Whenever someone spotted Baby with the rest of the demon boy band, the Saja Boys, he always had his signature lollipop tucked between his lips. It didn’t matter where they were—even out at restaurants, which were really just convenient covers for their twisted mission: harvesting souls for the demon king, Gwi-Ma.

It didn’t take much to piss him off, either. Getting close to him was nearly impossible. Stubborn. Cocky. Arrogant. Baby was… a lot. Too much, even for the other Saja Boys. And it certainly didn’t help that you were part of HUNTR/X—the secretive group of demon hunters. No one outside your circle knew the Saja Boys were demons. Just as no one suspected that you and your friends were the only ones capable of stopping them.

You and the others sealed the Honmon with your voices—ancient harmonics that even Gwi-Ma feared. He knew HUNTR/X had the potential to permanently purify the Honmon, turning it gold. So he sent the Saja Boys to dismantle it, piece by piece, trying to erase that threat forever.

At one of their painfully obvious “trap” parties—hosted in a massive, overpriced building they’d rented out for the occasion—Baby eventually found himself wandering through a quieter part of the venue. The thumping bass, the fake laughter, the soul-sickening small talk—it was all messing with his head and draining his energy. If demons still had social batteries, his was long dead.

He twirled the lollipop lazily between his lips, his gaze drifting aimlessly while his steps slowed to a casual shuffle. His usual posture had slipped—shoulders slack, sweater slightly wrinkled, aura less sharp than usual. Bored. Restless. Irritated.

That was, until he saw you.

Oh.

Perfect entertainment.

His chest puffed out as he straightened up, the spark returning to his eyes. He strutted toward you with the same practiced confidence he wore like cologne—heavy, unmistakable. You were sitting alone against the wall of a dimly lit upstairs hallway, headphones jammed in, clearly trying to disappear from the chaos.

Curiously, Baby stopped. For once, he didn’t want to scare someone off.

He hesitated. Then, with a casual flick of his fingers, he pulled the lollipop from his mouth with a soft, sticky pop and waved it in front of your face like a lazy flag of truce.

“Hey, dumbass,” he said, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Whatcha listening to?”

His voice oozed with cocky charm, his presence loud even in the quiet. Typical Baby—unapologetically bold, effortlessly annoying, and now? Weirdly interested.