, her ever misbehaving heart skipping a beat.
Besides, Danielle seems vaguely familiar in a way that Haerin can’t place. She's intrigued.
Curiosity has always been her weakness after all.
“You don't mind?” she asks.
Danielle shrugs easily. “I was waiting for a friend, but she couldn't make it. I’m all yours.”
Haerin nods, leaning up against the bar next to Danielle. She waves down the bartender, orders an apple martini, whatever that is (and that's been something she's enjoyed doing. Ordering something different every time. There's just so many foods and drinks to try), and tries to not feel incredibly out of place. The music is pounding, the lights low, but here by the bar with Danielle she feels almost sheltered.
Danielle studies her for a moment before she smiles. “I didn't take you for an appletini kinda girl,” she says.
Haerin lets out a shocked laugh. She doesn’t mean to, it just comes out.
“What does that mean?”
“Just that you looked a little like a sad, wet kitten when you came in,” Danielle tuts as the bartender slides Haerin's drink in front of her, and Haerin smiles at her pout. “And this,” she gestures at the bright green drink on the bartop, “doesn’t really seem like your vibe.”
“I'm not really a club person,” Haerin shrugs, and it’s true. She’s only been one other time. And that time she hadn’t lost the demon she’d been tracking.
Danielle tilts her head, almost reminiscent of a dog. “Then what kind of person are you?” she asks. From anyone else it would seem disingenuous, but she seems genuinely interested.
“A boring one,” Haerin says after contemplating and Danielle smiles at her over the lip of her glass.
“I don't believe that.”
Haerin shrugs. “That's just what it is.”
Danielle just laughs, and Haerin is struck by how pretty her smile is, her eyes crescenting as she bears her perfect teeth. It feels real, visceral. The crowd shifts around them and Haerin steps ever so slightly closer to be able to hear better.
“You’re a very honest person, aren’t you?”
Haerin shrugs even as the tips of her ears burn. “I try to be.”
She doesn’t intentionally try to be straightforward. It’s just the way she is. Danielle smiles again over the rim of her drink.
“So then, what do you do for work?” Danielle asks once she sets her drink down back on the bartop, tracing the rim of her glass with her finger. The liquor in her cup is a deep, rich red, dotted with pomegranate seeds, and there’s a lipstick mark on the glass in the same shade.
“Accounting.” Haerin gives the standard answer. Technically, she is. Accounting for demons, that is. “You?”
“I work at an art museum.”
Haerin's eyebrows raise, and Danielle laughs.
“It’s not as glamorous as you think.”
“You like art?”
“Maybe,” Danielle says coyly, “I just like beautiful things,” she says, her pinky grazing Haerin’s forearm where it rests against the bartop.
She smirks as Haerin averts her eyes, unable to keep eye contact. It's like trying to look directly at the sun–too overwhelming. Haerin can feel a nervous smile tugging at her lips, but she doesn’t feel nervous, just… on her toes. But she doesn’t feel the urge to leave.
“Wanna dance?” Danielle asks, tilting her head towards the dance floor where bodies of intoxicated people sway to the beat. It’s never appealed to Haerin before, pressed up against other people, being swallowed by the crowd.
But Danielle extends her hand, her nails neat and manicured, palm up, and Haerin takes her hand, lets her tug her over to the dance floor.
The song is almost sensual, the bass reverberating through her body as they move in sync to the beat and each other. Danielle's hands find their way to her waist, tugs her closer by her belt loops so they're almost pressed together. And Haerin feels hot, her pulse thrumming just under her skin, sweat beading on her hairline.
She knows dancing. From before. But this feels different, less choreographed, more instinctual. It's freeing, almost. She's afloat in the ocean, moving with the tides, at the whim of those around her, grounded by the hands on her waist.
She’s not sure how long they dance, lost in the headiness of it all, letting her hands come to rest on Danielle’s shoulders, her fingers threading through the hairs at the nape of her neck. All she knows is that in this moment she doesn’t have to worry about the demon she lost, or the demons she should be hunting, only the beat of her heart in time with the music. Danielle keeps her close, anchored in the sea of people, and Haerin clings to her, her fingers clenched into Danielle's shirt, blunt nails scraping the skin underneath.
Her eyes meet Danielle's, a liquid molten black and something hot and writhing settles in her gut. It feels like fire in her veins, entangling her closer and closer. A short laugh escapes from her throat.
Danielle smiles back, fuel to the fire.
Haerin's heart is still pounding when Danielle tugs at her elbow, pulls them both out of the crowd. She leans in so Haerin can hear her, her breath fanning over her cheek, her perfume dizzyingly cloy as it washes over Haerin, all sweet nectar and musk.
