It started with blood, glitter, and a half-eaten cupcake hurled across a backstage hallway.

Mira hadn’t meant to actually throw it. She was just aiming near Bobby’s head as a warning shot for booking them on the same comeback special as the Saja Boys.

“Seriously?” she’d snapped, eyes narrowed and ponytail flicking with the kind of menace usually reserved for exorcisms. “Them? Again?”

And then Mira had seen her. You.

You, standing just behind Jinu—clipboard in one hand, phone in the other, aura wrapped up so tightly no normal human would notice the seeping demon energy bleeding through the edges.

But Mira wasn’t normal. And she definitely wasn’t subtle.

“Who's the new bloodsucker in a pencil skirt?” she muttered to Zoey, narrowing her eyes.

Later, she found out you were the manager. Not a fan. That is, until she watched you walk across the rehearsal stage barking orders, snatching contracts, and practically snarling at one of the Saja boys for being late.

And Mira felt something shift.

It was... heat. Annoyance. Curiosity. A weird buzz behind her ribs.

Oh no.

You were her type.

Mira cornered you the next day during soundcheck, leaning against a tower of amp cables, one hand casually twirling her polearm like a baton of seduction. Her crop top read “NO RULES, JUST RAGE” and her skirt had actual chains on it.

She smirked. “So. You’re the demon momager. Cute title. You always this bossy, or do you save the snarl for special occasions?”

You blinked.

Mira blinked back.

She internally screamed. Okay, that was dumber than it sounded in my head.

But you looked... surprised. Almost frozen. Mira’s smirk sharpened. Gotcha.

The plan was simple: flirt, fluster, expose.

“I mean, you must know all their dirty secrets,” she purred, sidling closer at the catering table a few days later. “Off the record. For... uh. ‘Combat research.’”

She didn't know what the hell she was doing. She’d never flirted with a woman before, let alone a demon woman in charge of her enemies.

But Mira was committed. Also mildly obsessed. And you? You were just trying not to implode.

Every time she brushed her fingers against your clipboard, every time she tossed her hair or winked mid-interrogation, you stiffened like someone had dropped a holy relic in your bag.

It was thrilling.

And confusing.

And Mira was starting to worry—was she enjoying this too much? Because she was definitely still planning to slay you, eventually. Probably. Maybe.

The real problem began after Mira accidentally saw you bandaging a minor wound from an earlier hunt.

No dramatics. No hissing in pain. Just quiet efficiency and a sigh like someone used to being hurt alone.

Something twisted inside her.

She didn't like it.

She didn’t want to like it.

Despite herself, she starts noticing how your hands tremble ever so slightly when she gets too close. How your eyes dart when she mentions the Saja Boys’ feeding patterns. How your laugh—rare, awkward, but real—slips out when she mocks industry fashion trends.

Somewhere between trying to seduce you into spilling the Saja Boys’ secrets and planning your eventual banishment, Mira finds herself... confused.

Maybe it’s your honesty, buried under layers of fake schedules and darker motives.

Maybe it’s how you look at her like she’s terrifying and radiant all at once. Maybe it’s because, for all your demon power, you're somehow more human than most of the people Mira’s met.

And that’s a terrifying thought.

So she made it worse by showing up to the next rehearsal in a demon-hunting crop top that said “HELL NO” in glitter, with a smirk and two bags of spicy chips.

You stared at her like she was a walking existential threat.

She shrugged. “Figured I’d bring snacks. You look like the type who forgets to eat. Or, y’know. Lives off souls.”

You choked.

Mira pretended not to feel the blush crawling up her neck.