Quick Author's Note: Hear me out. I gave Romance some redeeming qualities in this chapter and the next one, but this won't redeem him one bit. When I wrote this, I had to come up with something close to his persona and some theories going around the fandom. Sad, we didn't get much backstory about the Saja Boys individually, minus Jinu.
Dusk had long since bled into night, the sky outside Yena’s window a deep indigo, streaked with the faint glow of distant city lights. The hum of traffic below was muffled by the thick curtains, and inside her room, the only sound was the soft, rhythmic sounds of the girls shuffling in their respective rooms.
Yena sat on the edge of her bed, unmoving. Waiting for them to get tucked into bed and call it a night.
Minutes turned to hours before the dormitories hushed themselves to silence, and the hallway lights turned off. Pattering of footsteps became less and was slowly replaced by either snores or quiet slumber.
Yena exhaled slowly in a relieved tone. "They’re asleep."
She rose quietly, stepping past a sleeping Momo. Her movements were practiced and careful. Not tonight as she slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.
Steam curled around her as she bathed, letting the hot water scald away the rooftop grime and rooftop guilt. Her fingers lingered on the bruises blooming across her ribs, the faint cut along her collarbone. She didn’t wince. She didn’t cry.
When she emerged, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, her hair damp and clinging to her neck, she stared at her reflection for a long moment.
I'm true to my word, sweetheart. His words played on repeat in her mind.
She hadn’t been thinking clearly that night. The deal had felt unnecessary. It sounded so desperate, and now it felt stupid.
The Idol Awards were sooner than she’d expected, and Romance would no doubt collect on her promise. Knowing full well that the day after tonight, they would go back to hating each other.
A date.
That was all he wanted from her. One night with no weapons and no masks.
Yena dried her hair slowly, letting the hum of the dryer drown out her thoughts. Then she turned to her wardrobe. It stared back at her like a challenge. She rifled through hangers, pulling out options and discarding them just as fast. Too formal. Too revealing. Too soft. Too guarded.
She settled on a black knee-length dress. A-line that hugged her frame and an off-the-shoulder neckline that didn’t try too hard. She’d chosen it carefully, not too formal, not too casual. It felt like a compromise to the walls she had built up after the mutual breakup with Oliver years ago.
As she slipped it on, she caught herself in the mirror again. This isn’t your first date. But it had been a long time.
She adjusted the hem, tugged at the skirt, and frowned at her reflection.
Where would he even take me?
She didn’t care. Not really.
Anywhere would do. A forest. A shadowed alley. As long as it wasn’t here with the girls, and their fractured trust and unspoken blame. The train battle had left more than bruises. It had dented her spirits. Their silence afterward had been worse than shouting. Worse than betrayal. She needed a distraction, even if it came with a demon and his irresistible charm.
Just one night.
Yena grabbed her see-through red scarf, slipped on her boots, and glanced once more at her room as she stepped out into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her.
The rural subdivision always felt like a place suspended in time, half-forgotten, half-remembered. The buildings were low and scattered, their edges softened by creeping vines and rust. A single streetlamp flickered overhead, casting long, uneven shadows across the cracked pavement. The air smelled faintly of damp earth and old metal, and the silence was so complete it felt like a held breath.
Yena stood alone beneath the lamp, her arms wrapped around herself, not for warmth, but for reassurance. She’d arrived early, as always. She hated being late. Hated the idea of someone waiting for her, wondering if she’d show. But now, twenty-nine minutes had passed, and the roles had reversed.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her heels clicking softly against the concrete. Her black velvet dress clung to her like a second skin, elegant but understated.
Her fingers brushed the edge of her earring, a nervous tic. She glanced down the road again, then back the other way. Nothing. No footsteps. No purple smoke cloud. Just the wind, curling through the trees like a whisper she couldn’t quite catch.
Maybe he forgot. Or maybe this was never real to begin with. The thought stung more than she expected.
She turned, ready to leave, disappointment settling in her chest like a stone.
“Leaving already?” The voice was unmistakable. His smooth, dulcet tone in charm and flirtation, this time with hints of amusement.
Yena paused in place. She turned slowly, her breath catching in her throat.
Romance stood a few feet behind her, half-shadowed by the archway of an old gate. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark dress pants that fit him like it had been tailored by moonlight. The dark red V-neck collared shirt with elbow-length sleeves added warmth to his otherwise sharp silhouette, and his shiny loafer shoes gleamed faintly in the lamplight.
He looked like he’d stepped out of a dream she wasn’t ready to admit she’d had.
Yena stared. She hadn’t realized she’d stopped breathing until her lungs finally demanded air, and she exhaled involuntarily.
