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Chapter Text

Byeong-ho never thought it would take dying and waking up in the demon realm to find people who would love him as he is, not who he’s “supposed” to be.

But here he is.

For a long time there was no Byeong-ho.

Or well, there was… but he was buried beneath the fact everyone expected him to be someone else. Someone quiet, docile, polite, delicate, female.

There was a name he had before (even if he can’t remember what it is) and with it came expectations. Expectations to be the little sister who would support his older brothers. Expectations to fill the role their mother left when she passed away after giving birth to him. Expectations to be a homemaker, a woman.

Anything he did that went against these roles was believed to be an unfortunate consequence of being raised in a house with five men and no female role model. He didn’t feel like a girl, even at a young age, but everyone made it clear that he wasn’t a boy.

He was stuck. Trapped. Wrong. 

He remained trapped when the war broke out, and his four brothers were conscripted into the army, leaving Byeong-ho home with only his father, who made it increasingly clear what his role was supposed to be as the “woman” of the house.

Even at 18, his father refused to allow him the option to volunteer for the army or move out (it’s not like he had any money to do so anyways, and his father refused for him to have any other men in his life.) He was trapped at home, the same way his brothers became trapped by the law that required them to fight. As terrifying as it could be to think about serving on the front lines, Byeong-ho couldn’t help but wish he was in his brothers’ place, to be allowed out of the house, to be able to help his country, to fight, to be a man.

(To be something other than his father’s toy. His father’s pet. His father’s favorite.)

Eventually, it became too much, and he took his father’s time at work as an excuse to leave. To be free, even if only for a little bit. He finally was able to explore, dressed in his brothers’ clothes to obscure his identity, he explored town, something he was only ever allowed to do when accompanied by someone else (which his father made very clear.)

That first day, while he was out, he finally felt free. Not just because he wasn’t being loomed over by his father and the way he could only ever see Byeong-ho as a replacement for his mother. Not just because he was able to go out with his long hair concealed and chest bound under his brother’s shirt. But because he discovered music.

Sure, he had heard records at home before, but this was his first time being able to see it performed live, and it was amazing.

The three women on stage had a way of singing that reached into his soul, elevating people who had an aura of melancholy looming over them due to the uncertainty that came with war. Their dance movements seemed almost supernatural, and he could swear the air seemed to grow lighter as their song went on.

It gave Byeong-ho a sense of euphoria not too dissimilar to how it felt when he looked in the mirror after putting on his brother’s clothes, and with it came the clear thought in his mind:

I want to do that.

And this gave Byeong-ho a direction, a purpose, a light at the end of the tunnel of expectations and pain. 

He kept sneaking out, finding bars and stages to watch people perform on, finding quiet places where he could practice on his own. Dancing was something he had never tried much of before, but he picked up on it insanely fast (even if he had to wear less… confining clothes to do it safely.) Contorting his body and moving on beat just felt natural, and even if the body he was in still didn’t feel like his, it gave him something else to focus on (other than just how wrong it was, how curved it was, how small he was, how he could still feel the touches of-)

There were times still where every movement he made just reminded him of the fact that something about him was wrong, times where it felt like he was being crushed, but he tried to ignore that in favor of the euphoria he felt while dancing.

And singing… he couldn’t deny that sometimes the sound of his own voice sent waves of discomfort through him (because why did he sound like that?) but from an objective standpoint he also knew… he sang well . 

(Ultimately, dancing felt more freeing because it didn’t care about what gender he was born as. While with singing it was still something that loomed over him.) 

In regards to gender, Byeong-ho’s time in crowds and bars, meeting all different types of people that his father never would have let him associate with before, allowed him to get a better understanding of who he was.

Transsexuals: people born in the body of one gender but felt like the other.

It was something that was often only whispered about, and considered taboo, but the fact that such people existed, that his experiences weren’t necessarily unheard of was… nice .

(And devastating when he found out in some countries surgeries existed so people could feel more in line with their inner selves. Crushing because these were not yet popularized in the Republic. Crushing because even if they were, he knows his father would never allow it.)

Ultimately, it was something he tried to push aside in favor of performance, using the euphoria he felt while dancing to relieve the crushing feeling he felt in his chest. 

And eventually, it got him the attention of an upstart group that was looking for a backup dancer. Costume aside (which he traded out for baggy clothes whenever he got the chance and refused to look at reflective surfaces while wearing), the fact he was able to do something he had grown to love was amazing (even more so when they didn’t question the clothes he wore after performances, or the way he would change privately rather than in the locker room, or the fact that after not too long the costumes they gave him to wear became less revealing and more gender-neutral.)

Any chance he had to not be home he took, because being away meant he could forget. Forget the fact that his brothers were fighting in a war and he hadn’t heard back from some in months. Forget the fact that his father saw him as nothing more than a replacement for his late wife. Forget the fact that his father has never loved him , and his brothers may never get the chance to.

Dancing, he could be someone else. And after not too long he also was asked to perform backing vocals (something that was less uncomfortable than singing by his lonesome because at least then his voice wasn’t front and center for him to hear and critique.)

And he started making money. Through gigs hiring him, through tips people would leave. The fact he was able to make money from this made him finally feel like his own person, rather than someone who was being puppeteered and unable to live their own life (even though it did feel like he was still outside of his own body at times.)

But of course, with comfort came sloppiness. Came mistakes.

Gwi-Ma tends to pick and choose which memories he lets his cursed souls keep.

It was something Byeong-ho suspected early on in his time with the demon realm, and only further cemented when he met others like him, other ex-humans. Other jeoseung saja.

Because the good times were hard to hold on to. He couldn’t remember the stages or bars he performed in. The kind faces he met. The people who made him feel like he had a community. The music groups that allowed him a place. His brother’s names or faces or attributes (which one didn’t like beans? Which ones would always treat him like an equal? Which one did he sneak into town with that one time?)

It was foggy, like facts he knew from someone else’s life. Impersonal. Distant. Not his.

But he could remember the feeling of self-hatred that coursed through him every time he looked in the mirror, every time a piece of clothing was just too tight on him. He could remember his father’s face, hands, voice. He could remember the amount of nights he spent shaking or throwing up, he could remember wishing everything would just end.

He could remember the day all his happiness finally caught up to him.

Vividly.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” A cold, male voice asks the second Byeong-ho steps through the front door. And the voice makes him freeze, because this man shouldn’t be home. This man was supposed to be away for another two days. 

This man never sounded like this. He tended to wear a mask of false happiness, luring people into a feeling of safety, rather than sounding so outright dangerous.

He could afford to though, because he knew when it came to Byeong-ho he didn’t need to lure in his prey, Byeong-ho was already caught.

Still, the flier in Dae-sung’s hands made Byeong-ho feel like his world was going to collapse (if it hadn’t already), because he knew that flier. He knew what it said. He had just come from that event himself.

And so, it seems, has his father.

“I-”

“And what do you think you’re wearing, ____ ?” 

(Byeong-ho can’t remember his old name. One of the few mercies Gwi-Ma gave him for some odd reason.) 

His father’s eyes trace over his body, now covered in baggy clothes Byeong-ho had borrowed from one of his brothers. And from the look of disgust on the older man’s face, he can tell that Dae-sung doesn’t like what he sees.

“You sneak out. Of my house. Dress up and dance like some geolle gateun nyeon , and come home wearing your brothers’ clothes, looking like a dyke?!”

“Father-”

“Are you trying to disrespect your family? Your brothers? Me?! You were told to do one simple thing and you can’t even do that?! ”

He’s getting closer, grabbing onto Byeong-ho’s arms tightly, and Byeong-ho can’t move, can’t breathe. He’s stuck. Frozen. Trapped.

“The only person you’re allowed to be a maechunbu for is me, remember? You’re mine. ”

His father moves even closer, breath going right into Byeong-ho’s face, the scent of budae-jjigae from the man’s dinner still strong. And there isn’t room for Byeong-ho to back away, already pressed against the door that he stupidly let close behind him.

The rest that happens follows the format of what has happened countless other nights, but with it comes a more intense pain. Because Byeong-ho is reminded that in the end there is no escape. That he’s too weak to be anything but his father’s “good girl.” 

The one safe place he had has been breached, and the idea of going back to perform on stage, knowing his father could be in the audience, fills him with nausea.

“You’re too weak to escape on your own, but I can help you. I can make you strong. Make you something other than that terrified little girl who hides under the covers whenever daddy comes knocking. I can make you into someone most people wouldn’t dare mess with. The epitome of a man.”

Lying on the floor shaking, disgusting from the events of the night and unable to think beyond the screams in his mind that he should run, that he should have fought, the voice comes to him.

It sounds like a dream, like everything he ever wanted. Too good to be true.

But he doesn’t have much he can lose.

The hand of whispered promises reaches out to him, and Byeong-ho takes it.

And that’s when Byeong-ho is born. That is when he trades his life from one abuser to another, even if he hadn’t realized it quite yet.

Still, he can’t give himself to completely regret it. There are things his father did that Gwi-Ma never does.

Plus, even if his body is ultimately a gift from Gwi-Ma, it still feels more like his than his old body ever did.

Running from home, it doesn’t hit Byeong-ho until he’s halfway into town that he doesn’t have a place to stay.

It doesn’t matter. Byeong-ho would take even the streets over spending another night in that house. Thankfully, the meager amount of cash he made from performing is enough to get him a spot in a hotel for a few nights.

And it’s in the privacy of a moldy, single hotel room, he is able to see the extent of the changes his body has undergone, making it clear that whatever voice he heard wasn’t lying or made up.

It can’t be, because the growing muscles on his arms and abdomen feel real, feel hard. The sacks of fat on his chest that used to only bring discomfort morph into firm pecs. 

The clothes that were once baggy are now straining against his new musculature. His face has hardened out and become more angular. He’s grown over half a foot in height. The only remnants of the person he once was was his amber eyes and long, dark hair.

Which he promptly cuts, wrapping a towel around himself and going down to the innkeeper’s to borrow some scissors, as well as some clothes from the lost and found that can better contain his body.

His abs. Because he has abs. Abs most men could only dream of.

Going downstairs in nothing but a towel doesn’t even bring with it a sense of discomfort, because this body no longer is a source of shame, but a source of pride. 

