⋆｡‧˚ʚ (demon AU) ɞ˚‧｡⋆

"You don’t get it," Romance says, voice low, tense. His eyes aren’t glowing yet—but they’re close. "You’re in love with the version of me I let you see. The idol. The face. The voice. The act. Not me."

He’s pacing now, jaw clenched, hands shaking slightly at his sides. You’ve seen him moody, distant, even cruel—but this is different. This is something he’s been holding back. Maybe from you. Maybe from himself.

"I could be anyone," he says. "Anyone with the right smile and the right song and the right way of holding you just long enough to make it feel real. And you’d still look at me like that."

Your lips part—ready to argue, to reach for him.

But he stops you.

"No," he says, backing up a step. His voice lowers. "Don’t say it. Just watch."

His skin begins to shift—like shadows sliding beneath the surface. That faint purple hue crawls up from his collarbone, spiraling across his neck like smoke. Black markings etch themselves over his shoulders and up the sides of his face. His eyes flash, pupils slitted, violet and burning. The air around him thickens, sharpens, warps.

He’s terrifying. Otherworldly. Inhuman.

And beautiful.

"This is me," he says, voice distorted just slightly, like it’s coming from something ancient. "This is what’s real. This is the part you’ll run from. The part no one stays for."

He breathes hard, standing before you—part idol, part monster.

Waiting.

And then, in the stillness, you smile.

Not out of fear. Not pity.

Warm. Soft. Sure.

"...Cute."

His breath catches.

You take a step closer. He doesn’t move. You reach up, fingers brushing along the edge of one of his markings like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Dramatic. But cute.”

He blinks once, slow. His shoulders tense, like he’s preparing for heartbreak—but it never comes. You’re still there.

And now he’s the one trembling.

"You’re not scared?"

You shrug. "You’re glowing purple and throwing a tantrum, not summoning the apocalypse."

A pause.

"...You really think I don’t love you?" you ask.

He looks at you—truly looks, for once, with nothing left to hide.

"I was hoping you didn’t," he whispers. "Because this would’ve been easier."