“I have to go,” Danielle pouts, and Haerin burns everywhere Danielle touches her. “Can I see you again?”
It’s an easy decision to hand Danielle her rarely used phone. Haerin only has one contact. She’s not sure how she feels about gaining another one. But Danielle hands her the phone back. She’s texted herself, her contact name just dani followed by a series of emojis.
“I’ll text you,” she says with a wink, then she’s gone.
Haerin stares at the space Danielle just occupied, the music thumping around her, bodies swaying with the music, as her cheeks flush for the first time.
–
She’s reading a book when her phone chimes, lighting up her living room. She wasn't lying when she told Danielle she was a boring person. Her apartment is utilitarian in nature, plain landlord white and boiled down to the bare essentials. Functional. Spartan.
It's also kind of a dump.
The wallpaper is peeling in the corner, and there's a mysterious stain in the middle of the kitchen ceiling. An unpleasant musty, damp smell emerges when it rains, lingering for days afterwards. The power goes out too, leaving the apartment sweltering hot in the summer, and freezing cold in the winter.
It doesn't bother her. She's an angel. She doesn't need worldly things.
(But she does wish she had a shower that doesn't leak. And a window that isn't drafty.)
The book, a discussion of absurdism by Camus, had been a recent addition to her things. She's discovered that she likes philosophy, finding meaning in mortality. Philosophers ask questions–are allowed to ask questions–about their being, about the why of it all. Descartes, Kant, Sartre. She finds comfort in the words of men long dead.
But for now she sticks her bookmark (Books: Heavenly Delights! C&P Bookstore) between the pages and thumbs open her phone. She hadn’t realized how dark it’d gotten, and the last faint rays of sunlight paint the buildings outside a pale blue color. The sunset is a mere reflection in the windows of the building across the street, only the melancholic idea of gold streaked against glass. She looks down. There’s a message from Danielle waiting for her.
wanna go here with me tmrw? :))))
Her phone buzzes again. Another message, this time with a link to a nearby art museum.
She bites at her lip, her finger poised to decline the invitation. Really, she doesn't have the time. There are endless demons to kill. Really, she shouldn't be wasting her time reading a book on philosophy.
But the museum has some old pieces and she likes history and art. It's so very human–the trying, the failing, the trying again, over and over with persistence.
The sun disappears over the horizon. Her thumb hovers over the send button.
Okay.
–
It’s raining when they meet at the museum in the early evening, the light gray sky fading as the sun sets, soft droplets misting the surrounding street. Haerin steps into the warm glow of the museum lobby, shaking off the excess water on her coat and wiping her boots at the doorway. When she looks up, Danielle’s beckoning her to the exhibit entrance.
Wire frame glasses are perched on Danielle's nose, and through them her eyes become thin crescents when she spots Haerin. She looks different in the light, less smoulder and depth, and more erudite and soft in her smart loose blouse and slacks. She bounces excitedly when Haerin approaches, fingers curling loosely around Haerin's wrist so casually as she tugs her forward.
“C'mon, I already got tickets,” she says, and Haerin follows her into the maze of rooms and corridors.
They meander past paintings and sculptures without speaking, only brief glances exchanged between them, until they come to a darkened room dominated by a single painting. It's almost floor to ceiling, with rich colors depicting two figures; one asleep, draped over the bed, sheets pooling across her body, and the other, winged, in the middle of departing yet looking back as if reluctant to go.
Only a few people linger in the room, the low hum of distant chatter fading to the background as Haerin steps closer to the painting, drawn in as if it were the sun and she an orbiting body. She traces the name of the painting on the placard with her finger, L'Amour et Psyché.
“I love this painting. It's my favorite here right now,” Danielle sighs softly as she walks up behind her, placing her hand gently on the small of Haerin's back. “It’s almost a tragedy, you know, the story of Cupid and Psyche.”
Haerin hums as she looks back up at the painting. It’s larger than life at this distance. The figures tower over them, painted with careful brushstrokes, kissed by soft lighting. They're surrounded by red drapery, each detail painstakingly depicted, from the embroidery of the pillow to the curls of hair.
It's a testament to human endurance and creativity, Haerin thinks, the sheer scale of it all.
Danielle points at the two figures.
“Cupid was a god, and Psyche was a mortal. Cupid was sent to make Psyche fall in love with a monster, but he accidentally pricks himself with his own arrow and falls in love with her,” she says softly, her breath ghosting over the shell of Haerin's ear. “He visits her only under the cover of darkness, and not trusting him, Psyche goes to kill him.” A pause. Haerin feels the hairs on the back of her neck prickle for a moment from Danielle’s gaze before Danielle continues. “Only, when she sees him, he's so beautiful she can’t bring herself to do it, and she accidentally pricks herself too, falling in love in return.”