Pride. Because this body is art. This body is perfection. This body is strong. And nobody would dare say otherwise.

(An outside observer would say Byeong-ho’s body isn’t the only thing that changed when he accepted Gwi-Ma’s offer, but Byeong-ho wouldn’t care.)

(This picture of strength he has become is better than that weak individual he was before.)

Despite this version of Byeong-ho having never been seen before, he somehow manages to get jobs even quicker than he did before.

Maybe it’s because the town is lacking young men in general, given the ongoing war. Maybe it’s because Byeong-ho’s body seems like something out of a magazine (and beauty sells). Maybe it’s because men just have an easier time getting hired and gaining popularity than women.

Whatever the reason, Byeong-ho reaps the benefits, becoming a visual focus and lead dancer rather than someone who supported from the background. 

And his voice-

The first time he speaks, he is shocked, because that deep voice is his. It doesn’t make him cringe or nauseous, it sounds like him. Like the kind of person he wants to be. 

And the same thing happens when he sings, because it sounds like him. 

Dancing and singing bring him even more joy, even more euphoria, because this is his .

Revealing clothing no longer becomes the source of dread, but the source of honor. Because it doesn’t bother him to dress like this. Other people like him dressing like this.

And it’s nice, because he feels like he can finally breathe after spending so long smothered by layers upon layers of clothing.

For a while he feels untouchable, because he’s finally strong. He smiles off propositions when they get too real, waves off hands that linger too close. 

And when someone finally does touch him?

He snaps their wrist.

(Just like he wishes he could have with his father.)

More people fawn over him than his old self, but at least none of them are him. And discomfort is beat over by the fact that anyone he approaches he could take in a fight (the cautious, buried part of him tries to remind him that he’s not untouchable, that physical strength doesn’t always win out, that things can still happen, but the strength he didn’t have before is so apparent that it’s easy to feel invulnerable.)

But that bubble of safety breaks when he wakes up after a show and one too many drinks in some unnamed woman’s bed.

(He’d never slept with a woman before then, especially not while using his new equipment, and after this incident that he couldn’t even remember, he never did again.)

He throws up in the bed, picks up his clothes, and leaves the room before the woman can even wake up. He doesn’t want to see her face, doesn’t want to hear her excuses. He takes the crumb of control he had and leaves, something he never had the opportunity to do before.

When he gets back to his hotel room (which has become more of a pseudo-apartment after staying there for months), he takes a long shower, washing the hands off of him, dresses in one of the few pairs of baggy clothes he has, and crawls into bed. He avoids looking in the mirror, disgust crawling on him for the first time in this new body, something he hoped he had left with the person he once was. 

(But if he had looked he’d have seen purple markings starting to stretch up his arms and along his abs. Shame stronger than ever, because his body being strong wasn’t enough. In the end he’s still weak.)

After this, he takes more notice of the eyes that follow his body. The hands that come too close. Every person is a threat. And shame fills him with each night, each time he flinches away from someone who ends up being seemingly harmless. Because he should be stronger than this.

But he’s not.

He’s still weak.

And his father returns just to make sure he knows it.

“You gaejasig ! You killed my daughter!”

Byeong-ho is slammed against the walls of an alleyway before his body can even freeze up at recognition of who is speaking.

Despite the fact he’s now taller than his father, he feels just as small as he always has. And he hates it.

He is supposed to be stronger now. He’s supposed to be someone other than this human landfill’s “good girl.” 

He shouldn’t freeze. Not this time. Not when he actually has power.

As Dae-sung continues to yell about how Byeong-ho “killed his little girl”, Byeong-ho realizes just how weak this feeble old man is. He doesn’t need to bend to people anymore. The fact he did for so long is pathetic.

And he’s done being pathetic.

He pushes his father back against the opposite wall, slamming his head so hard against it that he hears a crack.

And then there is blood. So much blood. (He didn’t know head wounds bled so much.)

As he backs away, his father’s limp body falls to the ground, and Byeong-ho is just left staring at it.

He did that. He killed this man. This monster.

Then why does he still feel so weak?

(It won’t change. It will never change. It doesn’t matter what he does. He’ll always be the scared girl, crying when the sun sets and the lights go out, waiting for the monster to creep into her room once again.)

As blood drips down his father’s head, patterns creep up Byeong-ho’s own. It burns. It hurts. (He barely feels it.)

He’s drowning, he can barely breathe. Everything feels so heavy that it’s hard to even see through his screaming thoughts.

At some point he passes out, whether it’s from the shock, the pain of the patterns, or demonic intervention he doesn’t know.

But he must go unconscious at some point, because when he opens his eyes again he’s somewhere entirely different. 

At first Byeong-ho is only able to pick up a couple things about the new world he’s in.

One: the voice he heard is some powerful being called Gwi-Ma, and he knows this because he keeps hearing the voice. Mocking him for every moment of weakness, every time he wasn’t strong enough to stop something. How even in the end, he was ruled by fear. He knows this because he hears other demons (because that’s what he is now, he’s a demon) whisper his name in reverence and fear.

Two: this realm is crowded , yet very few people (or demons? Is he still a person?) look like him (and he doesn’t just mean that they don’t have as large abs.) 

While Byeong-ho is undoubtedly not human anymore, this is mostly shown in his grey-toned skin, patterned skin (and he was so stupid for not worrying more about those when he was human), fangs, pink hair, gold eyes, and claws. Some of the other demons here, while sharing similar patterns, seem to look a lot less human.

Seem to act a lot less human.

He doesn’t know if it’s because they’ve been down here so long, if that’s what he’s doomed to become, or because there are different kinds of demons, kinds that are “less human.” (He wouldn’t know until Su explains it to him, until Baek goes into depth about the demon hierarchy that exists here, until Min-seo answers questions he never even thought to ask in whispers.)

For a while he is just… existing. Letting the memories and demeaning words separate him from the present. Part of him feels hungry. But he doesn’t know if he needs to eat, doesn’t see the point of doing so (if he’s already a demon can he really die from hunger? Is the pain of hunger here nothing but another form of torture?)

He sleeps in an alleyway, covering himself up to avoid garnering any attention (he already stands out in a crowd because of whatever type of demon he is, and the abs are an immediate eye catcher.)

Eventually he gets too hungry though, and the question of testing if he can die is outweighed by the need to make the pain stop. 

Watching the comings and goings of the marketplace, he can see there is some kind of currency in this world, but different than the one he’s used to.

Still, money is money, and he does what he usually does to try and make some extra cash, he performs. He takes his shirt off. He lets people’s eyes latch onto him, onto his body.

(It makes his skin crawl, but there is a power in owning what has hurt him for so long. A revolution of sorts.)

He gets a couple propositions, but he can’t bring himself to take them. (Saying yes feels like he’s giving up his ability to say no.)

But then, some demon, looking not too dissimilar from Byeong-hon approaches him. He looks more human than most of the demons Byeong-hon has seen, but there was an unnatural beauty about him. He was gorgeous in a way that felt impossible, features delicate but not breakable. Long pink hair (did it change like Byeong-hon’s or was it pink as a human too) luscious and soft.

“Hi, gorgeous.”

And Byeong-hon has heard this line before, but the look on this demon’s face seems different, less hungry and more performative, like he’s putting on a show while he looks for something specific.

And he seems to find it, because after Byeong-hon feels his body involuntarily move back a bit at his words, the demon’s smirk lessens, there is a flicker of something else in his golden eyes. Understanding. 

Compassion.

When the demon directs him towards an alley with nothing but his eyes, respecting Byeong-ho’s desire to not touch him, Byeong-ho follows. When he asks him in a softer voice, less confident and flirty and more real, what his name is, Byeong-hon answers. And he answers in kind.

Su-hyeon. Su. (“Beauty” which fits so incredibly well, and did his name change when Su became a demon, or was this name always so well fitting?)

And when Su asks him if he has food, has a place to stay, Byeong-ho answers honestly (and maybe that’s stupid, but something about this demon feels genuine in a way he hasn’t seen in so long, both as a demon and a human.)

“What’s the catch?” He asks the other demon, because even as a human he knows most things don’t come without a catch, and in the demon realm that only seems more true.

But Su just gives a cocky smile in response.

“No catch. Not unless you want there to be.”

Byeong-hon is offered another hand, but instead of it being whispered promises in his mind, it’s physical, clawed, but ever so delicate. It’s real.

At the time it was possible he was making another mistake, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It’s a chance he’s willing to take. Because he hurts. He’s tired. He’s alone.

And later on he is able to admit it’s one of the best decisions he ever made, both as a demon and a human.

Chapter Text

The orphanage named him Su-hyeon because they thought it would be funny.

“Beautiful.” “Worthy.” Two things people never thought him to be.

(From the moment he was born, people found him ugly, worthless, trash. A mother is supposed to love their child, yet his threw him away the second he exited her body. Eager to rid herself of him like a person is eager to rid themselves of a dirty sock.)

He’d never know what it was about him that made everyone he came across want to throw him away. Was it because his ears were too big? Or because he was built a little too awkwardly? Was his forehead too big? His it because his hair was thin and somehow orange ?

Was there just a sign pinned to his back or floating above him? Something that just said “CAUTION: DO NOT APPROACH”

Whatever the reason, one of the few constants in Su-hyeon’s life was that nobody ever stayed close to him for long. 

Making friends proved impossibly difficult. He struggled to talk to people. He never seemed to say the right thing. Two people would be chatting but the second Su-hyeon joined in, everything would die down. Sometimes it would feel like everyone spoke a different language, which Su-hyeon only thought he could understand. They were performing a play with a script, and Su-hyeon was the only one without one, forced to improvise without knowing what the play was about.

He was constantly on the outside looking in. And not being able to converse with people didn’t make for anyone jumping at the opportunity to adopt him. (Most prospective parents tended to ignore him entirely, because it was easier to pretend he didn’t exist than it was to deal with him (at least… that’s what his own biological parents must have thought.))

There was something wrong with him. Something he couldn’t name but everyone else could sense. Following him around like a bad smell.

And it hurt. Because he wanted someone he could connect to. He wanted someone who was happy to see him around (rather than being filled with dread or annoyance), someone he could talk to, have fun with. Someone who liked him, regardless of whatever thing was wrong with him. 

Someone who could touch him without treating him like he’s diseased.

