Archive of Our Own

There are three activities Renjun enjoys most in the world: landscape painting, discovering new conspiracy theories with his best friend Jisung, and wiping the smirk off Na Jaemin’s face.

Of these, one isn’t quite like the other in that it’s sadism at its essence. Renjun’s unsure what it is about Jaemin that he finds off-putting. It could be that he gets good grades despite sleeping during most lectures. Maybe it’s the way his smile makes it seem like he’s plotting something, all slick and serpentine. Or that he always smells strongly of burnt coffee when he takes the seat closest to Renjun every time they find themselves in the same class.

Renjun doesn’t know.

Whichever the case, Renjun tries to avoid him to the best of his abilities. However, that mission becomes nearly impossible when their English professor assigns a project in randomized pairs. Considering Renjun’s luck (or lack thereof), it doesn’t come as a surprise that he gets stuck with the one person he’s most reluctant to work with.

“He really isn’t as bad as you make him seem,” Jisung says through a mouthful of bungeoppang.

They’re lounging at one of the food courts in the heart of the university.

“I invited you for solidarity,” Renjun points out. “Bought you lunch so I have someone to share my burden with. And this is how you repay me? By taking his side? I’m hurt. Truly.”

Jisung’s gives him an unimpressed look. “Never mind the fact that I got this from the vending machine, I’m just saying. He’s actually a pretty cool dude once you get to know him.”

Maybe Jisung’s right. After all, it’s not everyday that Jisung genuinely commends someone for their personality. Or meets people. Or gets out of the dorm when the sun’s out. Which, now that Renjun thinks about it—

“How do you know him again?”

“We had the same Introductory to Philosophy class,” Jisung says. He stops his chewing, scratches his cheek, and adds, “You wouldn’t think it with how he carries himself, but he’s surprisingly inflexible about his beliefs. Know what I mean?”

Renjun doesn’t. Or at least that’s what he tells himself. He swears he would rather waste time doodling on his notebook during lecture than analyze Jaemin’s supposed stubbornness and unique stature, but he’s caught himself watching Jaemin from the corner of his eyes too many times to be considered coincidence.

Renjun won’t admit it out loud, but he’s seen it. How Jaemin only stares at the professor when they’re teaching instead of taking notes. How he hunches minutely when he doesn’t think anyone is watching. How, during their midterms, he’d simply spend half of it gazing out the window before filling out the answers with experienced hands and submitting it before the rest of the class.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care to know.”

Jisung shrugs in a suit yourself manner and resumes his snacking.

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

Renjun only understands what Jisung means when Jaemin and Renjun meet up for their project.

It’s their first out-of-class meeting since becoming partners, and Jaemin had been insistent on having the campus cafe as their rendezvous point. When Renjun had suggested the library, Jaemin simply shook his head.

Dream Cafe is in the center of everything, he had reasoned. We’d be close to one of the computer labs, the library would be less than a 5-minute walk away, and we’d have food and drinks in the immediate vicinity.

And that’s how Renjun finds himself sitting on a table for two on a foggy Monday afternoon.

The lights aren’t blinding. A pop song with an old school beat plays from speakers that Renjun can’t locate. Students are dispersed inside, all either intently typing on their laptop or taking a short break on their phone. Renjun does neither, instead tapping his fingers on the table as he awaits Jaemin’s entrance.

His drink sweats. His cheesecake’s dying to be touched. Renjun waits four full songs before he pulls out his phone to demand where Jaemin is. Except, as soon as he whips it out, the door of the cafe jingles open and in comes the person he’s been looking for, yawning, bleary-eyed, and looking completely nonchalant for a guy arriving more than fifteen minutes past the discussed meeting time.

“Sweet cheeks,” Jaemin says in greeting. “You’re here early.”

Renjun remembers clearly a year and a half ago when he initially met Jaemin, how the boy had treaded to one of the seats next to Renjun after walking into the room a minute before the professor did and coined this term the second he interacted with Renjun.

“You have very edible-looking cheeks.” That was the first sentence Renjun had ever heard coming out of Jaemin’s lips. “Mind if I sit here, sweet cheeks?”

Back then, Renjun had thought the dude was flirting with him, but after a few days of Jaemin constantly sitting beside him, it became clear to Renjun that Jaemin wasn’t flirting but that he was—how can he put this nicely—a bit eccentric. To this date, nobody else has ever called him by such a ridiculous nickname.