Romance stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over her slowly, deliberately, but he wasn’t looking at her face. His eyes lingered on the curve of her dress, the way the material shimmered with each movement, the way her hair framed her face like some divine beauty.
He blinked, once, then again, as if trying to recalibrate. “You look…” He didn’t finish, unsure how to find the words.
Neither did she.
They stood there, suspended in the moment, each stunned by the other’s presence. It wasn’t just attraction—it was recognition. A kind of silent awe. The realization that they’d both shown up not just physically, but emotionally. Vulnerably.
A bird chirped from the nearby tree, sharp and sudden, slicing through the tension like a blade. They both flinched.
Romance cleared his throat, straightening slightly. “You came too early.”
Yena nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I thought you weren't going to show up.”
He smirked, but it was softer than usual. “I appreciate the commitment.”
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth betrayed her—twitching upward, just barely. She looked away, suddenly shy. Her heart was beating too fast, and she hated that he could probably sense it, but her body didn’t care.
This wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was just a meeting, a distraction. They stood in silence again, but this time it wasn’t eerie. It was fragile and somehow beautiful.
Romance finally spoke again, voice low. “For a hunter, you look stunning.”
Yena hesitated, then met his gaze. “I'm impressed that a demon such as yourself knows how to dress up well.”
He smiled, and for a moment, it wasn’t the demon smile. It was something else, something human.
“I'm slowly learning how to blend in your era, but I'll take the compliment, sweetheart.”
Yena stood with her arms folded, watching Romance with a mixture of suspicion and reluctant amusement. The night air was cool, brushing against her bare shoulders like a whisper, and the city lights flickered behind him—soft, golden, almost cinematic.
“So,” she said, her voice steady but edged with impatience, “Where exactly are we going?”
Romance tilted his head, lips twitching into a smile that was far too pleased with itself. “No idea.”
She blinked in disbelief that he had no plan at all. “You’re joking.”
He gave a slow shrug, as if the weight of planning a date was far beneath him. “I figured you’d lead. You’re more attuned to the world than I am.”
Yena narrowed her eyes, resisting the urge to facepalm. “You asked for this date.”
“And you said yes,” he countered, grinning. “Which makes you complicit. That’s how dates work, if I remember?”
She exhaled sharply, half a sigh, half a scoff. “I should’ve stayed in bed instead.”
Romance chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You say that like I wouldn’t have shown up at your door anyway.”
Yena didn’t dignify that with a response. She turned slightly, scanning the street as if it might offer her an escape route. But there was none. Just him and the night.
Then, as if struck by inspiration, Romance snapped his fingers. “Namsan Tower.”
Yena turned back slowly, brows raised. “Seriously?”
He nodded, eyes gleaming. “It’s romantic. Lots of couples go there to do Love Locks. You know, write their names on a padlock, attach it to the fence, seal their fate. Very poetic.”
He started walking, already picturing the scene, hands tucked into his pockets again like he had all the time in the world, but Yena didn’t move.
“Romance,” she said, her voice low and firm.
He paused mid-step, glancing back.
“Namsan Tower is crawling with people,” she continued. “Tourists. Fans. Cameras. You and I showing up there together? That’s a headline waiting to happen.”
Romance raised a brow. “Let me guess, you're worried about your image?”
“I’m worried about both of ours,” she said. “We’re rivaling idols. We’re not supposed to be seen like that. Not ever.”
He considered her words, the smirk fading slightly. The streetlight caught the edge of his jaw, casting a shadow that made him look older, more thoughtful.
“Hmm, there's more to that," he said, more gently this time. "Is it because of the Love Locks?”
Yena looked away, her gaze drifting toward the distant skyline. “It’s too soon.”
There was a pause. Not awkward, but weighted. He watched her, truly watched her. The way her shoulders tensed, the way her fingers fidgeted in distress. She wasn’t just protecting their reputations. She was protecting herself.
Romance nodded slowly, the teasing edge in his voice softening. “Alright. I understand, no need to worry about it.”
He looked up at the sky, then back at her, something more sincere flickering in his eyes. “How about a boat ride?”
Yena blinked. “Boat ride?”
“The Han River,” he said. “It's quiet. No cameras. Just water and stars.”
She hesitated. A boat ride wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense. It was quiet, isolated from everything, yet safe. And right now, safe sounded good.
“Unless you’re afraid of boats,” he added, smirking again.
“I’m afraid of bad decisions,” she muttered under her breath.
“Then you’re already in trouble,” he said, turning toward the street.
Yena didn’t move right away. She watched him walk a few steps ahead, his posture relaxed, his silhouette framed by the glow of passing headlights. There was something infuriatingly calm about him. Like he knew she’d follow.