He watched other children get adopted and felt that sense of longing. Saw the friendships that some of the kids at the orphanage made and wished they would let him in. Wistfully observed siblings goofing off with each other, and couples holding hands and kissing and just being together and he wanted that.

He wanted love.

Yet it was something that he, for some reason, wasn’t allowed.

Ttongkkochung.

He had gotten a number of insults before, but he was fourteen when he heard that one for the first time. (After over a century as a demon, memories tend to blur together, but Gwi-ma always made sure he could remember that . (That and him.) )

He was out in the village, and had seen a group of guys his own age standing together, talking about playing some kind of game.

And Su-hyeon was stupid . Because despite getting brushed off in the past by others, he approached them. The loneliness was crushing him that day. He’d overheard one of the people running the orphanage talking about him and how he obviously would never get chosen, how much a shame it was they were stuck with him.

Approaching the group of boys had been desperate and a last ditch attempt. He thought the worst they could do was dismiss him like everyone always did, either by telling him to go away, or by making it clear that while their words said “yes” they really meant “no.” But honestly he didn’t care. Because there was a chance. Maybe he could finally do something right.

But when he asked if he could play, they laughed , and one of the bolder boys stepping right into his face to say: “Why would we want to play with a greasy ttongkkochung like you ?”

The word brought with it confusion. Because he had never heard that word before. He had no idea what it meant. But the way it was spit at him beat out the way any other word had been thrown at him before. 

Before he could figure it out though, the boys abandoned the plans for the game they were about to play in favor of a new one, ‘Beat Up the Freak.’

And as he took kicks to his stomach and back, fists to his weird, greasy hair, spit to his face, and jeering laughs from all those around. The confusion turned into horrible realization as they kept shouting things at him.

“Molly.” “Pansy.” “Freak.” “Boy-lover.” “Cock-sucker.” “Dirty.” “Shirt lifter.” “Depraved.”

One of the boys grabbed his face and accused Su-hyeon of having been looking at him funny, asking if he had some kind of crush on him.

That same boy then proceeded to spit in his eye and smack him in the face.

At some point, the pain from the fists and feet drowned out, but the growing ache from the words they continued to pile on to him never did.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, they grew bored and left.

And Su-hyeon laid there until some adult shouted at him to pick himself up and go home, to stop leaving a mess in the street.

He limped home, slowly, words ringing in his ears as his head pounded, as his chest throbbed, as he could barely hold himself upright, as he felt the ghosts of violent hands linger on him.

That was the first time Su-hyeon had been touched by someone in so long, and the thought of someone getting close to him again terrified him. Yet, even more embarrassingly, it continued to be something he yearned for, because those boys were clearly right, there was something wrong with him.

He was a freak. And as he took their abuse, Su-hyeon had learned an unspoken rule that he had somehow completely missed: boys weren’t supposed to like other boys like that. Something was wrong with that.

And he should have realized because the only couples he ever saw about were men and women. People only ever talked about men and women together, never two men. Or two women.

He had missed it. Missed this clearly obvious thing that nobody else even needed to talk about because he was so stupid.

From their words, it seemed it wasn’t even just that men weren’t supposed to do things like that with other men. They weren’t even supposed to think about things like that with other men. But nobody had ever told him that.

When he finally laid in his bed after one of the matrons yelled at him for tracking blood in the house, he did so with a promise to himself: now that he knew that rule he would do his best to follow it. He didn’t know before but he knew now, and he’d tried to be better.

Because they had in part been right, he had thought about boys like that. Because he was wrong. And now that he knew, he could start to fix it.

Because if he fixed himself enough maybe he would finally be worthy of love.

Nothing he did was enough though.

His thighs were scarred from the number of times he would pick at his skin as a way to distract from his wrong thoughts. Some girls caught his interest, it was just… so did a lot of boys.

But even when girls did catch his interest, he didn’t do it right. 

They were “cute” or “pretty” not-

He overheard how some of the other guys talked about girls, and tried to use that as a basis to frame his own thoughts, but it just felt… wrong. Too many times, the girls they talked about were whittled down to nothing but their attributes, talked about like things rather than people and Su-hyeon–

He didn’t understand that. Because if these guys liked them, then shouldn’t they be talked about in a more courteous way? Su-hyeon is used to being diminished to just his looks, and when that happens it’s so people can insult him about them (because it seems easier for people to pick one small thing to insult than insulting the individual as a whole (which could be a testament to their small brains, or could be a testament to the fact that it’s hard to define just what is wrong with him.))

But these guys are supposed to like these girls. And in Su-hyeon’s experience, the only time people are lessened to objects is when they’re something lesser, something wrong. 

(And these girls aren’t like that, they didn’t do anything wrong.)

Using that kind of language, even in his mind, is just… it doesn’t sit right. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t come naturally and he doesn’t like it. 

How can a person only be liked for their body? Or a certain part of their body? How can a body be more important than the individual inside?

Why is his mind just wired so differently? Why can he not just think these things?

He’s not interested enough in girls, and with guys, he’s more interested than he probably should be.

Was this something he was supposed to be taught? Is this something parents are supposed to teach their kids? But if that’s the case, then why do some of the other older kids at the orphanage not have much problems with this? With fitting in?

What integral thing is Su-hyeon missing that would just make him work?

For a while after that Su-hyeon was just alone.

As he got older, he was forced out of the orphanage, and ended up getting a job selling fish at the village market for a family run business (the grandfather used to be the one who worked the stand, but as he got older he reached the point where he needed more assistance), and getting a small, ramshackle place of his own. 

It was a routine, cycling day in and day out through life. Get up, go to work, go home, sleep. Repeat.

The people he interacted with were mostly either customers (who tended to just grab their fish and go), or Chan-nim, who Su-hyeon reported to. Chan-nim wasn’t the warmest person, but the fact he even allowed Su-hyeon to exist in the same space as him and seemed to appreciate his work ethic went a long way. Similar to Su-hyeon in some ways, that family was given a wide berth due to the fact they were personally involved in slaughtering animals (something looked at with disdain given the prevailing Buddhism of the Joseon dynasty… although that wouldn’t stop some people from buying said slaughtered animals. (Besides, this labeling was sort of stupid, Buddhism was going out of fashion anyways.))

Still, it didn’t help Su-hyeon feel much less alone.

But then came Tae. And things stopped making sense.

Kang Tae was one of the younger sons of the Kangs, a well-respected family with both wealth and influence. Jungin. 

Su-hyeon had had run-ins with some of the other Kang sons before, one or two personally having been involved in a beat down he received at a younger age, but Tae was someone he had only ever seen around.

Compared to his older brothers, who had a habit of being loud and instigators, Tae seemed to mind his own business, being much quieter. 

Given all that, it did catch Su-hyeon’s notice when one day Tae was the one to pick up the family’s fish order, as opposed to one of the usuals, but he didn’t think much of it. 

(Didn’t think much of his soft, melodic voice. Or his kind, dark eyes. Or the way his hair had a wave to it. Or the way he held himself like he wasn’t completely sure of his place, even though as a member of the Kangs there was little doubt.)

But then Tae came back, again.

And again.

And again.

At first for the family orders, but then dropping by to pick up much smaller cuts of fish. Sometimes he would drop by to ask if a seasonal fish was in stock and leaving when Su-hyeon responded in the negative (because for some reason Tae kept asking about fish that were sold in the winter in the summer .)

And even odder, Tae started to talk to him. 

Not just about fish, but about other things. How his day was, if he had an opinion on a certain line from a poem or song, what he thought about the ocean, what his favorite food was.

It was… nice. It was comfortable. It was strange.

It became one of Su-hyeon’s favorite things about going to work.

He wasn’t unaware of the fact that they had very different social standings, and if someone were to question their relationship or notice something, that could lead not just to Su-hyeon being asked questions but Tae too. 

So he didn’t push. He refused to. Tae was risking a lot by even talking to him, and Su-hyeon wasn’t going to risk that by greedily asking for more. It was possible Tae was just being nice, and Su-hyeon didn’t want to come off as clingy.

So he tried to ignore the flutter he felt in his chest when their hands touched as money was exchanged and Tae whispered the lines of poems Su-hyeon had never heard before under his breath.

Ignored the way his heart raced when Tae casually handed him a braided, green bracelet, saying that he’d found it and thought of it.

Ignored the way his world froze when Tae asked if he would like to hang out after work, saying he knew a place in the meadow where they could talk in quiet.

He kept ignoring it, until their faces inched closer and they kissed under the stars. And after that it was hard.

Because the songs Tae would sing at night, the songs they began to sing together, became engrained in his bones. Because the way Tae braided his hair and described it as a "beautiful, shiny copper” made Su-hyeon smile every time his hand would later reach for his hair. Because the weight of Tae’s body pressing against his as they laid together, staring at the night sky, made him finally feel at home.

Tae made things make sense. Made Su-hyeon understand what people meant when they talked about certain things.  

Made Su-yeon live in a world where even if he was different, that didn’t have to be a bad thing.

The walls he had spent his life building up began to dissolve. The whispers that rang in his mind telling him he wasn’t enough became harder to make out over the sound of their voices together. Su-hyeon didn’t know how this had happened or how he got so lucky, but the fact he had it at all made him want to savor every moment. He didn’t want to just live life day-after-day as a monotonous cycle, but rather wanted to hold each golden moment he had as if it were beautiful (because it was.)

It made him a bit impulsive, and that’s why one night, as he stared out in the sky as he rested his head on Tae’s chest, Tae’s fingers combing through his hair, he whispered without thinking, “I think I love you.”

He had thought it many times before. He had never been loved, but this is what it must feel like. He doesn’t know how it could get any better.

Tae was like a star in an otherwise completely dark sky, lighting up the night and giving those who looked upon it something to focus on. Without Tae, he wouldn’t know what light even was. Wouldn’t have known that he could see. He would have just assumed he was blind.

But he wasn’t. Because he felt this. He understood. And Tae–

Tae’s hands froze in his hair.

Su-hyeon twists his head a bit so he can look at his lover, and his heart drops. Tae’s face, usually content, was twisted with a conflicted expression and guilt.

Why-

“Hyeon, I don’t think we should do this anymore.” The other man says, as he starts to shift Su-hyeon off himself. And Su-hyeon’s mind is just screaming because no, no, no.

