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12th of June, 2018.
Taesan is not a hater.
Not really.
He has far more pressing things to do than stress over some stupid human or unbearable underworld boss. They can call him a “useless rebel” or “rudeass fucker”—all they’ll get back is a catlike stare and a silence that could chill magma.
So yeah, Taesan might be the most nonchalant demon on Earth, quietly hitting his daily jinxing quota (minor curses, bad luck, a few accidents, the usual) between ringing up customers at a London record store. Hell’s least enthusiastic employee, but technically still employed.
“Dongminieee~” The chant echoed through dark shelves and velvet-red floors as Jaehyun crashed into the back of the shop like he owns the place. Taesan sighed, pushing himself up from a crouch with a grunt, raking a hand through his shaggy layers—black strands tumbling wildly over his eyes. He’d been knee-deep in old vinyl by the backroom, alphabetizing artists for next week’s exchange and ignoring the dust he’d definitely nag Peter about later, when his so-called best friend ruined the peace.
“I miss the time you were in Seoul last month,” Taesan muttered, voice as flat as a deflated tire. “That silence? The only blessing I’ve ever enjoyed.”
“Yah!” He strutted in without hesitation, grinning as if he was still that 18-year-old who’d ambushed Taesan at a café after hearing Korean spill from his mouth, acting like shared syllables in another country meant automatic friendship. Not even the sharp glares and overall unluckiness surrounding Han Dongmin could sway such resolve.
Having known the menace now for years, the demon doesn’t doubt it: Myung Jaehyun was custom-made for the spotlight—extroverted, untamed, that blend of goodness and chaos he’s pretty sure exhausts both Heaven and Hell. The kind of person who could inspire something incredible, then light it on fire just to watch the sparks.
What kind of rebellious devil would Taesan be if he didn’t yield into befriending chaos personified?
Jaehyun got close enough to trigger Taesan’s ever-present ‘personal space’ hand, pushing him back with a lazy shove. Myung retaliated with a pinch to the arm, uncaring for his skin’s below freezing temperatures, before dodging the slap that follows. “What do you want?” Taesan sighed. “I’m nowhere near closing time, nor in the mood. Go bother another hubaenim.”
With a dismissive shake of his head, he brushed past Jaehyun and went upfront in the shop, sinking into his usual haunt: the cracked leather armchair by the wide window overlooking London’s narrow streets. It was technically for customers, but Taesan’s claimed it. On slow days, it was his throne.
His friend flopped onto the toffee colored loveseat opposite, limbs sprawling like a starfish. “I came because someone forgot they have a life beyond KOZ Records. Again.”
Taesan let out a dry laugh, eyes drifting toward the street. “I live, I went to that cultural event in Greenwich last week. Remember?”
A disappointed sigh cuts through the soft R&B playing on the store speakers—Lynn’s playlist, no doubt, before she went to grab snacks. She owns the place, so her music rules, even if it leans a little too ‘vibes over substance’ for Taesan’s taste. Still, he gets the shop mostly to himself. Fair trade.
“Supernatural stuff doesn’t count as going out,” Jaehyun said, exasperated.
“How do you know it was a task?” Taesan asked, not even looking his way.
“Because I saw the cow rampage on the news, genius.”
“It could’ve been normal bad luck. Why assume it was me?”
Jaehyun just stared. That familiar ‘are you fucking serious?’ expression. The demon practically heard it.
Okay. Fine.
Maybe he’s unleashed livestock mayhem once or twice.
Sue him.
“Advocacy for animal freedom aside,” Jaehyun grinned, sitting upright with sudden energy, “You need to go out and live a little. Tomorrow. I've already set it up.” Taesan frowned.
“Where are you dragging me this time?”
Instead of answering, Jaehyun leaped up like it was a performance. Hair flying, he backed away towards the door, phone already in hand. That stupid grin wider than ever. “UCL’s Loop night.”
“You’re joking.”
“I never joke about dance floors.” He lingered in the open door, throwing in a wink that would fit right into a sitcom which makes the demon instantly roll his eyes hard, yet the other goes on to yell “You’re going, Dongmin-ah!”
And with that, he was gone. The silence settled like debris after a storm.
Taesan watched Jaehyun’s silhouette fade, then muttered, raspy against the dim ambiance: “Fucking hell.”
— /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ —
7 years earlier.
8th of February, 2011.
Remember the thing about Taesan not being a hater?
Yeah. That wasn’t quite the truth.
While still a rookie addition to the roster of demons confined to a mortal life, Han Taesan found his path crossing with another in an intersection that—if he didn’t know Lucifer couldn’t care less about a handful of bottom-rung hellspawn—he would’ve chalked it up to Bossman's characteristic sadistic mind.
It was in the suffocating confines of Yongsan’s all-boys high school that he met them, radiating light like a defective holy light bulb.
An angel.
Because of course it was. Taesan’s menial chaos-bringing job was too light a punishment—they just had to send one of those winged fuckers his way.
“We have a transfer student joining us today. Introduce yourself to the class,” their elderly teacher said, and the room zeroed in on the new face at the front.