“No, I’m not.” Renjun hears his own teeth clench. “You’re just here late.”

Jaemin tsks as he deposits his belongings onto the chair across Renjun. “Haven’t you watched The Princess Diaries?”

Of course he has. Many times in fact. Renjun knows immediately what quote Jaemin is referring to. A queen is never late; everyone else is simply early. “That only applies if you’re royalty.” Renjun gives him a once over, loose shirt, black joggers, and chestnut hair looking fairly unhealthy from the amount of times he’s dyed it in the last two semesters alone. “And you’re no royalty.”

Jaemin shrugs. “You don’t know that,” is all he says in reply and points a thumb at the counter. “Want anything?”

Is he not seeing the Iced Americano chilling on the table? Or the cheesecake waiting to be tasted? Or the vein that Renjun can feel popping on his forehead from the burning need to just start already? Probably not. Renjun gestures at his meal. Jaemin blinks.

“Okay? Want anything else?”

“No, thank you.”

Jaemin doesn’t reply to that and merely makes a beeline for the cashier and orders. Meanwhile, Renjun spends his time arranging everything so that it’d be easy to have a professional conversation about their project while taking notes on his laptop. When Jaemin comes back, Renjun can’t help his jaw from dropping. On each of Jaemin’s hand are a large, iced beverage, a bottle of water, and small paper bags of cookies.

How he’s able to grip it all is beyond Renjun. It’s an observation that Renjun accidentally files for later: Na Jaemin has big hands. It's the first time Renjun has found knuckles to be attractive.

“Why did you buy two of each?” Renjun asks out of curiosity. Jaemin shrugs again. Is that his attitude for everything?

“Starving. Also very thirsty.” And then, as if an added thought, he adds, “We’ll be here for a while, anyway. Right?”

“Yes.” Renjun doesn’t even want to think about it, but they must stay for an hour or so if they want a head start on this project. “So what topic did you want to discuss in the first section?”

“Paradise Lost.” Jaemin takes a bite of his cookie and has barely chewed what he’s bitten before asking, “What’s your schedule like?”

“Excuse me?”

Jaemin gives him a close-lipped smile, somehow makes masticating sensual, and repeats himself. “What’s your schedule like? Like, let me see your classes.”

“Why?”

A smirk is playing on Jaemin’s lips. “We should get our schedule out of the way first so we can divide up how much work we’ll need to do for every meeting.”

And okay. Okay, Renjun admits that’s a really good idea, but he’d first swallow a spoonful of coriander before saying it out loud. Silently, he passes a printed out copy of his lecture times to Jaemin. It doesn’t take a full minute before Jaemin hands it back. Did he memorize it all in just over thirty seconds?

“Let's meet everyday.”

Renjun snatches his schedule from Jaemin’s grasp. “What?”

“It would be best if we got together on the weekdays and hacked at the project piecemeal. Our schedules allow it,” Jaemin clarifies. “I’m not the best at staying focused for long periods of time. Are you?”

Oh okay. For a second, Renjun thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what he thought. Renjun shakes his head.

“Good. Everyday it is, then.”

Jaemin leaves it at that before Renjun can even form a rebuttal. How in the world did he just get stuck with having to be in Jaemin’s presence an hour every day? On top of the time he already spends with him during English? Renjun sighs in defeat.

Realizing just how assertive Jaemin can be is when Renjun’s nightmares start.

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

“How was it?” Jisung asks through the phone.

Renjun is lounging on his bed, TV crackling on the far side of the wall. He has his phone squeezed between his shoulders and ears as he types away on his laptop.

“He’s”—annoying, a bit too bossy, has a propensity to do something slightly offensive and somehow slithers through the situation unscathed—“efficient. I’ll give him that.”

“See! He’s not so bad.” Wrappers rustle on the other side.

“Park Jisung, are you eating candy again at midnight?”

A pause. Then a crunch.

“No.”

Renjun gives him the silent treatment, which somehow always works even when they’re just on call. After a few seconds of uninterrupted static, Jisung groans.

“Fine, yes. Last one, promise, and I’ll brush my teeth.”

Seven cavities is seven too many for a young man. Renjun can’t even fathom how Jisung managed to get a whole set.

“Do so. Or you might just have to wear dentures by the time you’re thirty-five.”