“I- Tae-” He starts to scramble, because he messed up, he misinterpreted things, he moved too fast, and now he needed to fix it. Because he doesn’t know how he’ll survive without being held like that, he doesn’t know how he’ll breathe without the ghost of Tae’s lips on his own, how he can touch his hair without the recent memory of Tae’s fingers in it. “I’m sorry .”  

And that is supposed to be making things better, but Tae just freezes again, looking more closed off as his eyes finally meet Su-hyeon’s own.

“You aren’t the one who should be sorry,” Tae whispers. “Hyeon, I-”

“No! I am!” And apologies burst out of his mouth, because Tae is wrong. He did mess up. His feelings got too big, and it makes sense Tae wasn’t ready yet to handle them, who would? Su-hyeon took advantage of Tae’s kindness and started to think they were more. “I wasn’t thinking- that was too fast- you don’t need to-”

“Hyeon-”

“I’ve never felt like this before,” Su-hyeon continues, “So I probably was going too quickly. Nothing needs to change though! I’m-”

“Hyeon!”

And desperation of Tae’s voice gets Su-hyeon to stop, because for the months they’ve spent together, Tae has never raised his voice. And especially not like that.

“...Tae?”

“We can’t .” He repeats, and Su-hyeon thinks he gets it. Tae is the son of a prestigious family, he has a future that goes far beyond Su-hyeon. And Su-hyeon shouldn’t be expecting him to throw it away. “This isn’t- I wasn’t supposed to-”

“Then why did you?” He asks, because if Tae was always so concerned about the risk, then why did it go on for so long? Why would he risk things for him?

“I- I-” And then there is a shift, something seems to leave Tae’s body, as if he’s given up. “It was a test.” No. “My brothers- they thought I- well, it doesn’t matter, but I was supposed to ask you out. I was supposed to get you alone, and then-”

“No.”

“Hyeon-”

“Don’t!” Su-hyeon shouts, because he can’t take all this. He can’t take what Tae is saying and he can’t take him doing it while continuing to use a nickname (a nickname that means good, that means worthy because how can any of that be true?) “Don’t call me that- this… it doesn’t make sense .” Because why the bracelet? Why the braiding? Why the songs? Why the late nights? “If- if this was all a test then why did it go on for so long? Why haven't they-”

No. Wait, have his brothers been here the entire time, watching? Laughing at how stupid he was? Being entertained as Su-hyeon was strung along like a fool?

“They don’t know that we-” Tae’s shaky voice says, before stopping and starting again, more power now behind his words. “I couldn’t hurt you. Couldn’t let them hurt you.”

But how is he supposed to believe that? Tae just admitted that everything started because of a plan to hurt him. What changed?

“Why?” He asks, voice breaking as he gets closer to demand an answer.

“Su-hyeon…” Tae starts to say before drifting off, and it doesn’t escape his notice that Tae has stopped using the nickname he gave like Su-hyeon requested (and he tries to ignore how much that hurts.)

“Why not?” Su-hyeon asks again, getting even closer. And he knows they both know what he’s asking. Why couldn’t you hurt me? Why wouldn’t you let them hurt me? Why did you stop?

If this was all pretend then why did it feel so real?

“I…” Tae begins, only to stop again.

“ Tae .” And their faces are so close now that their noses are almost touching. The light of the moon illuminates Tae’s eyes, and Su-hyeon can see the way they move from looking straight at him, to a bit lower.

They’re so close they could-

“We can’t.” Tae whispers again, grabbing ahold of Su-hyeon’s arms gently before taking a step away and looking past him, resolution now on his face. “They suspect something. If they find out what’s been going on- they’ll hurt us, hurt you. And I can’t- I’ve already hurt you enough.”

But he’s spent his whole life hurt, what’s one more? 

“Tae-”

“You deserved the truth.” Tae says, taking another step back and turning away. “Because you can’t love me.”

But…

“What if I still do?” Because what Tae did was horrible, but that doesn’t erase the fact that he’s the only person he’s ever had. It doesn’t erase the warmth he felt when Tae held him, or the pain he feels as Tae pulls away now.

At his words Tae just turns back and gives him a pained smile.

“...then you’re a fool.”

“I-” No. Why can’t this be enough? Why can’t he be enough? Why-

“ Goodbye, Su-hyeon.” Tae says with some finality, before turning back around and walking away.

Leaving Su-hyeon.

Alone.

Again .

And maybe he was always alone, because it was never real. It was a joke. Because nothing is funnier apparently than Su-hyeon thinking he could be loved .

And he doesn’t know what’s worse. The idea that Tae never loved him, or the idea that he did and it wasn’t enough, because he’s never enough. 

He doesn’t know when he fell down to the ground but he lays crouched there, breath heaving as tears start to come to his eyes. But he tries not to let them fall, because it feels like if he does then that means Tae’s brothers won.

Tae’s brothers. They’re the reason Tae sought him out, but they’re also the reason Tae left. Because Su-hyeon has a strong idea of how they would react to the turn of events (if Tae was telling the truth that is, and it’s hard to know anymore), and as absurd as it is to think that Tae may have actually liked him, if that is even remotely a possibility-

Su-hyeon gets why Tae left. Because he isn’t worth it. He’s the bottom of the barrel. A loveless, awkward cheonmin, how could someone like Tae possibly risk his wellbeing for him?

“You will never be enough for anybody to love. But I can change that, I can make it so rather than being viewed as some bottom of the rung trash, you’re a treasure. Something to be cherished. Someone who will never be alone.”

The whisper comes into his mind as if brought in by the faint breeze of the night, and Su-hyeon can hear a promise behind it. A promise that he could be changed so he’ll be viewed as something other than a freak. Other than an outsider. He could be someone people actually wanted to be around. He could be someone Tae’s family would have no choice but to accept. And then-

Then there is no reason why he and Tae couldn’t be together! If people not liking him, if him being a lowly cheonmin is the problem, then this could fix it!

He can’t go back to being alone. He can’t keep accepting that he’ll never be enough. And he doesn’t get why that’s his fault. He tried. He tried so hard. But from the moment he was born he was seen as a burden. From the moment he was born something didn’t work. And everyone keeps blaming him for it, keeps judging him for it, as if he’s doing something bad on purpose.

Being with Tae made him think for a while that maybe he could be loved anyways, but that clearly isn’t true. He doesn’t fit. And because he doesn’t fit, people have determined he shouldn’t be allowed to live.

“But I could make you fit. Could make it so their silly rules and social norms don’t compare to you. Could make it so you don’t have to live in this system, you can transcend it. You don’t have to play their games. You can make the rules.”

He could write the script. He could be the one on stage, dictating the performance rather than someone who was thrust on the stage script-less, yet constantly shouted at for not knowing what to do. 

He could be the one to rewrite things. To make things better.

Because why are families like Chan-nim’s looked down upon for working, when families like the Kangs are able to get away with their sons being belligerent bullies?

Why does Su-hyeon have to keep trying, and it never ends up being enough, while other people seem to exist without even having to think about it?

He’s just so tired of trying. Of having to play the game he always inevitably loses.

And as he accepts the whispered voice’s gift, it comes with the hope he no longer has to.

When he wakes up in the meadow the next day, things are different.

Despite having fallen asleep on the ground, his hair is silky smooth, curling a bit as it reaches his shoulders with a new volume it didn’t have before. It was still red, but it was a deeper color now, something that seemed both regal and eyecatching.

His skin was clearer, perfect in a way it’s almost never been. And even standing up, he noticed a difference in his stance, his body seemed to hold itself with more confidence.

He felt more confident.

For Su-hyeon’s entire life, he felt like he didn’t belong, like he was a discordant note that didn’t fit in with the composition that the rest of the world was doing.

But now it felt different, because his note did belong. And more than that, it was something that the rest of the composition had to compliment and elevate. He wasn’t the outsider. He was the center.

People did what he said.

It was one of the clearest changes. Anything he suggested people seemed to just run with, as if they were eager to please him. Getting back to the village, some of the people who saw him seemed to glance his way as if entranced, moving closer to him as if they hungered for his company.

When he got to the Kang’s house, one of the brothers opened the door in surprise. At first it was clear the brother didn’t know why he was here.

“...Su-hyeon? You’re…different.” The brother said, as if struggling for words, the instinct to insult him now battling something resisted the very idea. 

Standing in front of this larger man, Su-hyeon felt no fear. Part of him knew he didn’t need to. Even if this brother had been part of hurting him in the past, Su-hyeon knew he wouldn’t now. He wouldn’t dare.

He felt untouchable.

“I want to come inside.” Su-hyeon stated, and the brother (he didn’t know his name) let him inside, following behind him with a mix of what seemed like confusion but also admiration.

And each person he came across on the way to Tae joined him, with there soon being a parade of household slaves, brothers, as well as Tae’s mother and father close on his heels, guiding him straight to their son’s room as if they would like to do nothing more.

He knocked on the door fully secure, because he wanted this, and he knew Tae wanted him. And now there was nothing standing in their way.

Tae opened the door in teary eyed shock, staring at Su-hyeon for a moment before whispering in an amazed voice: “You came back.”

Su-hyeon just smiled back, “I did.”

Then Tae grabbed him and kissed him, in full view of the parade of family members and servants that had followed Su-hyeon. He grabbed him and took him to his bed as if he wanted nothing more, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. As if it was just Su-hyeon.

And Su-hyeon let him.

(Looking back, he should have realized something was wrong. Because this is the 1800s in Joseon Korea , and even if Tae did love him, even if his family didn’t hate his guts, kissing him in front of them all with zero hesitation was something that went incredibly against the cautious nature that the two men had treated their relationship with before.

But at the time he didn’t think. He didn’t care.)

Life was perfect.

The Kangs gave him a place in their home. He and Tae were free to love each other anywhere they wanted without fear of recourse or judgement. They weren’t forced to only meet up at nights or by the fish stand. Tae’s parents lovingly told them how happy they were that their son found a perfect partner. Tae’s brothers apologized for their past behavior, swearing it came from a place of insecurity and jealousy.

When he’d go out in public, people would migrate over to him and start showering him with compliments and praise.

“Beautiful.” “Majestic.” “Flawless.” “Gorgeous.” “Angelic.” “Perfect.”