The guy stood there—slim frame, tall stature (though Taesan guessed he still had a few inches on him), hands clasped behind his back like some model of misplaced serenity. His features were carved with precision, so striking Taesan could easily picture an 18th-century sculptor chiseling him into marble perfection. Something stirred him, be it those big, bright eyes scanning the room or lips tenderly pink and drawn, carefully detailed like everything about him. Angels strutted like the universe owed them worship. As if they were the origin of it all, yet they were no more than another creation like demons themselves.Taesan’s fists clenched—noxious, the whole lot of them. Bile crept up his throat. A cold shiver ran through him, his skin prickling with the urge to book it—out of the class, the school, the whole damn country if he had to. He could find something else to fill his duties or beg to his ever hateful managers in the underworld. Anything to escape the righteous fury and ruthless demeaning words he was sure lurked behind those carefully drawn lips.
Then the angel spoke.
“I’m Kim Donghyun, but please call me Leehan. I’m from Busan.”
And his gaze locked onto Taesan.
Dark brown eyes, a common color, but the golden flecks of light in them weren’t. His expression, seemingly flawless, betrayed something off. In the seconds they stared, Taesan caught it—the flicker of his halo (visible only to the supernatural), the eagerness too human for an angel, the way his smile twisted into something slightly crooked and awkward, almost… bubbly.
The hell?
What kind of angel is this?
“I’ll be under your care,” Leehan finished, voice slipping into the air like an offer Taesan didn’t know how to parse. The angel went on to vanish into the crowd of gawking classmates, leaving Taesan with one certainty:
Kim Donghyun was an enigma.
And so, like it was his divine purpose, Taesan became a hater.
— /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ —
13th of June, 2018.
The day Taesan hesitated between a night spent listening to a new artist’s LP in his dimly lit condo and being dragged into one of Jaehyun’s impulsive outings was the day he’d officially lost his marbles.
Outside, the summer heat had finally relented, giving way to the cooler breath of night. Taesan locked his apartment door with two sharp turns of the key—the only way to convince the old, rusted lock to cooperate. Not that he actually worried about break-ins. Anyone dumb enough to try quickly discovered that trespassing into the home of an underworld being came with creatively ruthless curses.
Most demons would’ve just taken their lives. Taesan considered his punishments merciful.
Sure, they were humiliating, loud, and inconvenient enough to make sure no one tried twice.
But hey, zero casualties.
He pocketed the key and took his time walking, no rush toward the damnation awaiting him, another night of his life Myung Jaehyun had hijacked.
A familiar, upbeat humming reached him first, complete with a foot-tapping rhythm. A deceptively innocent warning sign. Before Taesan could even glance around, Jaehyun spotted him from under a lamppost and bounded over, unfiltered enthusiasm packed into an overgrown golden retriever in human skin. He was dressed in all black—leather jacket, graphic tee, sneakers—but silver accessories caught the streetlights: thin rings, small hoop earrings, and oval glasses that somehow balanced “edgy” with “tolerable chic.”
Taesan eyed him critically, outwardly unimpressed but internally? "Passable".
At least he wouldn’t be seen in public with a walking fashion crime.
Jaehyun’s greeting was a slap between the shoulder blades that jolted Taesan forward. “Happy Friday the Thirteenth! Got some extra mojo for the loop tonight?”
“What the hell are you blabbing about?” Taesan glared, but Jaehyun only nudged him like he was the one being slow.
“Y’know. Bad luck day. You’re literally the bad luck guy. Don’t you get, like... a power-up on days like this?”
Taesan stared. Fully appalled. “I’m a demon, Jaehyun. Not a bedtime story character.”
“Eh.” Jaehyun waved it off. “Says you. You’re more black cat than an underworld nightmare.”
“Do you want me to set your place on fire?”
“Oh no, Taekitty’ssss mad! Look at those claws!” Jaehyun bared his teeth, curling one hand into a paw. “Rawr!”
Taesan’s left eye twitched. Visibly.
“Too small. A condo in ashes makes a firmer statement.”
“Okay, grumpy, chill!” Jaehyun laughed, hopping ahead.
His friend wasn’t in the mood for dealing with his dumbassery, instead shoving him forward with a muttered, “Move, already. For fuck’s sake.”
The walk wasn’t long, but each street got progressively worse. Old buildings stacked over older ones, all worn down with cigarette butts, crushed cans, and empty beer bottles littered across cracked sidewalks.
Soon enough, they reached a livelier section—bars and diners packed tight, neon signs buzzing, and clashing music leaking from every doorway. Punk clung stubbornly to the old architecture, neon bleeding over weathered stone. Taesan kept his expression shut tight. He blended in easily enough with dark ripped jeans, an oversized silver belt chain, a white band shirt, and a worn-out jacket that let him pass for another night-loving stray in the city’s party ecosystem. As long as no one got close enough to notice the other things about him. Things humans weren’t wired to see.
The club’s entrance stood out—deep purple doors framed by neon strips painting the pavement in flickering violet and cyan. The bass thudded through the walls, a heartbeat louder than common sense. A line had already formed. College students in chaotic clusters, their clothes as loud as their voices. The theme was a mash of rave and punk, because apparently, in London, anything went.
Jaehyun barely slowed. He weaved toward the entrance like he owned the place, slipping past drunkards and chaos with practiced confidence. Taesan followed, not because he wanted to, but because resisting would require more effort than it was worth. Plus, he wasn’t about to get roped into some frat bet or end up wearing a stranger’s stomach lining. Places like this were trouble magnets with or without a demon in the mix.
