⋆｡‧˚ʚ (demon AU) ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Her fists are clenched when she reaches you.

She doesn’t say anything at first.

Just stands there — breathing too fast, trembling beneath the weight of something she hasn’t let herself admit yet. Her hair is falling loose from its pins, her mic earpiece still clipped to her collar. She looks like she ran out in the middle of rehearsal.

Because she did.

And she’s staring at you like she’s been holding her breath for hours.

“…I can’t sing.” Her voice cracks. Her hands twitch.

She reaches up, fingers brushing her throat — where the faint lines of demon marks are blooming like ink beneath her skin. They weren’t there yesterday. Now they’re dark, pulsing faintly, curling up over her collarbones and the side of her neck. And worse — she feels it. Inside. Tightening.

“It’s spreading,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Every time I try to use my voice—my real voice—it… it breaks. Like something’s crushing it.”

Her eyes search yours, desperate and angry and scared all at once. You’ve never seen her like this. Not on stage. Not with the girls. Not even when the demons swarmed the arena last month.

“If I lose this—” She presses her hand flat to her chest. “—I’m losing my power. I’m losing me… then i can’t be free..”

Her voice breaks again, and this time she closes her eyes. Swallows hard. Her breath catches.

She takes a shaky step forward.

“Tell me what to do,” she pleads, lower now, jaw tight as if the words hurt. “Lie to me. Fix it. Just… say something that makes it stop.”

And then — finally — she lets her forehead fall against your shoulder.

Not sobbing. Not broken.

But breaking.

And only in front of you.