And she did. She caught up, walking beside him—not too close, not too far. Just enough space to breathe.
They didn’t speak for a while. The city hummed around them, alive with distant music and laughter and the occasional honk of a taxi. But between them, the silence felt like possibility.
Romance glanced sideways. “You ever been on the river at night?”
Yena shook her head. “Not like this.”
He smiled genuinely for once. “Then it’s a first. I like firsts.”
She didn’t reply, but her lips twitched slightly, betraying the ghost of a smile.
As they neared the dock, the water came into view. Dark and shimmering, reflecting the city like a broken mirror. The boats bobbed gently, waiting.
Romance turned to her, offering his hand. Not mockingly this time, but acting like a true gentleman.
Yena looked at it, then at him, and for once, she didn’t overthink it. She took his hand, and together, they stepped into the boat.
The boat glided across the Han River, its slow, steady rhythm barely disturbing the mirrored surface of the water. City lights shimmered in long, broken ribbons, stretching toward the horizon like memories too distant to grasp. Above them, the moon hung low and pale, casting a soft glow over the deck where Yena and Romance sat, separated by only a few feet and a thousand unspoken things.
Yena leaned against the railing, the velvet hem of her dress catching the light in subtle waves. Her fingers traced the edge of the bench absentmindedly, as if grounding herself in the present. Romance sat across from her, one leg stretched out, the other bent casually, his arm draped over the backrest. He looked relaxed, almost bored, but his eyes flicked toward her more often than he realized.
For a while, neither spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was the kind that settles between people who’ve seen too much and are still deciding what to share. The hum of the motor was a lullaby, the breeze a gentle hand brushing past them.
Then Romance broke the quiet with a smirk tugging at his lips.
“You ever been chased through a subway tunnel by fans?” he asked, voice light, teasing.
Yena blinked, caught off guard by the statement. “What?”
He chuckled. “I was young, thought I could sneak out early and get a break. One girl spotted me and screamed. The rest followed. I ended up hiding behind an old vending machine for forty minutes.”
Yena burst into laughter, covering her mouth. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I was wearing a shirt with my name on the back,” he added, deadpan. “Not my brightest moment.”
She shook her head, still laughing. “I once tripped on stage during a live broadcast. My heel got caught in the mic cord. I fell so hard, the audio cut out.”
Romance raised an eyebrow. “Did you cry?”
“I got up and bowed,” she said proudly. “Then cried backstage.”
Their laughter mingled with the wind, soft and fleeting. For a moment, they were just two people sharing stories—no demons, no fame, no burdens. Just the kind of warmth that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
But the quiet returned, and this time it felt heavier.
Romance’s smile faded slowly. His gaze drifted to the water, then to the moon, then back to her. Something shifted in his posture, less performative, more exposed.
“I wasn’t always like this,” he said quietly.
Yena turned to him, her expression softening. “Like what?”
He hesitated; the words caught somewhere between memory and shame.
“I wasn’t always a demon. I was made into one.”
The air seemed to be still around them, and even the river felt quieter. She waited for him to continue.
Romance’s voice lowered, rough around the edges. “Gwi-ma found me through Jinu when I was at my worst. I was trying the hardest to make a name for myself, but failed. He offered a resolution. A way for me to gain control over my pending but doomed life.”
He looked down at his hands, flexing them like they still remembered the chains. “But it wasn’t controlled by me at all. I was a slave to my selfish desires. I became popular, loved by all, and he used it against me. Every time I wanted something, he twisted it.”
Yena’s chest tightened. She could hear the ache in his voice, the way it trembled beneath the surface.
“I hated it,” he whispered. “I hated myself. I hated how easy it was to become something monstrous.”
She didn’t make any remarks or comments, choosing to withhold her hunter philosophies to herself as she wanted to sympathize with his past like any regular human would. Instead, she moved gently, crossed the small space between them, and wrapped her arms around him.
Romance stiffened. Not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t know how to receive it. Her embrace was warm, it was steady and real. It didn’t ask anything of him. It didn’t recoil.
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in many, many forlorn years, something inside him cracked. Not painfully, but softly, like a lock coming undone. His heartbeat is faster than usual. It felt dangerous, yet he wanted to feel it more.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her.
“Why aren’t you repulsed?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
Yena met his gaze, her eyes steady and clear.
“Because you didn’t deserve any of it,” she said with a look of pity in her gaze. “And you’re not the monster he made you.”
Romance stared at her, and for once, he didn’t have a clever reply.
ns216.73.217.19da2
and then Add to home screen.