He had countless numbers of girls shyly approach him and ask him if he’d like to go to dinner, go on a date, meet up somewhere. Some even did it in front of their boyfriends or husbands. Sometimes the husband or boyfriend would be the one inviting him along.

He always let them down easy, and every time he did they would give him a tight smile and a nod, whispering as they left about how he was both beautiful and respectful.

And with each person who asked, each compliment he received, came a pang in his chest, because he was forced to remember that in a lot of ways none of this was real. Rather than people intuitively wanting to get away from him, they seemed to never want to leave him. The words said were always so superficial, as if they saw this ‘perfect man’ and no one else. He wasn’t just not playing the game anymore, when he was around nobody seemed to. His presence seemed to override all other thoughts and feelings people had. Anyone with the capacity to want him did want him.

And worst, he saw the same with Tae. Because Tae’s eyes, previously always full of soft warmth, were now clouded over by this look of wonder and idolization. They didn’t talk much anymore, anything Su-hyeon said Tae agreed to.

Tae touched Su-hyeon as if he was a drowning man in need of water.

As the days passed, these purple patterns began to crawl up Su-hyeon’s pristine skin. Although it didn’t matter much, nothing seemed to change people’s assertions that Su-hyeon was beauty and good incarnate. 

(Sometimes, Tae would trace over them with wonder and awe, not questioning their existence but rather using them as more proof that Su-hyeon was just as magnificent as he claimed.)

Touches became something that came with guilt, not joy. Every smile and look his way came with the thought that he didn’t deserve it. Time spent with Tae was clouded with the idea that maybe Tae didn’t want this.

Because this wasn’t love.

This was obsession.

“Are you happy?” Su-hyeon asked on night as he laid on the Kang’s couch, holding Tae who looked at him like he hung the stars and moon.

The jubilant smile Tae gave back to him only made the worries worse.

“I’m with you, how could I not be?”

Despite Su-hyeon’s worries, he stayed on the couch with him that night. He told himself this was something he’d approach slowly, carefully, with time. Because maybe if he learned how to work things out, learned how to get Tae to separate his own wants from this aura of allure that followed Su-hyeon around, then they could finally be happy.

(He was wrong. Because why should he deserve to be happy after all of this? Why did he think he ever deserved to be happy?)

The next day Su-hyeon would go out to the market to get some tteok for Tae, because he knew even before everything, he loved those.

The next day Su-hyeon would be walking back when he’d pick up on the smell of smoke.

The next day Su-hyeon would drop the rice cakes and break out into a run as he noticed the direction the smoke was coming from.

The Kang’s house was on fire. A group of villagers gathered around who just looked to him with joy when he came. In the daze he could recognize some of the villagers: people he had turned down.

As if nothing was wrong, as if his world wasn’t burning down in front of him, their voices overlapped as they started to ask if he would consider going out with them now.

It was all background noise as he dove into the flames, as he ran through the burning building only to find Tae’s bedroom completely engulfed, with Tae’s burnt body lying on the bed with the remains of a book, the same book Su-hyeon had suggested he read while he went out to get Tae’s surprise.

The flames engulfed him and he didn’t care.

And eventually he’d notice that at some point the devouring orange flames had changed to a pink and purple. Eventually he’d notice that he was no longer across from Tae’s corpse. Eventually he’d notice that the people around him weren’t the crazed villagers who had burnt his world down because of him, but curious demons who still couldn’t help but feel attracted by his pull.

Eventually he’d notice. But by then it wouldn’t matter.

One of the first things he did when enough sense came back to him, when he was able to think beyond the ringing thoughts of “he’s gone, he’s gone, and it’s all your fault” was find something to completely cover his body.

Or well, he asked about it and one of the demons fully provided it for him, because of course they did.

Then he ran.

And he hid.

Hid until he was sure he wasn’t being chased.

Then he stayed in that spot, frozen, and he cried.

At some point he would finally get up and walk, walk until he ended up at a market that was thankfully too crowded to remind him of home. He’d say excuse me and people would part the way, because of course they would, even with a hood on and his face concealed, the real power had always been in his words (his appearance was just something to lure people in, until they were too close and enamored to do anything but follow him.)

He’d ask the least crowded stall available for food, they’d give it to him freely, and he would walk away, telling them to return to their daily activities as if he never was there (he didn’t want to risk a crowd of people to start following him, or for people to start upending their lives for him only because he had a single conversation with them.)

Otherwise he wouldn’t talk.

He couldn’t risk it.

Hiding in the shadows gave him a chance to listen, to observe.

Gwi-Ma. The honmoon. Hunters. 

There seemed to be different kinds of demons present, the main one being dokkabei, who came in a variety of colors and sizes. Then there were thin ones with long, dark hair, who always seemed like they had just come from a bath.

They tended to not act much different from people in a lot of ways. They were sociable, had jobs, and seemed to go about day to day as if living life.

Native born demons. Demons born here, descendants of Gwi-Ma. Servants who did his bidding, sometimes going to the surface, but otherwise just lived in a world of fear.

And then there were demons like himself, former humans. Remnants of their former selves, with gold eyes, grey skin, patterns, claws, and fangs.

They tended to exist in a lot more isolation, Su-hyeon (just “Su” now, because “Hyeon” was Tae’s, and it meant “good,” something Su objectively wasn’t (and nobody could argue now that he wasn’t beautiful, it seemed to be the only thing he had left)) only spotting a few in a crowd.. They tended to be more quiet, keeping to themselves, although there were a couple that Su spotted who seemed to make a habit of causing trouble for the native demons.

And most of the time the ex-humans would win.

Su had seen each type of demon possess the means to shapeshift and teleport (although there seemed to be some limitations with that), but the ex-humans tended to have additional power behind them.

One of them used the shadows as a weapon against another demon, choking them with it. A few of them seemed impossibly strong. Another was able to make fire flicker from their fingers (the orange flames made Su tense and stop breathing, which introduced him to the fact that he didn’t need to breathe at all apparently.)

Maybe it was something older and more powerful demons just learned to do, but it seemed too reminiscent of Su’s own abilities of influence, as if they were also “gifts” from Gwi-Ma.

(But why did his ability feel more like a curse then?)

“So ungrateful of the power I have given you. You have the power of people at your fingertips yet you continue to sulk in the shadows.”

The voice came to Su one day and made him freeze. Because he knew who this voice was now, the question just was…

“What do you want?” He asked, only for a stab of pain to pierce his mind. And then memories. The burning. Tae confessing. The crowd of people asking for his love. The kicks of people as they abused him for being different. Tae’s body.

“You’ll do better to treat me with respect, young one.” Gwi-Ma hissed in his mind, “You are tormented by what happened, are you not? And you should be, it’s your fault. If you had learned how to control your influence then all that pain could have been avoided. He could still be alive.”

The growling, deafening voice was right. Because everything that happened with Tae was his fault. If he had controlled it, then people wouldn’t have been tripping over their own feet trying to get to him. Tae could have actually had autonomy and been a person rather than something that only chased after his affection. Tae could have had a choice, could have left the house, left Su and been safe.

And the house would have never been set ablaze to begin with.

“How do I control it?” He whispers, and the thought just now crosses his mind that these are the first times he has spoken in a while without someone immediately fawning for him. It makes sense though, Gwi-Ma was the one who gave him this to begin with. And in the demon realm Gwi-Ma was the one in charge, the control Su had over the residents was likely temporary, easily overridden by any of Gwi-Ma’s words (and while that should have made him feel powerless, it also gave him a sense of relief.)

“Meet at my temple in the city center. Someone will be there to assist you.”

The level of help this demonic king is giving Su goes against everything he previously had heard and thought about him. Gwi-Ma’s whole thing was keeping people trapped in their misery, so why would he go out of his way to try and help Su with something that was causing his own?

“Su-hyeon, so vain. The crumbs of your misery are nothing compared to what your ability has the potential to give me.”

The answer makes fear pierce his no longer beating heart. The fact that Gwi-Ma wants him to control his ability so can use it for his own benefit is terrifying . Terrifying because Su hurt people without even trying to. So what Gwi-Ma have him do-

“You don’t have a choice, you know. I’ll use you either way. At least this way you can avoid collateral damage and have a less guilty conscience- not that anything you do can absolve you of your mistakes from before.”

And so Su’s options are to keep being a raging storm that Gwi-Ma inevitably unleashes, destroying everything he comes across to Gwi-Ma’s pleasure. Or–

Or learn how to control it, and Gwi-Ma will still use it to hurt people, but possibly much less.

Thinking of Tae, there isn’t much of a choice. And Gwi-Ma knows it.

Su heads to the temple.

(It crosses his mind as he walks (walks, because he hasn’t quite figured out teleporting yet) that Gwi-Ma could be lying, could definitely be manipulating him to make him into a perfect weapon, but there is a risk that he’s not. And besides, selfish as it is for the people Gwi-Ma inevitably hurts with it, Su wants to learn how to control it (even if it’s likely better if he continues to punish himself and let the consequences of his ability loom over him.))

When Su gets to the temple, he sees the raging pink inferno that is Gwi-Ma, and in front, illuminated by the flames, is another ex-human.

Teal hair, large gold eyes, looking somewhat   younger than Su himself, the shorter demon looks him up and down with a bored face.

And then he speaks in a voice shockingly deeper than Su expects.

“Great. I guess it’s you, then? Let’s get this over with.”

The demon then waves Su over and turns to leave, only stopping when the flames that are Gwi-Ma bark a single word at him like a warning.

“Baek.”

And Su sees that unbothered expression on the demon (Baek (?))’s face flicker for a moment, as he turns and says in a much more docile tone to the demon king, “I know.”

Then Gwi-Ma lets him leave and Su has no option to follow as they exit the temple.

“Can you teleport yet?” The teal-haired demon asks in an exhausted and flat voice as Su makes his way out of the temple’s threshold.

Su just shakes his head, to which the demon gives an exasperated sigh like Su is purposefully trying to make things difficult. And Su can’t tell if it’s because of his answer or the lack of speaking, but while his voice seems to not have influence on Gwi-Ma, the last thing he wants is for this short, clearly annoyed, likely more powerful demon to suddenly be affected by him. Especially when said demon may be the one who is supposed to help him control his ability.