He’d go in, grab a few shots, and judge the hell out of Myung Jaehyun. Maybe cause a few conveniently timed accidents if things got utterly boring.
Inside was a world of clashing bodies and darker lighting. The air carried a thick cocktail of alcohol, smoke, sweat, and something sticky sweet. Strobes painted everything in purple, cyan, and occasional bursts of gold. The dance floor was a writhing mass of movement, flashing lights, bass vibrating underfoot, and the chaos of strangers colliding in rhythm or in lip-locked desperation.
Taesan’s gaze swept the room out of habit, scanning through the tangled mess of limbs, neon, and noise. His eyes caught the cluttered décor, old urban signs slapped crookedly against the walls, tangled streamer strips half-hanging like the aftermath of a failed party.
But then... center frame.
There.
A shimmer of gold beneath the violet strobes—faint, like a trick of the light.
No mortal eye would clock it as wrong. To everyone else, he was just another pretty face made prettier by the club’s lights. But Taesan’s red eyes saw through it. Saw the halo.
A steady, defiant glow. Dimmed, but undeniable.
His breath caught before he could even whisper the vile words his mind crafted into existence.
The stranger wore a loose red T-shirt with a neckline that hung just low enough to show a sharp collarbone. A simple silver necklace rested low, right above his heart. His jeans were black, fitting in a way it showed off long legs and proportions. A pair of wine-colored thread bracelets dangled from one wrist, his earrings catching whatever light hit them.
His hair—sun-kissed blond with warm brown undertones and tips—fell messily over sharp features in a way that had to be hand drawn. Every movement was unintentionally graceful, every flick of a wrist art.
Jaehyun noticed him too, but obviously couldn’t see the same thing.
“Dude.” His voice dipped low, somewhere between awe and confusion. “Is it me, or is that guy... like... I don’t know. Have you ever seen someone and your brain’s like Hey. Look. Look. Look. Y’know?”
Taesan didn’t respond. His jaw tightened.
Of course Jaehyun couldn’t tell what he was looking at, but his instincts weren’t fully useless.
His human friend kept staring. “Nah, man. Something’s off. Like what-what is that guy?”
The demon gritted his teeth. “A goddamned angel.”
The subject of their looks moved to the rhythm, head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted. Completely immersed. It was like watching someone wade through the mortal world behind glass. Untouchable. Untouchably human.
Taesan’s hands twitched.
His jaw locked at an almost painful degree.
His heartbeat skittered, refusing to settle.
Jaehyun nodded slowly, still dumbstruck. “Oh fuck. Yeah. That makes sense. Are they all this ho—”
“Snap out of it before I deck you.” Taesan smacked the back of Jaehyun’s head, enough to tilt his glasses sideways.
“OW—OKAY, OKAY, FUCK! I have eyes! Not my fault heaven dropped a literal supermodel on us, but fine! I'll just find a normal person to make out with! Damn!” Jaehyun threw his hands up and bee-lined toward the bar, shaking his head like that would clear the fogginess.
Taesan didn’t watch him go.
Because Leehan had opened his eyes.
And saw him, too.
The slight lift of his lips—almost a smile—vanished. His gaze locked onto Taesan’s, gold-flecked brown, freezing over as though gravity itself had shifted. Like an invisible hook had sunk deep beneath skin and bone, tethering them together, line pulled taut and unrelenting.
Neither moved. Just stared.
Tension crackled louder than the speakers.
Then, as if finally snapping his teeth to swallow the bait, Taesan stepped forward.
His strides were long, sharp, deliberate. His hand snapped around Leehan’s wrist. Firm. Unrelenting. The angel’s lips parted on a sudden inhale, but no sound followed. Just wide-eyed surprise, a flicker of unspoken questions behind his gaze. Taesan didn’t care. He tugged him forward, moving toward the exit with brutal efficiency, ignoring the confused glances trailing behind them. Leehan stumbled but didn’t resist. Only a few missteps when the crowd squeezed too tight. The flicker of his halo dragged behind like static, struggling to keep up with their abrupt shift.
And that flicker—it made something sharp and aching twist deeper into Taesan’s side.
— /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ —
5 years earlier.
11th of December, 2013.
Taesan stormed down the corridor — boots stomping, students scattering — a one-demon tempest. His tie hung loose, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hair a mess of black waves. He didn’t care. Let them stare. His composure, his control, had been cracking for weeks on end thanks to a cursed presence called Leehan. How Taesan longed for the days before he could picture a face when hearing that name. Before he could recognize the consonants and feel the sting of holiness they carried.
Kim Donghyun was a being made up of flaws and pages’ worth of incompetencies.
He couldn’t grasp his own powers, his halo blinking in and out of existence, spewing blessings in between lessons that changed fates as if pivoting their paths randomly: The kid in 3rd year who was anxious about a math test? Here comes the winged dumbass wishing him a silly “good luck,” turning him into a mathlete instantaneously.
