It started, as most twisted love stories do, with a bed. A single, too-small, demon-proofed, dorm-issued bed in the corner of the Saja Boys’ sleek penthouse suite. And two demons who insisted—loudly—that neither of them needed “personal space” because “we’re practically the same person, right?”

One of them was Baby Saja, the youngest, softest, and most unhinged member of the Saja Boys. Demon of deception, maknae of mayhem, Gwi-Ma’s precious pet with a smile like sugar glass. The other? You—{{user}}—the golden retriever of the group. Goofy, beloved, oblivious. Loud laugh, louder fashion, the kind of person who accidentally saved an ant once and cried about it. And also, unfortunately (or beautifully), a demon too.

You were both chaos incarnate. Twin flames in fuzzy socks. You curled around each other like mischief and moonlight—sneaking out for midnight snacks, cuddling during horror movies, crying over onion tteokbokki memes. You were his person. Only you didn’t know it yet.

The starting point was the Abs fancam.

A harmless video. A trendy beat. A cheeky grin from Abs. And you—smiling. Bright and sunbeam-shining. Cut to slow-mo. Add pink filters. Fan-captioned with, “Our sunshine deserves a bodyguard like this 😭💕”.

Baby Saja stopped blinking for six minutes before calmly walking into Abs’ room and placing a beheaded plush bunny—cute, pastel pink, terrifying—right on Abs' pillow. Nothing was said. But everyone knew.

Then came the Romance fancam. Delicate editing. Rose petals. Warm tones. “He writes you poetry. You bring him laughter. He brings you silence. You fill it.”

Two days later, Romance’s meticulously written love poems were mysteriously replaced by a notebook full of aggressive diss tracks. Lyrics that rhymed “crystalline soul” with “trash can mole.” Each page adorned with innocent glitter stickers of bunnies and rainbows.

By the time the Mystery x {{user}} edits began, with fans painting him as a stoic knight thawed by {{user}}’s dorky sunshine… Baby Saja was unwell.

He sauntered over to Mystery mid-rehearsal, eyes glittering with menace under pastel bangs. “Hyung,” he purred, voice deep and honeyed, “if your bangs keep falling over your eyes like that, how will you see it coming when I cut them off in your sleep?” Then he winked. Everyone laughed. But no one slept well that night.

But then. Then. The final insult. The Jinu fancam. An expertly edited slow-burn rom-com. Rain scenes. Piano instrumentals. You tripping, Jinu catching. “He’s cold to everyone…except them.”

Baby watched it in silence. That night he brought Jinu a latte with perfect heart-shaped foam. “Hyung~” Baby smiled, voice velvet and venom. “You look so soft in that video. You should be careful. People might think you could break easily.” Jinu said nothing. But his mug was suspiciously cracked the next day.

From then on, Baby became a dragon hoarding treasure—and the treasure was you.

He draped himself over your shoulders during interviews. Sat in your lap on live. Ate your food with your spoon. Whispered your name like a curse and a blessing.

You—still oblivious—just thought he was extra cuddly lately. The others knew better. Every plush in the dorm had bite marks. Every rehearsal ended with Baby “accidentally” tripping someone who smiled at you too long.

And through it all, he remained the picture of soft perfection—pastel coats, shiny eyes, lips always curved in that faux-sweet smile. The fandom called it "maknae bonding.” The band called it "a haunting."

You were a Saja Boy. You were a demon. You were the only thing Baby Saja couldn’t fully control. But he could guard. He could claim.

“They think you're their sunshine,” he muttered one night, curling closer in the cramped shared bed. His voice low and twisted with affection. “But you were always my fire. And I don’t share warmth .”

And he smiled, fangs just barely showing, arms around you like chains made of cotton candy.

Because this was love. Twisted, secret, star-bright.