The demon puts a hand (which Su notices is gloved) on Su’s shoulder without another word, and Su has to stop himself from jumping at the sudden contact.

“Don’t throw up.” The deeper voice warns with what seems like a clear threat behind it, and then they’re off in a puff of pink smoke.

Chapter Text

Baek was not happy with his new assignment.

Training a newly turned demon- it was like Gwi-Ma was purposefully trying to torture him. (The asshole probably was.)

He’d prefer going back topside to something like this. This was Gwi-Ma personally rubbing into his face his own failings. Training another demon to master their powers as if Gwi-Ma didn’t know why Baek kept his skin concealed most of the time.

He wanted to tell this other demon to pack up and go back to whatever pile of sadness he came from, but Gwi-Ma’s threat ringed in his head as it often did.

“ Train Su-hyeon. Do it or I’ll take your ability away, give you another taste of Before. And maybe this time I won’t give it back.”

It was always the same threat, and Baek sometimes wanted to tell the demon king to get new material. But there wasn’t much of a point, they both knew the threat worked. The idea of being defenseless, of being weak again was enough to make Baek bend to Gwi-Ma’s words (and maybe that made him weak in another way, but fuck it. Everyone was weak compared to Gwi-Ma. At least with Baek as he is, he's stronger than most demons.)

But Gwi-Ma’s demand required Baek to succeed, or at least to try. He understood why Gwi-Ma would want Su-hyeon to control his ability, being able to influence the masses with words alone could be very helpful to the cause, and if there is a possibility that the power works on hunters…

Still, it put Baek in a tough spot because control seemed to vary from demon to demon. There are some other jeoseung saja who seemed to have near complete control of their ability, able to turn it on and off as they please.

But then there were others like Min-seo and himself, whose ability was always slightly “ on” (the former resorting to keeping his eyes covered and the latter resorting to avoiding skin-to-skin contact to avoid triggering it.) They had a level of control (they weren’t freshly made demons afterall), able to focus and manipulate their abilities, but there didn’t appear to be a way to fully turn it off.

Maybe there was a level of personal desire that went with control. Baek has always been a selfish bastard who valued his own life above others, thus the temptation for his ability to be used overcame conscious effort, and Min-seo seemed to still savor anonymity even after hundreds of years (which Baek could respect, hard for people to go after you when they don’t know about you.)

Still, if that was the case, then this “project” (and thus Baek’s wellbeing) rested in the fact that this other demon genuinely wanted to control his ability.

Which… well, most people don’t end up here because they’re good people.

Regardless, the fact Su-hyeon seemed committed to wearing a hood and looking down to keep his face concealed was interesting, and the fact Baek hadn’t heard him speak at all did hint at the idea that Su-hyeon didn’t want everyone enamored by him and his ability.

(Which Baek could understand to a point, as fun as it is having people serve him, if they did it because they were relentlessly infatuated with him then Baek would probably just strangle them all and then himself.)

But it was hard to make progress when the person he was supposed to be training wouldn’t look up or talk to him.

“Gwi-Ma wanted me to teach you how to control your abilities.” Baek said as he made his way into the room that had become his office. Being a demon for as long as he had (578 years and counting), Baek had been able to work his way to a sizeable amount of resources (and by “work” he means scaring people into submission, getting rewards from good work from Gwi-Ma, and jumping on the possessions of any wealthy demons who had the misfortune of being caught in a purge or catching Gwi-Ma’s ire.)

The demon-charity-case just nodded, and Baek was already getting very tired.

“You can talk, you know? And like… look at me? Your ability shouldn’t really affect me.” Some abilities, especially mental ones such as Su-hyeon’s and Min-seo’s were less effective on jeoseung saja, and that became even more true as they accumulated power and age. Water demons and dokkabei were far more suspectable, being mortal creatures of the demon realm rather than people who were imbued and twisted with Gwi-Ma’s power.

Besides, by the way Gwi-Ma described it, Baek doesn’t think he’s at a particularly high risk given how Su-hyeon’s influence affects people (to make people’s attraction focus on Su-hyeon and make them desperate to fulfill his needs, the person needs to be able to be attracted to him, an issue Baek thankfully has never had.) 

With that, it makes sense why Gwi-Ma request him of all the jeoseung saja since Baek is somehow one of the few individuals who has never had to deal with the issue of romantic or sexual attraction (even as a human), that and the fact until the last couple centuries, Gwi-Ma had been decimating any demon that dare not be useful (which meant that the population of the demons have been significantly culled) so there were very few older than Baek who were left.

But still it was annoying. Annoying because Baek knows Gwi-Ma definitely also has a sadistic side that would love to see him fail. Annoying because with what Gwi-Ma has put on the line, despite Baek’s practiced indifference, he doesn’t want to fail.

And it’s dangerous to want things here. Or to… really not want them. It’s dangerous to have strong opinions here, because that meant you were emotionally invested, and that meant you had something you could lose.

Su-hyeon is clearly still hesitant to do anything (at this rate if things don’t pick up, Baek is going to stab someone), but then slowly his head shifts to meet Baek’s gaze.

Gold eyes. Unremarkable. Subjectively good looking , Baek could admit, but it wasn’t like he was falling on his knees to worship the man.

Good. Gwi-Ma hadn’t been lying on that front at least.

Baek lazily shifted his gaze away, wanting to make it clear to the other demon that he could relax because Baek wasn’t about to fall hopelessly in love with him.

“You can take the hood off too, you know?” Baek said, resting back in his chair, eager to move things further along.

And thankfully, Su-hyeon seemed to have finally gotten on the same page because he did just that, revealing a curtain of bright pink hair that parted right down the middle.

“Now can you say something?” He asked, and this was starting to remind Baek way too much of talking to a dog (somehow even more than Min-seo, and Min-seo worked with hellhounds.) 

Su-hyeon just shakes his head though, like a bad dog.

“Why not?” Baek asked, trying to get him to say something.

Su-hyeon just looks at him like he’s stupid, and Baek is getting even more annoyed because he’s trying to help him.

“I told you.” He said with an exasperated sigh. “Your powers shouldn’t have much effect on me. If you say something then we can prove it and you can relax and we can finally move on. ” 

There was a chance he was wrong and if Su-hyeon told him to walk off a cliff into The Abyss he would just do it, but he highly doubted it. Su-hyeon’s powers seem to be rooted in the person being attracted enough to him to want to obey his commands. And so far nothing has shown that Baek is at risk for that.

…And if he is then his job just became way more difficult, because how is he supposed to teach this guy to manipulate (and not manipulate) people with his voice if he can’t hear the guy’s voice without falling in love - oh, shit, wait, this really is Gwi-Ma’s way of torturing him, he’s making Baek want to be deaf.

(He’s not about to make any of these concerns known though, because if he does he’s sure this guy will never speak. And besides, Baek has already asked him multiple times to talk, he can’t go back on that now. Min-seo has told Baek that he acts like he’s deathly allergic to admitting he’s wrong, which is false because for that to be the case, Baek would have to be wrong. )

“Are you not able to talk?” Baek says in irritation, turning to his ever reliable tactic of saying hit and hoping something he says hits a nerve. “I doubt that. Otherwise Gwi-Ma wouldn’t have made it so clear to me what your abilities are , which means you don’t want to talk. Which means that you are wasting my time.” Baek is grateful Min-seo isn’t here right now, given the other demon goes through periods where he just won’t talk (and hey, Baek is a lot more respectful there, but that’s because Baek’s own wellbeing isn’t usually on the line when it’s Min-seo (well… unless he pisses him off, because pissing off that usually mild-mannered demon is never a good idea .))  

“I’m guessing you hurt someone,” he continues, trying any possible route to get a rise out of him. “You told someone to do something and they did and now they’re hurt or dead and the patterns consumed you so you’re here.” Baek can tell from the way Su-hyeon is tensing up that he’s meeting the mark. Good. “And you feel guilty so now you’re never going to talk again. And that’s so sad , but whoever you hurt isn’t going to magically get better just because you’re refusing to speak. You still hurt them. They’re still gone. And-”

“Be quiet, please. ” A soft, pained voice finally says through gritted teeth, and a very small part of Baek does want to stop talking which… never happens.

The desire isn’t overpowering, so he isn’t too concerned about struggling against this ability moving forward (at least, not when Su-hyeon isn’t putting actual power behind it), but it does give a small idea of what he’s working with.

He got what he wanted, Su-hyeon spoke. Now he just has to convince the other that this isn’t the end of the world . And that starts with Baek not following his request and not shutting up.

“He speaks.” Baek says with a self-satisfied smile, and he can tell by the way the other recoils a bit that he just realized he fell for his trap. Now he just has to make him realize that this isn’t a bad thing, that he can talk without things exploding in his face. “Good. And nothing bad happened, okay? You don’t have to worry about accidentally enchanting me or whatever.”

Su-hyeon just blinks at him for a moment, before ( miraculously ) speaking again.

“But… other demons…”

Ah, so he has spoken to other demons here.

“Lower level demons like most of the ones you see mulling about don’t have much resistance to your kind of ability. They’re mortal and they don’t carry much of his power. We tend to overpower them. With other jeoseung saja, we’re more evenly matched so you’re met with more resistance. Plus I’m like… way older than you. And with age usually comes power.”

It’s a lot of information at once, but he’s hoping Su-hyeon was able to absorb at least some of that. He doesn’t know how long the other demon has been here, and how much he’s picked up, but it’s good to lay out the basics so he doesn’t get dumb questions later on.

The look in Su-hyeon’s eyes makes it seem like he’s going to get one anyways, and Baek already knows where this is going before he even opens his mouth.

“How old are you anyways? You look like a kid.”

Yep.

Fuck him.

“I arrived down here in 1256.” Baek says with a completely straight face, already knowing the other was about to lose his mind.

“Twelve- you’ve-!”

“Yep. That was before your alphabet.” He adds on casually, because Baek is still irritated he had to learn a new alphabet over a century after his fall. Plus, it’s always fun to watch younger demons panic over just how long Baek has been here, especially given the fact he knows most people assume from his appearance that he must be very young. 

