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Romance sat motionless, the silence between them stretching like a thread pulled taut. The river beside them murmured, indifferent to the storm gathering in his chest. Yena had stepped back, just enough to give him space, but the warmth of her touch lingered like a ghost.
He stared at her, not with the predator’s gaze he’d perfected over decades, but with something far more dangerous. Something fragile. Something human.
His heart thudded against his ribs, erratic and unfamiliar. It was a sound he hadn’t truly heard in years, not since he’d buried it beneath layers of charm, cruelty, and cold obedience. But now it roared in his ears, a traitor’s drumbeat.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She was a mission. A soul meant to be twisted, corrupted, turned into something useless. That was the task, and Romance had accepted it without hesitation, because he was good at this. Because he didn’t feel anymore, his heart had been hollow for so long, he’d forgotten what it meant to ache.
But now, she was suddenly in it. He couldn’t afford that.
She’s not supposed to make me feel.
But she did. With every glance, every word, every moment of quiet between them. She made him feel, and he hated it, but he craved it so badly.
Romance turned his gaze away, jaw clenched, trying to steady the chaos inside him. The stars above blinked like distant witnesses, their light cool and unbothered. He wanted to disappear into that sky, dissolve into something that didn’t have a name or a purpose or a heart.
I should finish what I started, before I can't...
But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.
His thoughts spiraled, tangled in memories he’d locked away—of chains, of hunger, of Gwi-ma’s voice whispering promises and humiliation that tasted like ash. He remembered the first time he was told to break someone, how easy it had been. How clean and satisfying it was.
This was not that. This was messy and dangerous, as he had underestimated Yena too much.
And then a flicker. Barely visible, but unmistakable.
His patterns, the demon markings that normally were dormant and hidden beneath his guise, had flared for a split second. A pulse of violet ink splashed from his hands to his arms, then to his neck. It was involuntary, a betrayal of his control of the illusion.
Yena’s eyes widened.
“Romance,” she said softly, her voice threading through the night. “Your patterns…”
He snapped out of it. His head turned sharply, eyes locking onto hers with a suddenness that felt like an impact.
“What?” he asked, too quickly, too sharply.
She pointed, fingers hovering near his hands. “They flickered just now.”
Romance looked down, then touched the spot instinctively. It had vanished by now, but the image remained. He could still feel it like heat beneath the skin, a reminder of his shame.
He swallowed hard. Though Yena had seen it all before, during the fight in the bathhouse, she hadn't seen them up close. Yet, the thought of her seeing it again in a situation like this repulses him.
Yena’s gaze didn’t waver. She wasn’t afraid, and she wasn’t pulling away.
When she was going to ask about his patterns, he gave her a dismissive shrug, the kind meant to close a door without slamming it.
“Random habit,” he said, voice low and almost bored. “Don't mind it though.”
But his fingers twitched as he said it. A subtle flex, like he was resisting the urge to cover them.
Yena didn’t believe him. Not for a second, but she didn’t press. She knew that look in his eyes. The one that said he was already halfway gone, retreating into the shadows of his mind. If she pushed, he would never entertain her curiosity.
So, she let it go.
The boat was dimly lit by a lantern, the soft hum of the boat’s engine the only sound between them. Outside, the river stretched endlessly, reflecting the blurred lights of the city like a dream half-remembered.
She folded her hands in her lap, fingers interlaced tightly. Her eyes flicked toward Romance, then away. She wanted to understand. She wanted to ask what those markings meant, why they seemed to shimmer when he was frustrated or upset. But more than that, she wanted to understand the misery behind it. The way he seemed to carry such shame as if it were a second skin.
And yet, she said nothing, because she was afraid. Afraid that if she spoke, he’d remember what she was meant to do to demons like him. That he’d stop looking at her like she was something more than a hunter.
Romance sat across from her, legs slightly apart, elbows resting on his knees. His posture was casual, but his eyes were anything but. Every few minutes, he glanced at her. Not subtly. Not shyly. His gaze was direct, intense, and unflinching.