Haerin follows Danielle's finger to Cupid. Her eyes catch on his white feathered wings, his bow and arrows, before she swallows down the lump in her throat and looks back at Danielle.
“Picot captures Cupid leaving at daybreak, before Psyche can see his true form,” Danielle says, looking at Haerin out of the corner of her eye with a smile, “This painting’s on loan right now. We’re lucky to be able to see it in person.”
Haerin meets her eyes, and she can feel her eyebrows raise.
“This is the museum you work at,” she states, just making the realization. It’s obvious in hindsight. Danielle walked the halls and exhibits like it was second nature, entirely comfortable in her habitat.
“Hm, now that you mention it, yeah,” Danielle says as her smile turns coy and she rocks back and forth on her heels. “I can give you a personal tour, if you want.”
Haerin smiles back easily.
“I’d like that.”
Danielle beams back at her, and they start to head to the next exhibit. But before they leave the room, Haerin’s eyes drift back to the painting. Cupid looks back at Psyche with an unreadable expression. It could be a million different things–love, disappointment, yearning. It’s impossible to tell.
“How does it end?” she asks, and Danielle turns back towards her, her eyebrows raised.
“Hm?”
“Cupid and Psyche.”
Danielle considers the question. “When Psyche pricks herself, Cupid startles and flees. She has to wander the earth to look for him,” she says, looking at the painting before her gaze snaps back to Haerin. She shrugs and smiles easily. “There’s more but it’s a happy ending. They get to be together at the end.”
“But it's not without strife,” Haerin says.
“No,” Danielle's smile turns soft, “But that’s what makes it a good story, right?”
Haerin just hums, noncommittal, and she throws one last glance over her shoulder at the painting before they leave. Cupid looks back at Psyche for a moment, captured for an eternity. When she turns back, Danielle is looking at her with a gentle smile, and Haerin follows her into the next room.
She lets Danielle lead her through hallways and exhibits, examining the art pieces, but mostly she finds herself watching Danielle.
Danielle lights up at her favorite pieces, sighs wistfully at others. She's so physical, looping her fingers around Haerin's wrist to tug her forward, or draping an arm around her waist when they're examining a painting. It's almost exhilarating, like falling, Haerin's traitorous heart jumping whenever Danielle's eyes find hers, or when her fingers brush the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist by her pulse.
Passion bleeds from every word that Danielle says as she describes a sculpture. It’s hard to not be enamoured, her honey-glazed voice softly describing the painstaking process of hand carving marble.
But eventually they make their way to the elevator that will take them back to the lobby and as the doors shut, Haerin finds she doesn't want the moment to end. Floors tick down as they descend. Haerin looks at Danielle.
Danielle looks back at her, her expression unreadable. For someone so expressive, it's difficult to tell what she's really thinking. But finally she seems to decide something and she tilts her head in question.
The elevator stops. The doors slide open with a faint ding.
“Do you want to come over?”
–
Danielle’s apartment is so lived in–alive–in the sense that potted plants line the tall windows in the living room; leafy ferns, snake plants, all large and healthy. There’s a chunky knitted blanket draped over the couch, and water stains in the form of rings dot the wooden coffee table despite the handful of coasters strewn on the surface.
It makes Haerin feel out of place, and she sits stiffly on the couch as Danielle putters around in the kitchen.
“Do you want anything to drink?” Danielle pokes her head through the doorway of the kitchen, her eyebrows raised.
Haerin clears her throat. It's dry and scratchy. It's an unfamiliar sensation. She's not used to talking this much.
“Water?”
Danielle nods with a grin. “You can put something on if you want,” she says, gesturing at the TV before she disappears back into the kitchen.
There's a remote on the coffee table and Haerin picks it up after a moment, flipping through the options mindlessly as she glances around the apartment.
There's an endless hunger inside her that wants to know, discover, find every facet of Danielle. She soaks up as much as she can from what she can see. There's a single framed picture on a small bookshelf next to the TV, too far away for Haerin to really make out the two figures. It's the only photo that she can see in the apartment.
But there are plenty of knick knacks scattered along the shelves and surfaces. They're seemingly mementos, like a ticket stub from a theater, or a small jade dog. It's endearing, and fascinating, how these things were kept, preserved, seemingly solely for their sentimental value.
Haerin feels in her pocket for the ticket that Danielle handed to her just after they entered the museum, the twin to the one Danielle has, and considers what it would look like on her bare shelves. It would be a start.