“Yes, mom.”

Renjun lays his phone beside him and puts Jisung on speaker. Almost every night, they stay like this until they finish whatever they have to finish. For Renjun, it’s an essay that’s due the day after tomorrow. For Jisung, it’s usually a stage on a game he wasn’t able to complete the night before. It’s both a habit and a constant reminder that they’re both struggling despite their efforts going into very different activities.

It’s almost 2:00 am by the time Renjun finally exits Microsoft Word. Harsh light from the TV makes shadows in his studio apartment. His eyes feel like they’ve been grinding on sandpaper. Fluffy snores echo from his phone; Jisung usually falls asleep a lot later than this. He must have been really tired.

“Jisung-ah,” Renjun tries.

No answer.

“Good night,” he says, even though he knows Jisung probably can’t hear him, but just in case, and hangs up.

After executing his 8-step skin care routine, Renjun finally plops on the bed. It's right before sleep that Renjun's mind always like to wander different realities. Perhaps Renjun is a prince and he has to slay a dragon to become ruler of a kingdom. Maybe he's a character from Harry Potter, someone who stays in the Battle of Hogwarts and fights valiantly till the fall of Voldemort. Something ridiculous like being an internationally acclaimed pop star with droves of fans willing to spend enormous amounts of cash to support him. His imagination is the only limit.

A glance at the clock shows that it’s right before the witching hour. The single window in his flat is half-open, just how Renjun likes it during spring as it lets the warmth out and the cold seep in at night. Outside, the star-scattered sky is a deep shade of indigo. The moon glides low tonight, a waning gibbous that slides just right along the skyline.

It’s relatively large and shines in a pretty silver that reminds Renjun of Jaemin’s hair last semester. His cocky silence. A personality that is equal parts tranquil and stubborn. Jaemin and his wide grip and large hands, pretty knuckles and probably textured palms. Renjun wonders, for the first time, how it would feel hold them.

That’s the last thought Renjun remembers before sleep takes over.

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

When Renjun wakes up, he fully expects his alarm to be ringing, sun peeking from the window that was left ajar, and a text from Jisung apologizing for falling asleep on the phone.

Instead, he’s met with walls from the Medieval Era, the snappy crackling of a fireplace, and a half-man, half-beast staring down at him. In the few seconds that it takes for Renjun to understand the situation, his mind makes several observations.

First and foremost: He is breathtaking.

His skin is rough and calloused. It’s the color of midnight, as blue as it is violet. Dotted markings pepper his cheeks like constellations, and they glow on his skin despite what little light is emitted from the gloomy walls and its torches. His striking eyes are a pale gold. Pointed ears jut out from his long, pearly-white hair. On the crown of his head stands two horns, curved back and sharp like antlers. They’re charred, leathery, and reminds Renjun of twisted black tourmaline.

“Sweet human,” the creature says, bemused. His voice rumbles from within his chest like an earthquake. “Whatever brings you to my abode?”

It’s only when the creature maintains eye contact that Renjun realizes he’s curled on the man’s large thighs as if he quite literally fell into his lap. Renjun swiftly gets to his feet with a squawk and dusts himself.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Renjun stutters. “I don’t know how I.. on your lap, I didn’t mean to—”

The half-giant snorts. A deep sound that echoes against his ribcage. “Do not fret. If you enjoyed my warmth, then by all means.” The blue man spreads his knees and gestures at his lap.

Feeling his face heat up, Renjun shakes his head. “No, that’s alright. I’m more than comfortable just standing.”

“Do not be foolish.” As soon as it leaves the creature’s mouth, a small stone chair conjures itself in front of them. Okay?

Renjun takes a seat, more out of fear of what would happen to him if he didn’t than being a polite guest. His eyes wander around, if only to refrain from staring. They’re atop a low platform, perhaps a stage of some sort. Around are brick-red walls and a high ceiling. There’s a series of steps leading down to the open space before him, and a carpet-like material creates a walkway from the platform to the arched door on the far wall. Behind the creature is a grand flag of what seems to be the roman numeral of 2.

The half-giant clears his throat; Renjun can no longer delay the inevitable and looks him in the eye. The man has a regal posture. He wears a jet black coat but his torso is out in the open. A diamond glyph is carved on the center of his chest, perhaps burned or tattooed on his skin. A sash belt circles his waist and just enough fabric covers his thighs. He sits on a chair much too big for him, with spikes that resemble the man’s horns protruding from the headrest. It seems to be… a throne.