She felt it like heat against her skin, like the weight of a confession that hadn’t yet been spoken. She tried to look elsewhere at the water, at the skyline, but his gaze followed her like a tide.
Her fingers fidget as her voice spoke low, "You can tell me. I'll listen to whatever it is."
She didn’t know what he wanted, but she knew he wanted. And that terrified her, because she wanted it, too.
She wanted him to speak, to let her in. She wanted to know what made him flinch when she got too close, what made him look at her like she was between salvation and threat. The silence became a third presence in the landscape. Not empty, but full of questions neither dared voice, full of truths neither dared claim.
"That depends on the exchange, but I don't think either of us even wants to speak our minds just yet..."
He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving her. There was no mask now. No smirk. No deflection. Just raw, unfiltered yearning. The kind that came from wanting something forbidden. From knowing that to reach for it would be to lose everything else.
Yena’s breath caught. She looked away, heart pounding, throat tight. Her fingers gripped the edge of her seat, knuckles white. She felt exposed, like he could see every thought she wasn’t saying. Every fear. Every longing.
She didn’t know how much time had passed.
Ten minutes?
Thirty?
An hour?
It didn’t matter. Time had folded in on itself, stretching and compressing around the silence. They kept glancing at each other, then looking away. Around the way, neither of them moved, as if movement would shatter whatever fragile thing was holding them together.
Romance’s gaze softened, but it didn’t waver. He looked at her like he was memorizing her. Like he was trying to decide whether to speak or disappear.
And Yena, despite herself, stayed in the hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d choose to admit something.
The silence between them was no longer just quiet—it was loaded. Dense. Like the calm before a storm, thick with things unsaid. Yena sat with her arms folded loosely, her gaze fixed on the water beyond the railing, but her mind was nowhere near the river.
Neither of them spoke, but the tension was palpable, humming like a string pulled too tight.
Then, without warning, he sang.
It wasn’t theatrical. It wasn’t even deliberate. The verse slipped from him like a sigh he couldn’t hold back, low and raw, barely louder than the wind.
(Reference: Forbidden Fruit — Tommee Profitt, Sam Tinnesz & Brooke)
Every inch the fire gets closer.99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMSbHWoiP6j
It's in my blood, it's never over99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiVqcE9Dive
Like a twisted, tangled rope, can't let go99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmR9wLxiXjs
I feel my flesh, it's getting weaker99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSC8siGElBW
Every breath takes me deeper99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0MgzRBkdgk
It's not hard to lose control, no99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡA6aH5NIJdw
I try to run, but there's no hope
Yena’s head turned sharply, her breath catching in her throat. His voice was soft but sharp, and she hadn’t expected that. It was angelic, almost painfully so. Pure, resonant, threaded with a kind of aching vulnerability that made her chest tighten. It was the kind of voice that didn’t belong to demons. It belonged to the choirs. To lullabies. In the sort of pain that turns beautiful when sung.
Temptation, I can't escape you, escape you99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡchf2Qmtn5y
Desire, you're my forbidden fruit, forbidden fruit...
Romance faltered. His voice trailed off mid-line, and he looked down, ashamed. He hadn’t meant to reveal so much, as if the song had betrayed him.
She didn’t want to be enchanted, but she was...
The lyrics were dangerous. They spoke of losing control, of desire creeping in like smoke, of a hunger he couldn’t name. She wanted to recoil. She tried to remind herself who he was and what he was, but she couldn’t look away. His voice wrapped around her ears to her heart like velvet, sinful and soft, and something inside her responded before she could stop it.
She sang in response.
Her voice emerged slowly, like light breaking through fog. Soft, deliberate, matching his tone and vocal range with eerie precision. It was angelic, yes—but also intimate. Vulnerable. Her voice didn’t just echo his, it answered him.