Benefit of being a demon: you don’t exactly age.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Some demons do pick up more inhuman traits the longer they stay down here, partly because of the environment and partly because of any growth in power. Min-seo didn’t seem to start growing tusks until about 150 years ago (although given that Baek rarely sees his face, it’s possible that he got them even earlier.) Some other jeoseung saja Baek saw would grow to have extra limbs, or eyes, some adopted the pigmentation of the native demons, or grew gills if they were required to spend a lot of the time in water.

Baek didn’t though, likely a side effect of the way his powers worked to keep him revitalized and healthy, so in addition to the fact he became a demon at a relatively young age (20) and had always had a bit of a “baby face” which was now frozen in time, the way Gwi-Ma granted him his wish made it so Baek wouldn’t go through “demon puberty” and gain any additional demonic features. The closest thing he had was the fact that Min-seo described him as having a “perpetual lively energy” that followed him around and eyes (and occasionally hair) that glowed with that same energy. Which Baek found incredibly stupid because “lively” isn’t a word he would use to describe himself so the fact Gwi-Ma gave him such features seems like another way to torture him (he’s always hated being coddled too, and now his appearance tends to illicit such a response.) 

The amount of times he’s been mistaken for a newly-created demon was unbelievably annoying (although it did have the benefit of him getting to let loose and attack the people who thought it would be a good idea to jump him.) Nowadays, most of the demons know that approaching him is a bad idea (and hey, he’s thankful that even with this stupid “youthful” thing he had going on, he was still able to elicit fear.)

Su-hyeon, being brand new, obvious isn’t privy to all this yet, but he can tell by the disbelieving blink that the pink-haired demon is learning there is a lot more to Baek then what people seem to see at first glance (and hey, people who do get suckered by the fact he apparently looks like a fucking child deserve whatever happens when Baek inevitably proves them wrong.)

“Anyways,” Baek said, continuing on, because as fun as this is, he does have a job to do. “Your powers-”

“What are yours?” The younger demon asks, cutting him off. And Baek would be a lot more pissed if it wasn’t for the fact that until a minute ago he wasn’t talking at all.

“I-” verbal explanations rarely work. Most people aren’t able to understand the way this type of energy works (which makes for fun rumors over what exactly his abilities are, and he’s not eager to stop them anytime soon), besides…

Demonstrations are more fun.

Looking outside the window he’s been afforded in this office, Baek can’t see many demons roaming about. They’re far enough away from town that there aren’t a lot of crowds (which means it’s quiet and most people can mind their own business ), but there is one dokkabei walking not too far below…

“Put your hood back on.” Baek says, and Su-hyeon looks at him in confusion before doing so as Baek takes the chance to teleport to his wandering demon.

“Hi.” Baek says as the demon seems to jump out of their skin at the sight of him, and he just grabs ahold of them and teleports them both back to the room he was just in.

That makes this the third time he’s teleported since his last refuel at the temple, which has lowered him a little bit, although nowhere near enough to be troublesome (although Baek doesn’t like to feel low at all, even if he logically knows most other demons do have their own limitations on teleportation… he doesn’t like having limits.)

Both Su-hyeon and the dokkabei seem surprised at the recent events, although Su-hyeon’s posture (since the demon is back to covering his face) indicates he’s more confused whereas this other demon is quickly becoming terrified and shaking in fear.

Whatever, this shouldn’t take long.

Given the fact this is supposed to be a demonstration of his abilities, Baek figures it’s best to take a more… visible and obvious (and some would argue dramatic (because some don’t have taste)) route.

Baek takes the knife sitting on the nearby table and stabs it through his right hand.

Yep, ouch.

He uses his left hand to pry the glove off the stabbed hand (maybe he should have done that before) and remains grateful for the fact that demons don’t have blood. The knife just left a glowing, pink slash in his palm (because everything with Gwi-Ma is pink apparently), and there is none of the messy blood that comes with stabbing a human person. Really, getting stabbed as a demon is more annoying than anything (unless you’re a low level demon, in which… you still won’t bleed but you may die), it hurts like a bitch , but their bodies slowly stitch themselves back up.

Or well, for most people that’s the case. Baek prefers a faster route.

He feels two pairs of eyes on him as the other occupants of the room watch in horror as if they’ve never seen a guy stab himself before, then Baek approaches the dokkabei that is still cowering on the floor.

“P-p-please- don’t kill me.” They plead as Baek peels off the glove of his uninjured hand (shit, he just realized that now his other glove is going to have a hole in it). Baek isn’t completely sure if they’re scared of him specifically, having heard rumors, or if they’re scared of the fact a reaper just teleported out of nowhere and kidnapped them (either way they get points for being smart enough not to try and teleport away, which means Baek does feel inclined to be sort of nice.)

“I won’t.” He says as he uses his uninjured hand to grab on to the demon’s exposed shoulder, knowing that they’ll probably be out for a few hours at most.

Immediately he feels a rush of energy as some of the demon’s life force drains from them and enters his body. The stab wound on his hand is the first to heal, and he holds it up so Su-hyeon can watch as the glowing hole knits itself back together before disappearing entirely. Then he can feel his slightly depleted energy reserves start to fill back up, regaining energy that he expended earlier in the day. 

The demon he’s touching begins to slump down after about half a minute, in which Baek lets go as his reserves are now back up to a comfortable level (although he’d usually prefer to have more he could use at his leisure, he would prefer not to kill this one from overharvesting.)

The dekkobei is now passed out on the ground, and from what Baek could feel he was right in his guess that it would only be for a short period of time. 

As he stops looming over the unconscious demon, Baek looks Su-hyeon in the eyes as the demon watches concealed in the corner of the room, mouth wide open in what looks like horror.

“You-”

“I showed you mine.” Baek says, stepping back and crossing his arms. “And then when this demon wakes up you can show me yours.”

And then he leaves the room, not waiting to see if Su-hyeon is following him, and heads to the kitchen to grab a snack, because even if he did just fuel up, there isn’t really too much of a good thing where Baek is concerned.

Besides, he refuses to be in a position where he ends up helpless and vulnerable. 

Not again.

Baek was raised in a rather tumultuous time in Korean history. But despite all that, his parents always tried to keep him shielded from the fact, as if that would stop the very real things happening outside.

His parents had tried for a child for a while before they finally had him, and his mother always would talk about how he was their “little miracle.” A miracle who they believed needed to be protected from the happenings of the outside world, even naming him after the word for “white” and “purity”: Bai.

And that’s just what they expected him to be: pure. The Mongols had been attempting to invade for the past few decades, and when he was very young there was a temporary pause, a peace agreement being made.

Baek (or Bai, back then)’s mother would tell him as he got older that the war was over, as if he didn’t notice the way she would anxiously wait for his father to return from meetings with members of the Goryeon nobility, as if he didn’t notice them whispering in private, or feel the tension that constantly loomed over both the house and the town he lived in.

(The peace only lasted until he was 13, then the Mongols invaded again. And despite that he was constantly assured that everything would be fine (and maybe he’d believe that more if he didn’t see smoke in the distance some days, if he didn’t hear the fact that some of the military was coming to town to keep them safe when it was learned that they were heading in this direction.))

His father was a scholar, a graduate of Sŏnggyun'gwan, Goryeo’s highest ranking university, and both Baek’s parents seemed intent on having him follow the same path, giving him Confucian texts from a relatively young age to read through. It really seemed like they believed that if they kept Baek drowned in literature, he’d somehow be safe.

“This is how you succeed, Bai. If you study and later get good scores on the gwageo then you can be set for a promising life!”

In addition to that time’s version of Korean (which was written using Chinese characters, making the introduction of the modern hangul a bit annoying to deal with), classical Chinese was something he’d also been forced to pick up very early on (it’s hard to read all the classical Confucian texts his parents gave him if he didn’t know that language , after all-)

But honestly, everything was just… boring.

As things progressed, his parents only pushed him further down academic avaneues. And he’d learned to not even bring up or ask about conflict because they’d just pretend everything was fine.

(When he was 15 the Mongols retreated after hearing about the passing of their emperor, and his mother would just smile and tell him she was right, there was nothing to worry about.)

He didn’t care for the classical texts, and honestly books on law and medicine didn’t interest him much either. The words just floated around in his brain, like a fog in the monotonous existence that was his life. One of the few things that caught his interest was poetry (which he had to do in private because after the first couple poems his parents saw, his father had a talk to him about how he was “getting distracted”) and sneaking in information about history and the current conflict.

It made him feel real. Less like a sheltered child, a piece of fragile glass, and more like a person who was part of this world. 

Some of the things he read were horrifying, but they were real. They were proof against the idea that the world is seemingly perfect, that people are to be seemingly perfect.

And poetry gave him a chance to turn his thoughts and feelings into metaphors and words to organize his thoughts, to remind him that he was there.

“Bai, I’m worried. You don’t seem to be applying yourself enough.”

But why did he have to apply himself to something he couldn’t give less of a crap about?

“We just want you to be happy.”

But why are they the ones to determine what that means? Why did they act like they saw him less of his own person, and more like the idea of what they’d like their child to be?

Maybe he didn’t want to be a scholar. Maybe he didn’t want to constantly be toting about books. Maybe he didn’t want to be perfect. Maybe he didn’t want to constantly be stuck within the confines of a room, acting like he was somehow safe from a world that could definitely hurt him.

The Mongols returned when he was 17, and with it came an important question.

“What would you feel about me joining the military?” Baek asked one night and he and his mother ate dinner, his father away on an extended trip (likely to talk to some of the bureaucrats about the war efforts (because the man always was a hypocrite.))

And his mother just looked at him in horror.

“You wouldn’t! You’re my Bai! My light! Your life is worth so much more than that, I couldn’t bear you getting hurt.”

“But what if I could help? Why do I-”

“Bai, my love, some people are destined for different things. Fighting in a war, that’s just not you. Not everyone belongs on the front lines.”

But the thing is, who was she to determine who Baek is?

“But mom-”

“Bai, please, you’re going to scare me half to death. Look at you! You’re so small, so precious, if you went out there you’d just get hurt!”

But ultimately she ended up being wrong there, because the most hurt he’d feel wasn’t because of some attack on the front lines, but as he laid burning in bed with an extreme fever a month later. A seemingly small headache turning into something much worse until the point where he could barely keep consciousness, fading in and out of the excruciating days. Having convulsions, his limbs felt weird, he could barely keep food down, and he would just drift through things as if half awake, having a few somewhat lucid moments where his parents or a doctor would be in his room, doing whatever they could to help him.

