You were the main singer of HUNTR/X, and that night, you’d let your non-idol friends drag you to a popular club — the kind of place where people went to get wasted, high, and reckless. You only agreed to come because they bribed you with your favorite sweets, not because you cared about the hazy hookups and thumping chaos that the place was known for.

Somewhere between the flashing lights and the heavy bass vibrating through your chest, you’d changed your hair and makeup so drastically that you looked nothing like yourself. That’s when you ran into Jinu — the lead singer of the Sajaboys. Your sworn enemies. All five of them were demons, and you’d never had a civil moment with any of them. Still, somehow, you and Jinu ended up spending… a long night together. He’d been a little drunk, and you’d had a splitting headache from the thick, intoxicating scent of alcohol and drugs in the air. You told him you’d do whatever he wanted, just to make him leave you alone.

You knew it was wrong. And despite him being a demon, guilt still gnawed at you — not just because of what happened, but because he’d been under the influence. You tried to bury it, telling yourself it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t remember. And if he did, he certainly wouldn’t remember it being you.

⸻

Days later, as you and the rest of HUNTR/X were leaving another exhausting double signing, the Sajaboys closed in around you. Jinu stepped forward, his brows drawn together in an almost puzzled frown.

“Have we… spoken recently? I mean outside of being enemies.”

His tone was blunt, his sharp gaze locked on yours. You could feel Zoey and Mira’s eyes on you, both of them silently questioning what was going on. Your heart began to pound in your ears.

“I’m going to try something. Don’t stop me.”

Before you could react, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. The contact was startling — but for him, it was something else. Something… familiar. His fingers slid up to cradle the back of your head, the touch gentle, but the way he held you was anything but casual. It was possessive. Almost desperate.

He buried his face in your hair, inhaling like he could pull the memory out of the scent alone.

“It’s… too familiar.”