She feels a little bad about snooping–it feels too personal, too vulnerable, bordering on obsession–so she turns her attention back to the TV, and picks the first thing she sees, a documentary on hurricanes. It isn't long before Danielle returns and presses a mug into Haerin's hands. It's chipped slightly on the top, a cartoon cat waving at her on the side. Haerin grasps it gingerly.
“It’s cozy here,” she says after she takes a sip just to say something, but Danielle's smile in return is so bright as she sits down on the couch next to her.
“I love plants, all the green. It's different where I'm from.” Danielle tucks her legs up underneath her, leaning against the couch in a way that lets her face Haerin, on arm draped over the back.
Haerin cocks her head. “Where are you from?”
“Down under,” Danielle says cheekily, and Haerin laughs with her.
“Ah, did you move here?”
“Yeah, kinda recently. I was here when I was younger but,” she sighs, “I was away for a while. It’s nice being back.”
“It's different,” Haerin says, testing the words out. Danielle turns towards her curiously. “Things change so quickly. In the city, I mean. Like that club was new.”
It's almost unnerving, having Danielle's undivided attention. Or no, maybe not unnerving, but something that makes Haerin restless and fidgety. Danielle listens with her whole body, her shoulders turned so she's facing Haerin completely, her eyes never leaving her face.
It makes Haerin feel seen. An unfamiliar sensation for someone still not used to being corporeal.
Danielle hums in agreement and she finally looks away, towards the television. The documentary narrator drones on about the moment of calm in the eye of the storm.
“I didn't know if I would see you again after that night,” she says, and her fingers fidget around her mug almost shyly. She turns back to Haerin. “I was hoping I would though.”
“Thank you for the invitation. It was nice,” Haerin says, and finds herself surprised that she means it. “And, I liked the art. I like history. It was interesting.”
Danielle smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “I'm glad you liked it,” she says.
Haerin ducks her head, suddenly feeling unsure. There are words constantly bubbling up within her, but speaking them into existence has proven more difficult than she thought. She winces.
“I know I can be quiet, sometimes.”
“I know,” Danielle says, still smiling at her.
“You didn't mind?”
“Not at all,” Danielle says, their eyes meeting, and Haerin has this feeling.
It lies low in her gut, the embers of a fire, warm and pulsating. It makes her breath catch in her lungs and her heart feel like it's going to beat out of her chest.
Attraction, Haerin identifies. She's attracted to Danielle.
It's not a comfort. The idea twists in her stomach, the feeling sitting like lead. She shouldn't like Danielle. She shouldn't get attached to any mortal, really. Tragedy hounds her constantly–a feral dog, nipping at her heels as a reminder that she cannot stay, cannot get attached.
She has a mission to complete.
But it's tempting. And that makes her heart flighty and race in her chest.
The show keeps playing on the TV and Haerin whips her head back towards the screen as her cheeks burn. She still feels Danielle's eyes on her though, and hears a soft huff that might be a laugh before Danielle turns back towards the screen. The quiet between them shouldn't be comforting but it is.
Haerin shifts her hand closer, close enough that if she reached her pinky out it would brush Danielle’s. She stays stock still, careful to not twitch and make contact.
It is strange being on this side of attraction. She's seen it a thousand times. Caused it thousands of times. Taken it away a thousand more. She didn't think it would feel this visceral, her heart in her throat and the tips of her fingers buzzy.
Is it supposed to feel like this? The instant connection, the tension, has her head spinning. It's a rush that tastes addicting.
She's about to make contact with her pinky when her phone chirps, and she jumps, her heart racing. She checks her phone even though she really doesn't need to. She only has the numbers of two people, and one of them is next to her.
Hanni's sent her a location pin. It's not too far from Danielle's apartment, only a few stops down on the subway. Haerin replies with a single question mark.
Hanni responds with a sequence of emojis; a cow, a knife, and a devil face, and Haerin sighs.
“Ah, I’m sorry–” she says, standing (her head is still spinning, still reeling), and Danielle pouts at her.
“You have to go?”
Haerin nods, “Yeah, just work… stuff,” she says lamely, and Danielle still pouts but stands from the couch.
Haerin pockets her phone as she makes her way over to the front door. Danielle trails behind her, leaning in the doorway while Haerin tugs on her boots. Haerin’s in the middle of shrugging on her coat when she looks up and freezes.
Danielle leans in, and Haerin’s breath stutters in her chest. For a terrifying, dizzying second, she thinks Danielle is going to kiss her.
For a second, she thinks she would kiss Danielle back.
But Danielle presses her lips to her cheek, just by the corner of her mouth. It's just for a moment, the touch feather light, but its imprint burns warm on Haerin’s cheek.
“Go,” Danielle says with a bright, satisfied smile once she leans back, “I’ll see you later.”