At some point he felt like he was going to die. He remembers being hit with the sudden realization at some point that for some reason he went from getting stabbing pain in his head at every sound, to not being able to hear anything at all.

But then, through what seemed like a combination of medical intervention and a miracle, his fever broke. He stopped having convulsions. His pain lessened. He could actually stay awake and lucid. His mind felt less like it was slowly rolling through fog.

But even as he started to improve, some residual weakness and numbness in his limbs never fully went away. And his hearing-

His hearing never came back.

And then, somehow, Baek was treated even less like his own person than before.

“You think this is funny.” Baek said flatly, looking at the lavender haired demon who stood across from him. And even with the demon’s long hair, Baek could still see the hints of an amused smirk on the other’s tusked mouth.

“I never said that.” Min-seo responded in his quiet voice, but the slight quirk of his lips told Baek that the other was full of shit.

“For the record, this wasn’t of my own free will. Gwi-Ma was the one who made me take this little project on.”

“He doesn’t seem so bad.”

And Baek knows he’s not talking about Gwi-Ma.

“He’s a demon.” Baek says, referring to Su-hyeon (or Su as the other demon preferred to be called.)

“We’re all demons, Baek.” Min-seo says blankly, as if he doesn’t know what Baek is getting at.

“I know that! Just- I don’t think he really knows that yet.” Even after the past couple weeks Su has been keeping to himself. And Baek doesn’t have a problem with that specifically, it’s not like he wants to be bothered all the time, but the way he carries himself-

As if he’s not sure he should exist. As if he’s struggling to reconcile with the person he was and whatever happened back when he was human. As if he’s scared to hurt someone.

And Su isn’t wrong for thinking that. They shouldn’t exist. They all either did horrible things or made horrible decisions. They hurt people. They’re dangerous. But-

But that is the price you pay when you sign on to a deal with Gwi-Ma. It’s part of living as a demon. They all have their mistakes hanging above them, but the trick is to not let them linger.

Because spiraling only means failure, only means torture. Gwi-Ma is a sadistic prick who takes joy out of them torturing themselves, but he also is a being with goals, and if someone seems to be a hindrance to those goals he won’t hesitate to get rid of them, or worse.

Being a demon is carrying that pain with you. The shame flows through all their veins, but they can’t let it burn.

But Su isn’t there yet and that’s obvious. He’s still in a lot of ways human in a way Baek hasn’t been for a long time (maybe that’s because he was never really allowed to be) and he’s drowning in the fact that he’s a bad person , that he should be better.

But the thing is, they’re not people. They’re demons. And they aren’t expected to be better (and all things considered, Su could be a whole lot worse.)

“You don’t think you can help him?” Min-seo asks, and Baek just huffs at that.

“Come on, we both know I’ve never been good at helping people. My whole thing is that I hurt everybody I touch .”

There is a pause because he and Min-seo both know that it’s a bit more complicated than that. But what did it matter? The effect was the same. It was something about himself he had long since accepted. 

“You don’t think we can be more than our abilities?” The quiet voice finally asks and Baek wants to laugh.

“In the end what else do we have?”

Because if anyone understands this better it should be Min-seo. Part of Gwi-Ma’s “gift” to him was making him a blank slate, even to himself. The demon’s ability to erase the memories of others in regards to him and slide into ambiguity applied first and foremost to himself. It was something Min-seo had only admitted a while after this tentative cooperation the two of them had started up (at least… that’s what Baek can remember. But over the years he had built up more of a resilience to the inherent effects that come with Min-seo’s ability. The rare times Baek did see his eyes, his mind only went through a momentary lapse of being confused about the immediate conversation, but that was an easy fix.)

Their powers were them. It was all they were now. Their deal with Gwi-Ma made them into who they are, the “gifts” he bestowed upon them being representative of something they wanted desperately enough to give themselves and their loved ones up for. Anything more that they once were was long gone.

They weren’t people, afterall, they were demons.

The way Min-seo looks away makes Baek think he said the wrong thing though.

“I need to get back to the den.” The taller demon quietly says, head turning away from Baek as he said it.

“Min-” This was stupid. Was Min-seo really just going to leave because of something Baek said? Everyone knows Baek can be an asshole , so he doesn’t know what Min-seo was expecting. Baek is quite literally a leech, a parasite, stealing things from others for his own benefit.

“Good luck, Baek.” Min-seo adds, because he’s just that kind of person, and then walks away.

Baek doesn’t go after him. It’s like as he tells Su when he later asks about the “pretty, shaggy-haired demon” that he had seen about, they’re not friends.

(He can’t care. Nobody ever taught him how to. And he hates how during his time as a demon, he’s adopted more of his parent’s apathy for the world.)

(Or… he wants to hate it. But at the same time, he still can’t bring himself to care.)

(Stupid how those things work out, isn’t it?)

(But then why does it seem so difficult to ignore when Su looks away and quietly says, “I don’t either.” Why does part of Baek want to talk to Min-seo? Ask why he came to begin with? Ask more when he tried to leave?)

Losing his hearing made Baek (or well… still “Bai”) go from someone who expected to succeed to someone who wasn’t believed to be capable of anything at all.

Discussions regarding his studies have completely stopped, and maybe he’d be more grateful for that if it wasn’t clear that the reason that was was because they didn’t think he could handle it.

It was stupid . It was his ears that no longer worked, not his brain.

(There were times where his mind still got a bit cloudy and it was hard to focus, but he had never planned to admit that to his parents.)

His father was even less at home than before. And his mother…

His mother seemed to almost completely avoid him when she wasn’t coddling him, seeming content to ignore his existence until she had to remember the complete invalid she had for a son.

And not being able to hear was… unnerving. He never even realized how much he relied on being able to hear the world around him until it was gone, but afterward he constantly felt like things were jumping out at him. He felt vulnerable. And it made him mad because it felt that in some ways his parents were right.

He became hyperaware to movement and vibrations of the world he was confined to, but that was only helpful sometimes. He hadn’t realized just how many things made noise until he wasn’t able to hear it.

He somehow became even more isolated. And it just made him mad.

Mad at himself, for contracting that stupid illness. Mad at his ears for refusing to cooperate. Mad at the right side of his body which oftentimes felt weak and buzzy and wrong (writing poems became something he did to keep himself sane, but it was difficult when his writing hand refused to cooperate, which just made him either have to struggle through it, or use his left hand). 

He was mad at his mother and his father, for the stupid expectations they had thrust upon him, and the fact that now that he seemed unable to carry those out, they didn’t know what to do with him.

They didn’t know what to do with him but he was still their son. Their obligation. He was still handled like fragile, breakable glass, but most of the time he wasn’t handled at all.

The resentment grew, until for the first time in six months Baek finally heard something.

It wasn’t coming through his ears, but through his mind. But regardless, the jarring nature of suddenly being able to clearly sense and understand the words coming from an outside source was unnerving.

“Poor little Bai. Weak and useless. Not able to do anything for himself.” 

It stung. Because he should be able to do things for himself, but he was just never given the chance.

“I can make it so you can finally live your life. I can give you the opportunity to fix yourself. To make it so you can finally live all those years you wasted being trapped in this house. Trapped by your so-called ‘parents.’”

The strange, ominous voice seemed to be offering Baek the chance to actually live. He knew there was conflicting ideas of what one should do when they started getting spoken to by a strange, disembodied voice in his mind, but…

But this voice seemed to be offering him a choice. The opportunity to actually live. Not just exist.

He saw the opportunity and he took it. And-

And at first nothing happened. He was convinced he had just hallucinated the whole thing (which was terrifying because the last time he lost his grip on reality was when he felt like he was dying.)

But then, as the weeks went on he strangely started to feel better. The numbness and difficulty he had controlling his right arm and leg dissipated. The times he struggled to focus became far and in between. And his hearing-

His hearing came back. 

It was jarring, everything that was happening. He forgot how loud the world could be. And then during all of this-

During all of this, his mother started to fall ill. The doctor that was called in couldn’t seem to figure out the cause, and before long she was bound to her bed, awareness fading in and out. 

As he got better, she got worse. And the day his hearing returned to him, the first words that he heard spoken to him was the doctor telling him his mother had unfortunately passed.

The practitioner offered his condolences, and then told Baek that he could help with making arrangements (since Baek’s father was still on an extended business trip), but that he needed to get him, feeling unwell himself.

(Baek didn’t think much at the time about the way shaking the man’s hand invigorated him. Or the fact that despite the news, his body had never felt better. He was thrumming with energy, with life, and it was hard to reconcile that with the fact that his mother was actually gone. )

A letter was written to his father, informing him of the news. And the moment that letter was posted Baek left. Left the house. Left the town. Left everything. 

He joined the military.

He became someone else. “Bai” became “Baek-ho,” the “White Tiger” (named after the Chinese Constellation.) He became a capable fighter. And despite the fact nearly all of his comrades seemed to believe he wouldn’t last long, he just kept going.

Injuries never lasted long. He would leave a battle with a wound and by the time he returned to camp it would be healed. A few vicious attacks happened when Baek was the only survivor.

And strange patterns began to form on his skin.

It came to a blow when the changgun pulled him aside, bringing him to the council of changgunbang , accusing him of being a traitor.

Because Baek seemed to always be one step ahead. He always walked away from conflicts without marks. People he had shared living spaces with had “mysteriously fallen ill.” Lethal traps never seemed to hurt him, even if everyone else he was with got killed.

They accused him of being a Mongol spy, and all Baek could do was laugh.

Laugh because of how wrong they were, but also because in a lot of ways they were right. Part of him knew that the deaths around him weren’t simply a consequence of war, but a consequence of Baek. Part of him knew that others were unintentionally losing their lives so he could go on living, go on being healthy.

He laughed as he was confined to a cell, as there were talks about if they should execute him or use him as a hostage. He laughed because part of him had known it, but had refused to accept it.

But now he couldn’t.

His mother. His regiment. Allies who got too close. Enemies who pushed too far. They were all dead.

And it was his fault.

He laughed until the patterns consumed him, until all he could feel was numb, and when he woke up in the demon realm he couldn’t help but think: “ of course.”

It figures.

Nothing good comes without a price. 

(And eventually he stopped caring what the price was that he had to pay.)