“Why have you come here?”

“I don’t know.” Renjun gulps. What should he say? He’s unsure how he got here. Wherever here is. “I’m not sure what happened. Or how I came to be here… But would you mind telling me where here is?”

The creature squints his eyes, perhaps analyzing if Renjun is any threat at all. He leans in closer. Upon doing so, Renjun suddenly notices how the relationship of his eyes, nose, and lips seems like something he'd seen before. It becomes even clearer when the creature purses his mouth and watches Renjun with sharp eyes.

“Welcome to Hell, sweet human.”

Renjun’s heart falls out his ass. He must have misheard. Perhaps his ears had malfunctioned for half a second or somehow excluded a syllable or two, because it sounds like the half-giant is saying—

“H-Hell?!”

The creature nods. Renjun almost gets dizzy from standing up too quickly.

“What do you mean Hell?” Renjun’s tongue twists upon itself. How could he be in Hell? For all the good deeds he’s done, for every act of kindness he’s shown to those around him, he’s sure he’d have at least ended up in limbo. Or at worst, purgatory. To think that—wait a minute. If he’s in Hell, does that mean… he’s in the afterlife? “Oh, fuck. Am I… Am I dead? D-Did I die in my sleep?”

How could that even happen? Did he choke to death from vomiting? That can’t be; his stomach felt fine when he’d gone to bed. A sudden cardiac arrest? No way, Renjun is healthy and young, and his family has no history of heart attacks. Maybe through carbon monoxide poisoning from his shitty ass studio apartment? Renjun gasps. Oh god, that has gotta be it. Renjun curses. He’s gonna fucking sue his landlord.

“You are not dead,” the creature interrupts his thoughts. “You are simply, somehow, in Hell.”

“Like Hell Hell?”

“Yes. You are in Hell Hell. The Underworld. Inferno. However you wish to refer to it.”

Renjun legs get weak. If he’s in The Underworld, then this half-man, half-giant is no mere creature. He’s a—Renjun takes a step back and tries to swallow but can’t—a blue-skinned, seven-foot-something demon probably on the verge of stealing Renjun’s soul. His eyes flit left, right, left again trying to gauge if an exit is near. No doors on the sides, only the giant one in the back. One stride from the demon is all that is required for Renjun to spout nonsense.

“S-Stay back, creature of Hellfire,” Renjun orders as he holds up a hand, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. “I have the power of Ch-Christ within me.”

“Sit down, child.” The demon can probably see through his useless lie and takes another step forward.

In Renjun’s haste to retreat, he notices too late that he was right up the edge of the platform. It takes no time for his ankle to land wrong onto the next step and for his knees to buckle. Renjun is falling backwards before his brain even registers the sting. Thankfully, Renjun doesn’t tumble down because of the other's quick thinking. The demon lurches forward to catch him by the wrist. However, it seems he doesn’t know his own strength because as soon as he pulls Renjun back, Renjun comes flying forward until he’s braced by sturdy muscles and a sinewy chest.

Oh.

Do demons work out? Or are their anatomies simply more well-built than humans? If he wasn’t pulled so close, Renjun wouldn’t have guessed that demons carry their own scent, but this particular one does. It’s a combination of burning wood, roasted spice, and, oddly, peaches. Suddenly, Renjun’s ribcage feels too tight for his big, beating heart. At this distance, Renjun can see clearly the finer features of his face—the subtle curve of his chin, how his cheekbones are as sharp as they are flat, and how, if Renjun squints, the demon bears a slight resemblance to his English group project nemesis, Na Jaemin.

It’s this thought that manages to sober Renjun, and he wrenches himself free from their awkward entanglement. “How do I get out of here?”

If the demon was offended by Renjun’s actions, he doesn't show it. “I did not summon you. I do not have an inkling how you came to be in my throne room; therefore, I do not have the proper means to take you out,” the demon says calmly. “I could always plainly banish you from my dwelling, though that might leave you stranded just outside the gates of my realm. And the demons here—they are not as accommodating as I am.”

