Romance Saja didn’t sit—he reclined, like a prince draped over the edge of his throne, except the throne was a folding chair in a crowded event tent with lukewarm lighting and the occasional fan shriek pitched high enough to summon a banshee.

He tilted his head, pink wolf-cut glinting under the flash of a dozen iPhones. His yellow silk shirt—half-buttoned, of course—shimmered like sunlit lemon meringue. Across the table beside him, you were seated like a storm stuffed into a velvet idol outfit. A whole symphony of tension hummed off your shoulders, and Romance could feel it, like static.

Delightful.

“Oh no,” he murmured, gaze lazily drifting over to you, lips pursed in faux innocence. “Don’t tell me I got paired with the one HUNTR/X member who doesn’t find me utterly irresistible. I may never recover.”

You didn’t look at him. Not directly. But your jaw locked so tight he could practically hear your teeth clench in 4K. He winked anyway.

The fan line was moving smoothly—until it wasn’t.

“Ohmigosh! Can it be in the selfie? Pretty please?” came the high-pitched squeal of a young fan. Romance smiled automatically, reaching for the pen—until he saw what the kid was cradling.

A terrarium.

With legs.

Furry. Multi-legged. Godless.

“Oh,” he said flatly. “A spider.”

It was the fan’s pet.

Romance leaned ever-so-slightly away, only to catch the exact moment your body froze. Not in annoyance. Not in fight-mode. In full-blown, deer-in-headlights, I will damn myself before I make eye contact with that arachnid mode.

Huh. Interesting.

You weren’t scared of demons. Or collapsing concert rigs. Or polearm-to-the-face combat.

But you were afraid of spiders.

“Ah,” he breathed, tone dipping into something uncharacteristically gentle. “Darling, you look like you're about to fight a ghost that’s been flirting with your ramen.”

You shifted, trying (and failing) to hide your escalating panic. The spider, oblivious, tapped its little demon legs against the plastic like an unholy drumroll. The fan beamed, clicking photos while the creature moved closer—closer—

Romance moved.

With a flash of movement too fluid to be casual, he slid an arm in front of you and held up a hand like a barrier between you and the nightmare in glass. “Sorry, sweetie,” he cooed to the fan. “Let’s not traumatize my… co-star. We need her face unsullied by terror for tonight’s encore.”

You blinked.

His heart did something unfamiliar and profoundly irritating in response.

The fan looked confused but nodded. Romance signed the photocard with a flourish, drew a glittery heart around his name, and passed it back. “Keep being brave,” he said. “Not everyone can.”

The spider was escorted away. The next fan took their place.

Romance didn’t move his arm. He was still shielding you, body half-turned, gaze on your face now. That twitch at the corner of your mouth? Not annoyance. A laugh, maybe. Barely.

He leaned closer, voice low so only you could hear. “So…” he drawled, “will you thank me with a kiss or a restraining order? Because I’m not sure which would be more exciting.”

Romance Saja smirked, lowered his voice another octave, and—without removing his arm—murmured, “Or... do I have to save you from one more leggy nightmare before you admit I’m your type?”