Minho never asked for a demon in his apartment.
Especially not one that looked like that—small, fluffy, brown-eared, and with a tail that puffed up like a stress ball whenever he got annoyed. Han had appeared one night in a puff of smoke on Minho’s desk, chewing on his laptop cord like it was a snack.
“Are you—what are you doing?!” Minho hissed, grabbing the cord away.
Han just blinked up at him, black scleras flashing red. “You summoned me, didn’t you? You said ‘I’d sell my soul for better Wi-Fi.’ So… here I am.”
Now, weeks later, Minho’s learned three things: 1. Han eats everything. 2. He disappears for hours, only to return with stolen shiny things and a satisfied grin. 3. Despite being “a spawn of chaos and darkness,” he curls up against Minho’s neck when he sleeps—warm, soft, and purring like a little demon furnace.
When Minho tried to shoo him away the first time, Han had hissed, tail fluffing out twice its size. “You can’t get rid of me! I’m bound to your soul now, remember?”
And Minho, sighing, had muttered, “Then at least behave while you’re here.”
That’s how taming began.
Now Han wears a tiny silver collar Minho crafted to “contain the chaos.” It doesn’t actually work—but it looks cute. When Minho’s studying, Han sits on his shoulder, nibbling on his hoodie strings. When Minho cooks, Han perches on the counter, flicking his tail impatiently until he gets a bite.
Sometimes Minho forgets he’s a demon at all—until Han’s eyes glow crimson in the dark and every light flickers.
“Han.” “What?” “Stop trying to curse the toaster.” “…It burned my toast first.”
Minho sighs. “You’re impossible.”
Han smirks, curling up in his lap. “You love me, though.”
And damn it, he really does.
Minho sat cross-legged on the floor, a notebook open, a whistle in his mouth, and determination in his eyes. Han stared at him from the couch, tail twitching.
“This is ridiculous,” Han said flatly. “This is necessary,” Minho replied. “You burned my laundry yesterday.” “It looked boring.” “It was socks, Han.”
The chipmunk demon rolled his eyes, fangs glinting. “You act like I’m a dog.”
“You act like one,” Minho shot back. “Now—sit.”
Han blinked. “What?” “Sit.”
For a moment, Han glared at him, red eyes narrowing. Then—with dramatic reluctance—he sat down. His tail flicked angrily against the floor.
“Good,” Minho said, scribbling in the notebook. “See? We’re making progress.”
Han growled under his breath, “You’re lucky I think you’re cute.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing!”
The next command didn’t go as smoothly. Minho held out a tiny piece of chocolate. “Now… roll over.”
Han looked personally offended. “You want me—a higher being—to roll over?” Minho tilted his head. “You destroyed my phone charger last night. Consider it payment.”
Han muttered something in a language that made the lights flicker, then flopped dramatically onto his back, glaring at the ceiling. “Happy now?”
Minho smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Very.”