For beasts who are widely thought to be evil, angry, tormenting spirits, this demon defies most expectations thus far save for the horns protruding from his head. He’s surprisingly hospitable to Renjun and beyond tolerant of his presence. That he caught Renjun amidst a falling accident shows he’s helpful and not the type to let someone get hurt unnecessarily. And with how he considers Renjun’s safety among creatures of his own kind, Renjun can almost admit that he’s, well, thoughtful.

However, he is still a creature of Hell. It isn’t a huge leap to suspect that maybe this demon is buttering Renjun up, or perhaps willing to play nice before demanding a payment in return.

“I’d appreciate it if you do not throw me to other demons. No offense.”

He considers Renjun for a moment. “I do not mind leaving you to yourself if you do not wish to be in my presence.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Renjun says at first.

There’s a pause where the demon’s gaze is nearly tangible. Renjun feels the weight of it, weighty and persistent. There’s a slight drawl in the demon’s voice as if he’s stalling when he says, “Then I shall leave you to it.”

As soon the demon turns around, Renjun suddenly feels the warmth in the room fading away with him and the chill seeping in. It seems the demon carries his own heat as it becomes colder and colder the farther he goes. Soon, Renjun will be completely alone and cold in this eerie room with nobody to talk to and no way of knowing how long he will be stuck. So it really is no surprise that Renjun beckons for the demon.

“Wait! Wait! Please keep me company,” Renjun requests against his better judgment. Fear of being by oneself wins over fear of sitting beside a demon—a seemingly nice one but a devil creature nonetheless. “I don’t think I’ll feel safe if I’m alone.”

At this, the demon stills. When he turns back around, his expression is carefully blank. Renjun doesn’t know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. All he wants to do is get out of here, preferably alive and with his soul still intact. Currently, there are only two ways for Renjun to keep sane. The first is to keep repeating to himself that this is just a dream and he will wake up in his studio apartment at any moment, heart beating at a normal rate and thoughts of familiar-looking demons at the back of his mind. The second is to spend his time talking to whoever this creature might be and somehow will himself back to his reality.

“Then consider me your companion,” he says as he marches over to the empty throne. He gestures at the conjured chair from earlier as he himself sinks down to his own. “I am A’zaem of House Asmodeus.”

Renjun wanders over to the seat. It’s exactly like how it was when it all began, both of them in their respective places. The demon—A’zaem, Renjun tells himself—leans back and spreads his knees the way he had done what feels like forever ago. He is the picture of royalty, presence and all. Under the dim firelight, his half-naked torso glistens a vibrant blue while his hair gleams in silver. Renjun has to pinch himself to restrain his eyes from wandering too far down the demon’s body. As if sensing Renjun’s predicament, A’zaem asks another question.

“What do your people call you, sweet human?”

Thankful for the distraction, Renjun gives him his first genuine smile.

“Renjun. My name is Renjun.”

Time seems to work differently here, as if in perpetual flux. For some moments, it seems to be dilated while other times it’s like minutes are contracted into seconds. During their unsteady hours(?) together, Renjun tells A’zaem about himself to stop from panicking. How he’s in a community of individuals who have different intentions like learning, partying, sports, love—otherwise known as college. How he can spend hours painting and watching the night sky. And if he could choose between keeping 100 million won versus sharing 50 million of it with his best friend, he’d choose the latter.

Sometime between the eighth topic and the ninth, Renjun spills the fact that he wishes this were all a dream. A’zaem suggests that perhaps it is and he should try falling into a slumber to see if it will undo what has been done.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Renjun states. He still doesn’t fully trust A’zaem, but it’s probably best to keep that to himself lest he offend the demon. “What if I get transported to a different part of Hell?”

“Sleep,” A’zaem commands.

Renjun wants to argue but then his eyelids become heavy, his breathing begins to even out, and then his head lolls to the left, to the right, then to the left again as sleep takes over him.

Renjun’s eyes open to blinding light.

He’s in his room. The window he had left open the night before remains ajar. He almost cries in relief when he wakes up to realize that he’s not, in fact, dead. And that he was, in fact, just dreaming an unsettlingly vivid nightmare about being in Hell. His bed has never felt more comfortable, his apartment has never felt more like home.

He swears to be kinder from now on. To call his parents daily and let them know how much he appreciates them. He also promises not to talk so much shit about everyone he finds annoying; he can’t completely rule it out because shit-talking is one of the daily activities that brings him joy—the only two things more important are his daily talks with Jisung and his skin-care routine.