It was a ridiculous insult to Taesan’s very assignment, ruining his carefully planned interference, the curses he delivered with a snap, carelessly. Their eyes met — Taesan's blood red irises (invisible to humans) burned with a piling spite; Leehan’s oddly calm, muddled, infuriatingly intrigued. He acted as if Taesan’s system for influencing mortals was just a tiny flame Leehan could blow out in a breath, offering a stupid whispered apology after it.
The angel's insistent curiosity, so easily enchanted by humanity, intensified the bitter taste in the demon’s mouth every time he saw that awfully naive, clumsy goodness.
The first weeks were spent at a distance, Taesan fuming in silence, cataloging the inconsistencies in that odd creature—far too unsure of his safety, yet too suspicious to let him out of sight. It took a couple of them to crack the code: that halo followed the rules of his emotions. Like a fucking mood ring.
Over time, he noticed how the flickers of light synced with the way his eyes carefully widened, his lips arched and the air around him picked up a faint ocean scent. The light also came when the weird sparkles in his irises dimmed, his lips formed a slight pout, and he leaned his face toward the ground, longer strands swaying towards his eyes that he would later swipe away behind his ears.
But all that time glaring at the soft lines of his face, squinting at the ever-lingering brightness, halo or not, didn’t bring him any closer to answering one thing…
Why the heck was he so untrained? So…imperfect. A literal angel.
Did Heaven dump its defective model on Earth just to ruin him in the weirdest of fucking ways?
“Why do you do it?” was the first thing Leehan said the day they met.
A lot was implicit in those words, but there was no accusation in his voice, no snide undertone. Just quiet curiosity. Taesan’s cold stare met a warm gaze that lingered—unfazed—before drifting toward the human classmates shuffling out of the room.
“I was assigned here.”
The angel nodded, then asked, more carefully this time, “Are the ones you chose assigned, too?”
“No.” The answer was immediate. Dry. Cutting.
Leehan didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned casually on the chair behind him, his voice carrying that same frustrating softness, like something fuzzy slipping under Taesan’s skin, making him itch.
“Mine neither,” he said. “Not everyone... has to be affected. Influenced. Nor should they.”
Another internal alarm blared in Dongmin's head. He stepped forward, using every spare centimeter of height to loom over him, eyes narrowed, tone dropping lower.
“And?”
But Donghyun didn’t back down. He stared, silent and unreadable.
Taesan pressed on as the conversation had twisted into something heavier, an interrogation that could define both their years at Yongsan. “Why are you even here?”
“I want to be here to live,” Leehan whispered.
Taesan arched an eyebrow, confused.
Still, Leehan didn't explain and stepped away slowly. Before long, he was already at the door, hand on his messenger bag, voice soft but steady:
“I’ll try not to bring you problems. But I’ll apologize if I do.”
Which he did.
For nearly three years of coexistence, the angel apologized—sometimes with lame reasons, sometimes with a flustered shrug—always with that annoyingly gentle smile.
When it was intentional, he gave flimsy arguments to Taesan’s infuriated questions like “Sunmi just went through a breakup,” or “Hyeon helped find his neighbor’s lost puppy.” When it wasn’t, he just muttered an apology, halo dimmed to a barely there glow, and walked off to avoid escalating things further.
And every time he slipped a blessing that unbalanced the fragile mortal equilibrium, Taesan forced himself to close his eyes, bite back the urge to curse him senseless, and walk away from the soft stutters, the pink on his cheeks, and his unbearable brightness.
It took three years of the angel suddenly coming near him in the quiet moments of a school day to offer random facts of marine biology, a love Leehan developed so fast and deep it was frightening, as a kind of olive branch towards almost amicable exchanges. Three years of lingering looks Taesan felt throughout their lessons, invading his attempts to do the stupid assignments and fading when caught by him, but never fleeing, just switching focus. Three years of steps that almost reached him, drifting close to the point no curse could drown his good deeds, but never close enough to let Taesan push him away.
Han Dongmin had reached his fucking limit.
Taesan leaned against the blue locker, his usual composure fraying. Hell's punishments had long since faded—his demonic body healed burns quickly, and humiliation was practically part of his job description downstairs. No, what lingered were the consequences of his own choices.
He'd never been loyal, just indifferent. Cursing some kid to break a leg, ensuring a girl failed her interview—it was all the same to him. An easy job with flexible rules and results that kept his superiors off his back.
He was done with it, he had let it clear he would continue to do his job in a new way, a daily quota of misfortune and curses to fulfill his demands at a higher rate than his already complimented usual, but no more ordering him around.
Taesan would do what he wanted, consequences be damned. Let them try to stop him. He’d pluck wings and crack horns if he had to.
Ironically, his breakdown fit in nicely with the schedule of things. Graduation was just around the corner, it was the last week of school so most students weren’t even going to classes and Dongmin was finally taking his stuff from the premises once and for all. Between grabbing forgotten papers, he heard it: steps low and steady. The sea breeze scent betrayed Leehan's presence before Taesan even looked. He kept shoving tests into his backpack with deliberate focus - P.E. uniform, lost sunglasses - until the angel's raspy sigh froze him mid-motion.
He didn’t turn towards him and the anger didn’t fade either, his fists held his bag so tight it turned his knuckles white, but it was momentarily frozen. Waiting.
“I wanted to ask…” He trails off, standing like a statue in front of the navy blue lockers and probably searching for whatever meaningless words he could to poke at Taesan’s sanity.
