from Jinu’s POV | demon side | canon-inspired fanfic
The roar of fans echoed like thunder, but Jinu felt none of it. He stood center stage, bathed in crimson light, staring past the glittering chaos of the award show venue. Behind the cameras, behind the screams and glowing lightsticks, he felt it — the Honmoon. It pulsed like a heartbeat made of light, still intact. Still protected. Still… hers “Five seconds,” whispered Mystery beside him, fixing the cuff on his black satin sleeve. His golden eyes burned, even behind the glitter and glam. “Let’s make it count, hyung.”
Jinu didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat was tight. The opening note of “Takedown” thundered through the speakers. And suddenly, the world blurred into motion — choreography like blades, lyrics like incantations. Every movement bled power, every step a strike against the very fabric of the Honmoon. Their fans didn’t know, couldn’t know, that their screams were fuel. That with every chant of “Saja Boys, Saja Boys!”, they were offering their soul-energy on a silver stage.
And yet… he still sang “You called us gods / But we came from below / Your love is a chain / And I’m ready to go…”
The crowd roared louder. Jinu’s gaze swept the balcony, and his eyes locked with hers — Rumi, leader of Huntr/x, glowing with divine defiance. Her aura flared, her own sigils barely hidden beneath translucent sleeves. A half-demon like him. A warrior of the barrier.
She wasn’t clapping
She was watching.
Judging.
Remembering.
And he felt it — the flicker of something old, something buried: the memory of a time before the Saja Boys, before the contract with Gwi‑Ma, when he still knew how to feel without feeding. But that was a weakness. And weakness didn’t survive the underworld. After the performance, the greenroom was a maze of handlers and stylists, with congratulatory backslaps all around. Jinu slipped away before anyone noticed — down the hallway, behind the equipment crates, through the service exit.
She was already there. “You held back,” Rumi said, arms crossed, voice like static wrapped in silk. Jinu didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Didn’t want the building to collapse.". “You’re siphoning too much,” she said, stepping closer. “Your notes are laced with hellfire. I felt it. You almost shattered the second tier.” “Good,” he said coldly. “That’s the point.” But her eyes didn’t leave his. “Then why did you look at me like you wanted me to stop you?”
Silence.
He hated how much she could see.
“I didn’t ask to be this,” he whispered.
“No one did,” she replied.
Their hands nearly brushed — clawed fingertips and demon marks glowing faintly under the moonlight. For a moment, everything else disappeared. The contract. The fans. The curse. The performance. The king who waited in shadows. “Jinu…” Her voice cracked. “Don’t let him win. He stepped back.
“He already did.” And just like that, he turned — slipping into shadow, leaving the scent of smoke and sweat behind him. Back to the dressing room. Back to the role. Back to the hunger. But her voice haunted him long after the curtain fell.
Backstage, far beneath the stage floor, something rumbled. Gwi‑Ma stirred in his throne of ash, watching Jinu on a black mirror made of fan tears and stage blood.
“Soon,” he purred. “One more note… and the Honmoon falls.”
Rumi found him again — this time not behind a venue or in the shadows of cameras, but beneath the Yulsa Shrine, where the Honmoon pulsed most fiercely. She had followed the echoes of his soul — fractured, guilt-ridden, burning like the edge of a dying star. Even as a half-demon, her presence disturbed the protective magic around the place, but tonight, the barrier welcomed her — like it knew this was necessary. He stood in the center of the shrine ruins, the silver moonlight casting jagged shadows over his sharp cheekbones and wild, midnight hair. His shoulders were hunched forward, wings flickering faintly behind him, as if torn between form and memory.
"You shouldn't be here," he said softly, not turning.
"And yet," she whispered, stepping closer, "you always knew I would be."
Jinu turned at last. His eyes weren’t glowing like they did onstage. They were haunted, glassy with something unspeakable. He opened his mouth, but no cruel line or flirtatious retort came.
Instead, he said her name like a confession. “Rumi.”
She stood before him now, so close she could feel the heat of his sorrow — the fire he kept sealed behind every smirk, every dance, every carefully planned performance meant to ruin the very world she swore to protect. “You want it to end,” she said. “I can feel it.”
“I want…” His voice cracked. “I want it all to stop. The feeding. The lies. The mask. I wasn’t supposed to care. About you. About any of it.” She reached up and pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the thrum of power caged in a rhythm that had nothing to do with music.
“You do care,” she said. “That’s why your performances don’t fully crack the Honmoon. You keep holding back.” His breath hitched. "You know if Gwi‑Ma finds out, he'll destroy me. He'll destroy you."
“Then let’s give him something to fear.”
And with that—
She kissed him.
It wasn’t sweet.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was chaos and silence and the rush of centuries colliding. It was the collapse of resistance and the exhale of pain; neither of them dared speak aloud. Her lips met his with heat, hunger, and something softer hidden just beneath the edge. Jinu gripped her waist like she was both salvation and sin, fingers trembling against the fabric of her jacket. His demon sigils flared. So did hers. For a second — no more than a heartbeat — their marks aligned, glowing in harmony instead of opposition.
The Honmoon, above the shrine, pulsed once—then steadied. Rumi pulled away first, but only just. Their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling in the dark. “We can't change what we are,” she whispered, “but we can choose what we do with it.” Jinu smiled — not the smirk he wore for fans, not the cruel grin of a villain on stage.
A real smile.
“Then let’s write a new verse.”
And just like that, the world tilted — the idol and the demon hunter, tangled in something forbidden, their marks humming in shared defiance. Beneath them, deep underground, the barrier didn’t break.
It listened.