Perhaps he can change one thing though. He shouldn’t think about Jaemin anymore right before he goes to sleep.

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

Should a person need to find Renjun’s weakness, one would only need to keep him intrigued till he met his downfall.

Too many times has Renjun gotten in trouble for his curiosity. Like that time when he was four and wondered if bugs were edible (they weren’t). Or at age thirteen and questioning what it would feel like to kiss a girl (it's nice, but not for him). And even just a few months ago, curious if he and Jisung could beat the all-you-can-eat kimbap challenge for a free meal (both of them projectile vomitted in the restaurant bathroom before they finished).

This time, it’s only because Renjun just wants to know who Jaemin surrounds himself with. Does he spend weekends getting hammered with university social groups? Is he a stay at home and watch a drama series kind of person? Or does he prefer to meet with close acquaintances over tteokbokki and bottles of soju at night?

Renjun’s choice of investigative medium has always been social media. It’s exactly why he’s starfished on his bed past midnight, on Instagram, and gawking at the utter lack of content in Jaemin’s feed. Despite having thousands of followers, Jaemin’s profile only features three measly posts. One of him posing by the university gates uploaded around their freshman year, another of a large camphor tree with a sky backdrop, and the last and most recent being a poorly taken selfie in what seems to be the backseat of a car.

A click on the selfie shows that it was shared just a little over four months ago, weeks before the school year started. A closer look reveals that he still donned the platinum blond hair that caused a buzz at the end of their second year. It’s when Renjun is zooming in at the background that three things happen in quick succession. His hands somehow create a double tap. A red heart pops out in the middle of the screen. And Renjun’s soul shrivels up before leaving his body.

As soon as he realizes what happened, Renjun instantly locks his phone, wishing to whatever celestial being that Jaemin’s provider has currently stopped his service, or that Jaemin somehow forgot to pay his phone bill, or that someone has hacked his Instagram account and he no longer has access to any notifications that may come from it.

Fuck, shit, fuck, shit, fuck, Renjun thinks. It’s nearly 1:00 am. Surely, Jaemin will think Renjun is creepy for liking a photo from many, many, many weeks ago. Curse Renjun’s twitchy fingers. How is he going to face Jaemin tomorrow? If Renjun uses the block button now, will Jaemin still receive a notification? Is it too late in his college career to change names and transfer universities?

Renjun’s mental breakdown comes to a halt, however, when a ping comes from his phone.

 *****                             96% [ ϟ ]

🔒
12:51
Tuesday, May 17

🔮 INSTAGRAM                    Now

@na.jaemin0813 has requested
to follow you.                          

🔦                        📷

Renjun gulps.

Upon opening the notification, Renjun is given two options. Confirm. Or Delete. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. This is too much stress for Renjun’s sleep-deprived brain. His thumb hovers in between. 

He could confirm the request, but he’s certain Jaemin is going to send a private message asking him why he had liked a post from so long ago. And if he deletes it, Renjun will look like a stalker who got caught red-handed and is now too ashamed to face the person they’ve been stalking. Either way, it’s a lose-lose situation.

Renjun stares at the screen for what feels like hours before finally, finally, clicking one of the choices. As soon as he does, a message pops up in his inbox. It’s from Jaemin. All it contains is a single emoji.

na.jaemin0813: 😜

Renjun’s a bit shocked. He’s properly puzzled. But mostly, he’s at an extreme loss of what Jaemin is trying to insinuate. Unable to think of what to say, Renjun does what he thinks is the most logical thing to do.

He leaves Jaemin on read.

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

Never has Renjun regretted confirming a follow request as much as he has Jaemin’s.

For one, Jaemin seems to think that they’re closer than they actually are because at random times of the day, Renjun’s phone would chime because Jaemin has tagged him on some video post that he found funny. While Renjun admits some of them did get him to crack a hint of a smile (read: bust out laughing), getting constant notifications really has been a huge distraction to a self-proclaimed diligent, hard-working, extremely responsible and not at all slacking scholar.