I've had a taste, there's nothing sweeter99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeGLMcIVQBo
On my lips, I've kissed the reaper99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhy78XXpQhw
Is it worth losing my soul, no99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAhAAIe1yqh
We dance inside a burning room99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBjYqGyeMUH
There's no way out, there's no way through99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡS09EWco4TQ
I've reached the end of every road99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLEkgMfjv5E
It's so much stronger than you know
Romance’s eyes snapped up, startled. She was responding. Her verse was a confession wrapped in melody, admitting that the temptation he represented was working. That she couldn’t escape him forever. Her voice trembled slightly on the last note, not from fear but from truth.
The tension between them shifted. It didn’t break. It deepened. They didn’t plan on singing such a song, but they are idols. Singing was what they shared, whether in passion or occupation, and they both knew it.
Their voices rose together, outspokenly aligned, harmonizing in a way that felt inevitable. The melody was haunting, the lyrics a mirror held between them.
Temptation, I can't escape you, escape you!99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUD3SM1yVLO
Desire, you're my forbidden fruit, forbidden fruit!
Their tones blended—his darker tenor, hers brighter mezzo soprano—but the resonance was perfect. It was the kind of harmony that only happens when two souls stop pretending. When the walls fall and allow them to express themselves louder than any other feeling.99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxA7o597SN6
99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZUOsBRueKS
You're my downfall99Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrOZcDvSAW8
Downfall...
The final note of their impromptu duet hung in the air like mist. Fragile, shimmering, impossible to ignore. It lingered between them, vibrating in the silence, echoing in the hollow spaces they’d both tried to protect. Yena’s breath was shallow, her lips parted, her heart thudding against her ribs like it was trying to escape. Romance stood frozen, his eyes locked on hers, wide with something that looked like awe and something far more dangerous.
Neither of them moved.
Not at first.
But the silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was charged. Alive. Every second stretched, thick with everything they hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to feel. The song had cracked something open, and now there was no going back.
Romance stepped forward.
Not cautiously. Not hesitantly. His movements were deliberate, driven by something deeper than desire—something desperate. Yena didn’t retreat. Her body tensed, but she didn’t move away. Her eyes stayed on his, daring him to cross the line they’d both danced around for too long.
And he did so.
His hand reached for her waist, fingers curling around the fabric of her dress like he needed to anchor himself. His other hand rose to her cheek, trembling slightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Yena’s breath hitched. Her skin burned where he touched her, and her heart screamed at her to run, but her body leaned in.
His lips crashed into hers with a hunger that had been simmering beneath every glance, every word, every note. It wasn’t careful. It was raw, messy, and full of everything he hadn’t allowed himself to feel.
Yena gasped against his mouth, but she didn’t pull away. She kissed him back with equal intensity, her hands gripping his shoulders, her body pressing into his like she’d been waiting for this, craving it. Their mouths moved together in a rhythm that felt instinctual, primal, like music they hadn’t rehearsed but somehow knew by heart.
She tasted the storm in him. The intent and the ache.
And he tasted the longing in her. The resistance at first, then the surrender.
Their kiss deepened, grew more frantic. Yena’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and Romance groaned softly against her lips, his grip tightening around her waist. They were no longer holding back. Every emotion they’d buried, fear, desire, shame, hope. All poured into the way they touched, the way they breathed each other in like lifelines.
Time blurred. The world outside the boat disappeared. There was only this moment.
Then, slowly, Romance pulled back.
Just a breath’s distance.
His eyes searched hers, dark and burning, but softened by something fragile. Yena’s lips were swollen, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Her expression was open, raw, and impossibly beautiful.
Romance leaned in again.
This time, the kiss was slower. Gentler. His lips brushed hers like a promise, like a question he already knew the answer to. Yena melted into it, her hands still holding him close, her body responding with quiet urgency. Their mouths moved in a softer rhythm now—less about hunger, more about recognition.
It was no longer about desire. It was about the ache of being seen and the danger of being known.
When they finally parted, their foreheads rested against each other, breaths mingling, hearts pounding in sync. Neither of them spoke. But everything had changed.
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