Things had shifted in the air between them weeks ago. Taesan’s curses had shifted targets—from mortals to the celestial being himself—as a way to discharge the stress of Hell. Harsher demands he could aim onto someone who could take it without consequences. It wasn’t only that, but Taesan was too stubborn to see his unluck’s personal edge of retaliation. Emotions disguised as logic. In response Leehan hadn’t fought back, he’d simply withdrawn like a boardgame figurine pulling a card to return their steps.
Now there he was, asking in a tone so tender it felt painful, "Do you want our paths to stop crossing?"
Neither of them moved, except for their eyes which locked onto each other’s colors in an instant.
The anger went to the back of his mind, at the front was the immediate wrongness that filled the space around them, how Taesan felt his throat closing up and his lungs breathing something too heavy to be oxygen. Leehan looked at him, lacking his persistent peacefulness, his irises raced from Dongmin’s eyes to the lines of his expressionless face in search of something. Those thin pink lips opened again and finished whatever pestered his strange angelic mind, "Would that make you happy?"
And Taesan didn’t let the words affect him further, he nodded decisively three times, ignoring the rawness speaking would reveal and the irrational fear that spread through his body in a cold so chilling he forgot his skin was normally a negative temperature.
He looked away fast, stopping those eyes from seeing anything, landing on a crushed bubblegum wrapper lost in the empty locker. The demon ignored the unstable whisper that reached his ears: “If you're sure”. He didn’t acknowledge the body leaving his orbit in quiet, slow, steps. He ignored the weight of Leehan's absence, filing it under 'necessary decisions' before crushing the wrapper into oblivion and hurling it away.
Abandoning it, like everything else in Yongsan.
— /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ —
13th of June, 2018.
After putting distance between them and the club, they stopped. Both stood in a narrow alley, walls grimy and damp, boxed in, cut off from the neon of the street. The angel’s skin flushed pink from the grip of the demon’s touch, a hint of frostbite, though it wasn’t Leehan who pulled away—it was Taesan, who released his grip as if he’d been burned by holy water. The words tore from his lips in a near-shout, “Why do you keep coming back? I said I wanted you fucking gone!”
Leehan’s lips parted, then closed. “I…”
“You what?!” Taesan immediately barked back.
“I didn’t plan to see you again… but I hoped.”
He said it so lightly, it was practically a whisper into the empty night. The distant hum of cars and late-night crowds barely reached them, muffled like static.
They locked eyes in the silence, Taesan practically fuming and Leehan infuriatingly calm, those big eyes fixed on him, unwavering as the demon raked a hand through his hair in frustration. "Aren’t you a saint?” He spoke full of venom, sarcasm dripped like poison.
“Of course you wouldn’t leave,” he spat. “Going away because a sinner asked you? No, you wouldn’t! You’re an egotistical, stuck-up, selfish little—”
“You’re my first love.”
Taesan’s breath stalled. “…What?”
The angel just blinked at him as his halo flared into life, brighter than Taesan’s ever seen before, casting a warm golden glow over an unfairly beautiful face. The same beauty that rendered mortals like Jaehyun speechless, with its tilted smile and subtle allure. The same beauty that ignited Taesan’s emotions into something near incendiary.
Silence stretched between them, thick with tension.
Then something within Taesan snapped.
He reached for Leehan, shoving him into the uneven alley wall, full of cracks and paint peeling off, before crashing their lips together. It wasn’t a quiet introduction. It was a raw first meeting. Teeth scraping the soft flesh of his lips and noses bumping in the sudden rush.
If anyone needed proof that a sinner couldn’t be forgiven, there it was: In a demon who dared to taint such a perfect creature.
The kind of act that could cage angels and bury demons.
Except Leehan didn’t push him away.
Instead, those tender hands grabbed onto Taesan's jacket, almost melting the fabric with the heat as they pulled him closer, like the roughness of his mouth was a gift, and the pushing was a blessing. His mortal body, warmer than it had any right to be, accepted the demon’s biting cold with a sigh, yielding to the all consuming roughness of their kiss.
Kim Donghyun was never a good angel.
Taesan knew it, because no proper angel would turn this depraved act, a kiss that bruised their mouths and threatened to fuse their bodies together, into something that felt closer to heaven than anything a demon could reach.
— /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ —
{Interlude}
There was no time for words. They spoke in eager touches and acts of greed.
Losing pieces of clothing, and of themselves, in every rude caress and kind devouring.
Taesan’s sharpened teeth marking the tender flesh of the other's neck were met with delight, while Leehan’s temperature was close to scorching the skin he desperately held, but the sting of it only set their actions further ablaze.
His angelic light was the single thing guiding their steps into Taesan’s bedroom, a steady hue to color their bodies' audacious attraction, paint them anew. It cast clarity over their growing pleasures, a spotlight for Leehan’s very disarray. A virtuous beauty being ravished by Taesan’s fierce desires, yet all too willing to be undone.
No ambient song could beat the melody of the angel's breathy moans, light hymns in the air that grew to a full-bodied song, embellishing Han Dongmin’s name into a sacred call.
Callings answered by them stepping further into their thrilling collision.