To make matters worse, the memes have become the least of his concerns by the time the weekend rolls around. For some odd reason, Jaemin has made it a habit to reply to anything Renjun adds to his Instagram story. His talent for relating any of Renjun’s posts back to himself is commendable. A photo of the sun high in the sky and Jaemin would say how pretty and yellow just like my favorite color! A shot of Renjun’s breakfast and Jaemin would reply looks yummy! seems like it would go well with the Jaemin espresso special! >< And once, just to verify if Jaemin would respond to anything he posts, Renjun uploads a picture of a book from the library that he doesn’t think Jaemin would ever touch: “A Beginner’s Guide to the Stock Market: Everything You Need to Start Making Money Today.”

na.jaemin0813: oh i’ve read this before! but it’s really more false advertising than anything. it has good, introductory information but really lacks the nitty gritty part on investing and trading. if you’re trying to get into stocks, let me know. i can recommend books if you like :)

Renjun blinks. He has even dabbled in stock trading? It almost seems impossible the amount of information that he keeps in his noggin. It’s like he’s lived multiple lives or something.

He tells Jisung as such, to which the younger man replies, “Or he just has a lot of interests and is knowledgeable about ‘em like a normal person. You wouldn’t think it, but I know a lot about stars and can point out over fifty constellations. Surely, he’s just the same.”

Which, okay, point taken. Renjun also knows specific information about paint types and how they interact with certain canvasses that would be useless to the average person. But that still doesn’t explain one thing. “Alright, but why does he need to respond to everything?”

“You really can’t tell?”

Renjun absolutely can—he’s not entirely oblivious and insensitive not to know when someone might be interested in him, but he does like to receive confirmation even if it’s from a biased source. It’s the only reason why he shakes his head. “Can’t tell what?”

“Na Jaemin is crushing on you.”

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

When Renjun materializes just in front of an arched door, he already knows where he is.

Well, he supposes it’s a better transporting point than the demon’s literal lap.

The door is gigantic. Renjun didn’t realize this before, but it must be about three times his height and at least twice his wingspan. Up close, he can see clearly its intricate design. A large tree is carved from top to bottom, except it’s not a tree at all. It’s a collection of serpents, tons and tons of them. The roots fan out in varying sizes of the tails; the trunk is a gathering of their bodies, with the scales resembling bark chipping from the tree. At the top are the same snakes spreading about like branches of a dead tree, leafless and barren.

Despite its size, the door relents easily when Renjun pries it open. Just as he thought, it’s the same place from that one night. Entering this way makes it seem grander than it did before, more like a throne room than a room with a throne. Like the previous encounter, the demon A’zaem is seated again, this time with an elbow on the armrest and a closed fist smooshed against his cheek.

Upon hearing Renjun enter, the demon straightens himself almost as if Renjun is an esteemed guest.

“My sweet human,” he calls in greeting. “You visit again.”

It’s then that Renjun notices the snake-like features on A’zaem’s face—his sharp eyes, lips that curl upwards at the end, the slightly diamond face shape. Renjun swears he resembles someone-who-shall-not-be-named too much, but that’s neither here nor there.

Renjun rolls his eyes and takes the seat A’zaem conjures for him. “It’s not like I choose to come here. I just… do.”

“Surely, an explanation will come in due time.” A’zaem’s gold eyes follow his movements. Being on the receiving end of such scrutinous gaze makes Renjun feel oddly shy. “Have you eaten?”

Renjun snorts. Truth be told, he actually hasn’t had dinner, but is it even possible to eat in dreams? Can it fool his brain and make him feel full? What is it that curiosity does to a cat again?

“No, but I’m sure I won’t find your food appetizing.” Renjun has seen too many movies of what demons eat. Rotted carcasses. Maggot-infested delicacies. Maybe sugared cockroaches for dessert.

A’zaem huffs in disbelief. It’s full and deep-bellied. It’s the type of sound that one would expect to come out of an ancient king.

“Clear your mind of what you believe is prior knowledge of the Infernal World, my sweet. I am certain you will find that meals in The Underworld are much tastier than those above.” A’zaem stands and reaches out a hand. “Come! Let us enjoy the dinner I have prepared.”

Renjun blinks. Are demon lords always this gentlemanly? And then Renjun chuckles. This must be his dream brain controlling the hospitality levels of his company. Goodness, he really needs to get laid if even his brain is making up such impractical events.

“If you insist.” Renjun gently pushes A’zaem’s hand away. It’s when Renjun gets on his feet by himself that he realizes just how much bigger the demon is. A’zaem must be just above seven feet tall considering, at full height, Renjun only reaches up to what humans would consider A’zaem’s pecs. He has to strain his neck just to look at the demon’s unconventionally handsome face.

