The show had been amazing.

The backstage area was empty; the staff had almost finished tidying everything up. Nobody would miss the few souls who had disappeared during the concert. Another mission accomplished—enough to satisfy Gwi-Ma for a few days, maybe even a week.

The Saja Boys’ final encore had ended nearly an hour ago, but Jinu sat hunched on the edge of a cracked greenroom sofa, his shoulders trembling with each ragged breath. His stage makeup was smudged at the corners of his eyes, streaks of black and glitter tracing the path of tears he hadn’t wiped away in time.

You found him there—the star and leader of the Saja Boys, a demon disguised as a k-pop idol, your hope for a better future—crushed under the weight of centuries he tried so hard to bury beneath magnificent performances and sugar-sweet smiles. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the roar of roadies breaking down the stage. All that was left in here was Jinu, his soft gasps for breath, and you.

He didn’t look up at first. His trembling fingers curled around the cold can of an energy drink he hadn’t even cracked open. The backs of his knuckles were bruised from punching the mirror. You’d seen the shards on your way in—tiny reflections of him staring back in each jagged piece, like penance for what he’d become.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, his voice a broken reflection of his tormented soul. “You shouldn’t see me like this.”

Jinu was doing all of this for you. Gwi-Ma had promised him that he would set you both free—you, another demon, yet the most human soul he had ever known, and himself. Maybe then he could finally have the life he’d always dreamed of. With you.

But the price he had to pay was all the souls he was forced to steal.

You crossed the room anyway, ignoring your discomfort at the thought of the humans who had died tonight. His demon nature was unmistakable, but you knew what was buried underneath that monstrous sheen. A boy who once sang for coins in the muddy streets of Joseon. A man who’d traded it all for fame and found only emptiness in return.

You knelt in front of him, taking his hand in yours and intertwining your fingers. You didn’t say a word—you didn’t need to. Everything you needed to know was there in his eyes. You could see how the guilt had grown too heavy for him to carry alone.

He flinched when you brushed your thumb under his eye, wiping away his tears. His breath hitched. He was always so careful to look untouchable on stage—flawless, godlike, adored. Now he looked like a complete mess.

“They love me,” he whispered sadly, almost like a child. “They scream for me. And I… I drain them. I keep draining them, and they keep giving and giving—”

His lips parted like he might beg you to leave, to hate him like he deserved. But instead, you felt him lean forward until his forehead pressed to your shoulder. His lips brushed against your collarbone in a silent apology.

“Stay, please…” he murmured through heartbreaking sobs. “Just… stay. I can’t hear their voices when you’re here. I can’t hear Gwi‑Ma. Just you.”