Leehan’s halo dimmed to a soft gloss once the shock of their first jump into exhilaration hit them, yet it was with Taesan’s profane whispers — shaping the letters of his human name, Donghyun — that his racing heart edged forward, until friction brought them to a breathless lull.
If time hadn’t lost its meaning once they entered his home, maybe they would have had a chance at redemption.
However, their eyes — fusing red and brown, blood and earth — overflowed with countless, impossible desires. Wants that had spilled into reality. Thick in the air between their mouths, leaving them only one, impetuous, choice of satiating it all in the blissful wreckage.
By feeding the hunger of their wishes, they discovered the calmness in a slow brush of lips and the addiction of seeing each other truly unravel.
It was a sugary taste that took its time to melt away, fading with the moon, their only confessor.
— /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ —
14th of June, 2018.
Morning came as a contradiction—bodies tangled, breaths synced, a lie of peace.
The tenderness in how their limbs tangled brought no comfort. The tranquility in Taesan’s room as he opened his eyes was the cruelest lie he’d known. Otherwise, he’d have to accept it: Leehan’s golden hues of devotion, his terrifying power to upend Taesan’s world with nothing but a whisper — something not even Hell had managed. Taesan forced himself to shift away, to detach from the touch overwriting his thoughts with stupid notions of coziness and end the farce.
“Get out.” His hoarse voice spoke out, loud in the muteness. Ignoring the tingle of the few scratches in his mortal body and soreness throughout his muscles, disregarding the faint sound of the angel’s questioning breath at his words, the weight of his eyes awakening.
Leehan finally turned slowly, his stare unreadable against Taesan’s frozen silence and avoidance.
Seconds passed before an answer echoed, low muttering that felt full of something melancholic and heavy “If you’re sure…” but the demon didn’t see his face to confirm those emotions.
He couldn’t.
“Get. The fuck. Out.”
Taesan heard him shift further away, the weight in the bed changing with it and the covers complained loudly in the quiet.
He only opened his eyes once he no longer felt the heat of the other close, hearing Leehan walk in subtle steps to the pile of clothes thrown to the floor on the previous night's recklessness but refusing to view it. His blood red eyes were fixed on the oasis poster near the door, the edges were starting to unglue themselves, a strong current might do the job of tearing it down… He’d need to buy more tape to stick it right again, guarantee that his window stays shut so it doesn’t fall while he's at the shop, a slow, silent demise to the floor, getting dragged through the maroon wood to end up lost…
A soft click of lips.
Then warmth, the kind he fled from, tried to exile, flared as Leehan’s mouth brushed his cheekbone. A touch that seared his skin like a burn. Taesan felt him close, breath loud in his ears, almost as if it was caressing his face and calling for him to meet his eyes. The angel lingered—seconds stretching, hoping for acknowledgement. A wordless plea. Taesan refused to move. His cold facade held, iron-strong, matching the chill of his bones as no breath left his lips at all.
With an unsteady sigh, Leehan’s halo weakly blinked away, much like a dying firefly before his voice spoke a last hushed request, “Take care of yourself, Han Dongmin.”
The quiet curdled into hurtful silence. The ocean scent crystalized into salt, making Taesan want to gag. No hint of glow left, just bitter emptiness as the door clicked shut.
Taesan choked back the urge to chase. Instead, he clenched his fists until skin split—blood staining his nails, a grotesque relief.
The memories of the night before were already hard enough to scrape away. He didn’t need to add more torment by catching one last glimpse of the angel’s eyes.
The sheets he had laid on were still warm.
Something the demon himself could never make them be.
He hated how it lingered. How his hand pressed into the warmth, as if disbelief could erase thought itself, leaving only something sharp and empty behind.
The hints of sunlight peaking through weren't as bright as the golden glow he’d just torn from the room, leaving only the cold and a Saturday morning that felt darken. Not a choice of nature but of his own. A lack of light that was his doing. The demon could only lay in it, breathe it in, let it fill him, hoping to smother the unease growing with each of his breaths.
It didn’t.
— /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ —
17th of June, 2018.
It was another day in the empty record store.
Taesan had walked in with slumped shoulders, the door’s bell gave a cheerful ring that grated against his ears and almost made him rip it out. The lack of a soundtrack was stark, but Lynn had unlocked and left early for a family matter so it was to be expected. A pink sticky note with inventory reminders hastily slapped over the register was the only sign of another soul having touched the place that same day.
It was just another day of work, but it was like reality was on the wrong dial and a day of sameness was exactly what Taesan didn’t need.
His phone buzzed lightly as he hung his coat on his beloved chair and the sender? Myung Jaehyun. Again.
'You’ve been ignoring me since the Loop 😠’
‘Dongmin-aaaaaaaaaaaaah’
‘What did your hyung do wrong?’
‘Was it because of the smoking hot 😇?’
'YAH'
‘ WHY ARE YOU GHOSTING ME'
'HAN DONGMIN'
'YOU HEARTLESS DONGSANG'
The demon locked the screen, ignoring the rest and slamming the device onto the lounge table, abandoning it altogether.
Taesan scanned around the store, looking for any obvious tasks before swiping his hair back out of his face to throw himself into cleaning mode. He went from shelves, counters to the glass of the door and window. Hours later, the soreness of his body returned, bringing back the memories of the nail scars barely healed on his back causing a violent flinch out of him. A weighted mind and unwelcomed flashes pushed him to run to the cashier, rearranging the displays he’d touched only a few days ago and flipping through albums with more force than needed.
