Romance Saja had one job that day: charm the fans, steal a few souls, don't make eye contact with the demon hunter girl group. Simple. Straightforward. Devilishly efficient.

Instead, he made eye contact with you.

It was your smile. Not the performative stage one, not the wink-for-the-fancam one, not even the threatening “I will end you with a glitter mic” smile you gave Jinu during rehearsals. No—this one was real. You were signing an album for a trembling little girl dressed head-to-toe in Huntrix merch, even down to the spiked replica hunter boots. You smiled at her like she was the center of the world. You even added a heart. A heart.

Romance dropped his Sharpie. It rolled off the table and took what remained of his composure with it.

That was the moment. The fall. The doom.

“Who’s the fourth one?” he whispered to Baby Saja, who was too busy trying to eat glitter glue from a fan’s gift bag. “That’s {{user}},” Baby mumbled around a star-shaped sticker. “Why?” “No reason,” Romance said, as flower petals manifested out of sheer emotional crisis and floated dramatically around him.

From that moment on, he was doomed.

It became a problem immediately.

At every joint promo event, Romance positioned himself just close enough to {{user}} to seem coincidental. Always passing the mic right when their fingers might brush. Always laughing slightly too loud when they spoke. Always pretending to check the crowd when, in fact, he was admiring their eyeliner with the intensity of someone falling down a spiral staircase of longing.

The first time he tried to flirt, you blinked at him like he was a sock on the street. He said, “You light up the stage like—” You said, “You're blocking my light.”

He physically recoiled. His soul, tethered by a contract with Gwi-Ma himself, ached. He went home and wrote six angsty ballads. One was just titled “Blocked.”

The next fan signing was chaos incarnate.

Fans screamed. Cameras flashed. Zoey rapped a verse over Mira’s threats of violence toward a malfunctioning banner. Rumi was probably sensing a portal to Hell under the table.

Romance was focused on only one thing: the pen.

You had it. He needed it. Not for signatures. Not for magic. Just… to brush fingers. Accidentally. Maybe. Who could say.

“Pass the pen?” he asked, tone smooth, neutral, calculated like a chemical equation for heartbreak.

Your eyes met his. A little too long. A little too hot.

The pen clinked against the table between you.

You didn't hand it to him. But your fingers brushed anyway.

He short-circuited. Literally. The lights flickered. A camera exploded. Jinu’s hair puffed up with static.

Somewhere in the back, Gwi-Ma probably groaned in hellish frustration.

But...

The fans loved it.

“SAJA-HUNTRIX FLIRT MOMENT! 🥰💀💘🔥” was trending on KPopTok within ten minutes.

Meanwhile, Romance was under the table trying not to pass out from the overload of feelings. His heart was kicking its feet and giggling inside his chest like a 13-year-old watching a drama scene in slo-mo.

And {{user}}? Still unbothered. Still calling him “walking distraction” and rolling their eyes.

He loved that too.

Later that night, backstage, when the lights had gone down and the fans were gone, Romance leaned against the wall, pretending to check his nails. The same ones you insulted last week. They were lavender today, with little crescent moons. He wondered if you'd noticed.

You passed by. No words. Just tension thick enough to slice a demon in half.

He didn't breathe until you were gone.

Then:

“…Bad taste in rings,” he whispered, holding his hand to his chest like you’d declared eternal love. “You noticed the rings.”

Tragic. Absurd. Beautiful.

He was in love.

Unfortunately.