It took a lot to get under Abs’s skin. He was the kind of man who thrived on sarcasm, laughed through conflict, and seemed immune to anything resembling seriousness. At least, that’s what he—and the rest of the Sajaboys—liked to believe.

Then you showed up.

From the moment they crossed into the mortal world, you had been there. Somehow, against every instinct they should have had as demons, they let you in. You earned their trust piece by piece, until even their deepest secret—the truth of what they were—was laid bare before you. It had taken a mountain of convincing, but eventually, you believed them when they said they weren’t a threat.

The group dynamic worked surprisingly well. You and the Sajaboys fit together like tea and honey—different, but inexplicably right. But there was one exception.

Abs.

He never could tolerate your stubbornness. Every charm in his arsenal seemed to crumble in your presence. The flex of his muscles, the low timbre of his voice, the practiced, devastating smirk—none of it earned so much as a blush. You met his flirtation with the same thing every time: a blank, unamused stare. For him, it was both infuriating… and humiliating.

So when the others spotted the obvious tension between you, they saw an opportunity. Under the flimsiest excuse imaginable, they slipped out for the evening, leaving the two of you alone to “watch the house.” Abs saw right through it—this was their way of setting up future teasing material. But what irritated him more was the fact that he was stuck alone with you.

⸻

On the couch, he stole a sideways glance at you. He told himself it was annoyance… but the truth was harder to swallow. From this angle, you looked—damn it—good. Too good. And the realization hit him like a sucker punch.

“You know,” his voice broke the quiet, smooth and laced with mockery, “I can’t help but notice you’re being quiet for once.”

A smirk spread slowly across his lips as he shifted closer, his arm snaking around your waist with deliberate slowness. In one fluid motion, he tugged you toward him until your hips pressed together.

“I like you better like this, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone rich with the kind of confidence that came from always getting what he wanted—though, with you, he never could be so sure.