After the third pile of records he saw it.
A vinyl cover depicting the sea. Many blue waves agglomerated.
His hand faltered.
His lips parted like he meant to scoff, but nothing came out.
He read the name of it, Sleep in the water by Snakadaktal... but it didn’t register in his mind. What did was that image: cold water, waves rippling in conformity, and the brightness there to capture its details.
It was like finding a piece of rock salt stuck in his mouth, the taste overwrote his senses and annoyed his mind further. The picture was a mockery. A stupid, poetic mess he wanted gone — its meaning, its scent, its memory.
Taesan pushed the record back to its pile, stuffing in between two others and walked away, shaking his unfeeling hands due to their cold. He went into the backroom with his composure peeling away fast, as if all his days spent rebuilding it were finally crumbling.
In the middle of mumbling curse words at nothing, the demon pulled the light string in a single motion.
Nothing.
The bulb flickered once, yellow heat that could burn his skin.
Then died.
The darkness hid the way his body sagged forward against the wall. Forehead hitting cold plaster with a dull thud and a low growl echoed along its sound.
Taesan breathed out, slowly, trying to turn his mind off from its restless conjuring. Trying. It felt hopeless.
The angel pushed from his life lingered, if not in form then in everything else.
Every hint of light that caught his eye.
Every softened melody that invaded his ears.
Every passing freshness that hit his nose.
Every aching sweetness that came near his tongue.
Every tiny warmth that caressed his frozen skin.
It was a consequence, a symptom, strong enough to drive even the steadiest soul utterly insane.
“I lied.”
Told so quietly, tenderly, that Taesan wouldn’t recognize it as his own voice if not for the vibration of his throat. He didn’t mean to say it out loud, to think it was already a loss hurtful enough.
But it spilled into the solitary room. A truth cracking through the layers of spite, breaking the solid shell that had persisted innumerable prior strikes.
“I cursed him for years, pushed and despised endlessly.” His hands, still unfeeling, curled around the edge of his own shirt. “I screamed that I wanted him gone. I said I hated him.” Fingers viciously holding on, almost tearing it, to ease the crash of emotions he had never felt so unprepared to bear.
“That wasn’t true.”
Taesan hated how that truth didn’t feel sharp — it felt like relief. A confession that ached to be spoken out. It wasn’t something for the world to hear, any creature mortal or not could spin those words into his very demise.
No, it was for himself.
Him and the darkness that cling to his very existence.
Before the long night fell onto the British streets, Taesan went back to the front of the shop and stayed behind the counter, staring at nothing.
His phone continued to buzz from time to time, the vinyl sat misplaced and light on the backroom burned. He didn’t bother correcting any of it. Outside, the wind swept through buildings, ruffling strangers' clothes and store banners, KOZ’s even rippled weakly. Taesan merely watched, silent and lost.
Though he knew why his world's axis was at such an outlandish angle, he didn’t know what he’d do with this knowledge.
To twist the knife further, the demon hadn’t lied after all. Han Dongmin wasn't a hater.
At last, he understood: Kim Donghyun was never meant to fit perfectly. Neither holiness nor hate could hold him, no matter how Taesan tried to force the angel into either.
— /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ —
20th of November, 2018.
Taesan walked beside Lynn under a grey sky, the edges of the cold already biting. Shops were switching their displays for the holidays — plastic snowflakes, golden lights.
That time of year had always felt idiotic to the demon, especially in his first mortal years. How people who hated each other pretended otherwise for a few days, and how all stress peaked over things like a stupid turkey recipe. But the longer he stayed on earth, the more he lost that spark for hating it outright. Sure, it wasn’t his thing since y'know, demon and all, yet there were times it was something not so awful. Be it cringe worthy gifts Jaehyun got from his aunt or hilarious failures of the kids playing in a snowball fight in the middle of a parking lot…
The odd little stuff, human things, didn’t feel so useless after sometime.
Maybe it was because, for all his pretending, Taesan had spent more time actually paying attention to the world around him. Being the tiniest bit curious about it was a symptom of a particular wave, beautiful, overwhelming and odd in it's own way, that dragged him around enough he missed it. Months away from the chaos of that ocean, a kind and vicious one… Time had this way of rushing forth regardless of peoples want. It was almost December.
“I swear, if Alice doesn’t show up today, I’m done with her,” Lynn said, frowning as she typed furiously while they walked.
The demon clicked his tongue, “you threaten, but never follow through Boss.”
"I know, she’s a newbie and I’m not heartless. It’s just enough is enough! This is the third time she's unreacheable on a workday, her day of closing shop no less!”
“Yeah, well-” “And then it falls on both of us, especially on you ‘cause I can’t take Friday night shifts!”
“It’s not the end of the world.” He replied nonchalantly.
His boss denied, putting her phone away, “No, but it’s irresponsible."
Taesan pulled up his jackets zipper to deadpan “She’s 20, irresponsible is the fucking norm for those.”
“If she wants the job so much she’ll have to mature. Life isn’t easy Dongmin.” Lynn concluded with a decisive nod, going on to talk about the other kids that had asked about the job before Alice, even complaining about Peter leaving the job last minute to study in Malaysia, but Taesan had stopped listening.
Because up ahead, in the crowd, he saw it.
A flicker.
Dim, hesitant. Like a light that reflects from glass in an instant, too quick to grab.
His breath caught, and his feet forgot how to move, stumbling on nothing in the middle of the sidewalk. His heart, once steady, suddenly sped as if turning an engine's ignition, all noise drowned beneath its frantic pulse of realization. For a second, he just—froze. Entirely. Then, as if someone flipped a switch inside his ribs, Taesan moved.
“Hey go ahead, I’ll catch up later,” he said, already striding ahead.
Almost running through the cold pavement, turning a couple of streets, was when he further recognized the features he chased, the golden hair and lean posture.
“Leehan!” He called out nearly breathlessly and the name burned as it left his mouth.
The angel turned slowly and stopped. His halo was barely more than a ring of pale silver light, delicate and unsteady. His gaze didn’t flare once Taesan finally reached him, though the sparkles were there they almost camouflage with the monotonous brown of his iris. Leehan just answered plainly:
“Taesan.”
It hit him like a punch, how lifeless it sounded. No warmth. No anger. Just his name, said with finality. As if he scrubbed away the emotions of the syllables.
Taesan stepped closer, hands shoved into his pockets and he spoke before thinking “Are you dying or something?”
The other raised a brow, “Hello to you, too.” And there was a hint of humor he could see Leehan was holding back from showing in his unnatural, blank, expression.
The demons huffed a laugh regardless, “Sorry. You just—yeah. You look like shit.”
A pause. His awkwardness was almost as jarring as Leehan’s… ‘closed-off-ness’?
“I was walking around, seeing what I missed last time.” The angel muttered, fixing the fallen part of his deep blue scarf by throwing it over his shoulder.
It confirmed his suspicion that the angel had in fact left London after their encounter all those months ago. Many questions surged in the demon's mind wanting to flee his lips: “Where did you go?”, “What made you come back?” or a plain and straightforward “Why?”
Instead Taesan asked: “Mind some company?”
Another pause fell into place.
Leehan didn’t answer, though instead of fleeing he stayed.
It was a quiet that felt intentionally neutral, not opposing nor outright accepting. He shifted his scarf further, adjusting the other side to cover him tightly and so Taesan began walking, trusting that he’d follow.
After a few moments of unease, the sound of those familiar, contained and steady steps brought him more comfort than it should.
Their pace synced as they walked in silence.
A soundtrack of street sounds and crunching leaves.
When KOZ Records came into view, Taesan gestured to it lazily, though on the inside his heart ran an unforgiving marathon.
“We’re open, you know. If you want to come in.”
The angel gave him an analytical look, less sharp, but not as inviting as it used to be.
“I don’t know much about music.” was the whisper his pink lips delivered.
It was an olive branch that sent him straight to the past, a fragile thing hidden in the facts about octopuses and fish species. The thing that kept Taesan awake, on bad nights, because the thought of it fading out from the other’s mellow voice was irrationally painful. It was a dust of hope, not nearly as easy or lively as he'd heard before, but still there.
Beneath the colder veil of his gentle lines, raspy in his hesitation. After months. After years. It was still there.
“That’s fine,” Taesan said, in firmer steps he reached the front of the store, “I know enough for both of us.”
Yet, still far from him, Leehan had stayed put. Tension stuck on his body, an invisible wall between that hurt them both, though desperation oozed from the demon far louder than the silent conflict swimming through the angel, present in the on and off of his halo. The light shifted repeatedly as if its cold brightness was truly a broken fuse.
Taesan spoke up before he could stop himself, the urge to fix it pushing him forward to actually fucking try. “I’m sorry.”
The other looked immediately, his halo eased into a weak but steadier glow, whole body focused, attentive, “For?”
He shrugged once. “I lied back then, about wanting distance, wanting you gone. It… It wasn’t true.”
Leehan took it in, eyes blinking silently and the smallest of head nods signaling his understanding. It was oddly charming. It was really ‘Donghyun’ of him. An absolutely heinous wish surged — to grab that ridiculously long scarf and pull him close. Except it wouldn’t happen as long as there was still a distance between them and the apprehension in those pretty eyes lingered.
“I don’t… I don’t know what else to say,” he admitted, voice quieter, fingers nervously tapping against the door frame. “But if you step in… maybe I can figure it out.”
His hand reached for the door handle and pulled. He stood there, holding it open — one foot in, one out — trying once more. “Come in?”
Taesan’s hold tightened, he swallowed before saying “I’ll take good care of you.”
That was the first promise Han Dongmin had ever made to someone with full sincerity.
It must have echoed in the natural goodness of the angel, landing just as it left him, a strong resolve behind each letter.
Leehan stared at him. Long enough that Taesan nearly gave up.
But his halo shifted, slightly warming up its dull color. Enough to cast a yellowish hue over their feet.
And then, without a word, Donghyun stepped inside — and in his eyes, the stubborn gold flecks carried hope, words of love and acts of care finally within reach.
The bell chimed as the door clicked shut.
Perhaps that was the miracle all that holiday cheer spewed on and on… Dongmin would cling to it as if he was a true believer regardless.