Upon noticing Renjun’s discomfort, A’zaem comments, “You humans are tiny.”

Renjun crosses his arms and mutters quietly. “Maybe you’re just too big.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

With a snap of his fingers, his physique begins to transform right in front of Renjun. A’zaem incrementally shrinks until he’s just several centimeters taller than Renjun. Through the process, his bones crack and realign themselves. His skin moves in a way that makes it obvious what’s happening underneath. While he was almost three times as wide as Renjun just moments ago, he now looks to be the average height and width of a human male.

“Whoa.” It slips out of Renjun’s lips and under his breath. He doesn’t know if it’s from awe at how his biology works or if he just finds human-sized A’zaem super attractive. It’s probably both. If A’zaem heard his labored breathing, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he struts to the door as if his body didn’t just reshape a foot and a half shorter and gestures for Renjun to follow.

“This way, my sweet.”

Renjun only allows himself a second of wonderment before he scurries to catch up.

“It’s much easier to look at you like this,” Renjun states. “Now, I don’t have to crane my neck.”

It seems whatever this place is isn’t just a room. Out where Renjun arrived, there are more doors and hallways than Renjun expected. He assumes that from the outside, it would resemble a castle. The walls are stony and a dull red. Torches line up the pillars, illuminating the walkway in an ominous glow. It looks like fire is redder in this dimension, and it makes A’zaem’s blue skin burn nearly lavender.

The halls aren’t just quiet; they’re silent. Each step thuds on the ground and echoes against the walls. Any minute noise from either of them is magnified tenfold. Even a harsh breath can be heard clearly in this space.

“Do you live alone, A’zaem?”

The demon stops in his tracks. Renjun, who had been following a few steps behind, does the same. Renjun wonders if he’s asked something wrong. But what would be so offensive about it? After a long pause, A’zaem finally answers.

“Yes,” he says. He continues walking. The footfalls feel heavier this time around. Renjun doesn’t ask intrusive questions after that.

The dining room is ways away from the throne. When A’zaem presents the dinner to him, Renjun is befuddled. On the long table sits large bowls of braised beef topped with mushroom sauce. There are plates of salted pork and roasted fowl, goblets of blood-red wine, seasoned lamb chops, and a huge array of sliced fruits waiting to be plucked.

“Wow,” Renjun says eloquently. “This is a feast fit for royalty.”

“I offer nothing but the best, my sweet.” A’zaem ushers him to a chair on one end before trudging over to the other.

The first thing Renjun grabs is the goblet. A sip proves that the sweet bitterness is exactly how he remembers it in the real world. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but… Why are you feeding me?”

“You are a guest of mine. It is only right that I treat you as one,” A’zaem says. He motions at the food. “Now please, have as much as you'd like.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. As soon as A’zaem gives the go ahead, Renjun digs in. The beef is juicy and melts in his mouth. The pork is perfectly seasoned, the fowl a contrasting texture of crispy skin and tender meat. Even the fruits are somehow sweeter and more succulent down here. During their meal, Renjun discovers a few things about his companion.

The first is A’zaem age.

“I am twenty two centuries old.”

A held breath escapes Renjun. A’zaem has quite literally lived Renjun’s life a hundred times. “You’re ancient!”

“There are other demon lords who have lived ten millennia or more,” A’zaem says, like it’s an interesting fact from the Guinness book of records.

The second is his favorite activity.

“Sleeping.”

“Why sleep?”

A’zaem watches Renjun carefully. “When I fall into a slumber, I find myself elsewhere, and elsewhere is better than just being here.”

And why exactly A’zaem is so accommodating.

“Why are you so nice to me?”

“I have forgotten the pleasant feeling that comes with another’s presence.” Their lines of sight connect above the table like two spells. “As is probably noticeable,” A’zaem says slowly, as if he wants Renjun to catch every syllable falling from his lips. “It can get quite lonely down here.”

It’s the most human A’zaem has ever sounded. Suddenly, Renjun finds swallowing a challenge.

It seems even demons can't escape the painful sting of loneliness.

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

The corner light of Jisung's apartment still does not work, but the surroundings are bright enough to observe Jisung’s skeptical expressions in real time.

“So let me get this straight,” Jisung says, back hunched and hands clasped in a conspiratory manner as he repeats what Renjun has just shared. “You think you’ve been having dreams about a demon, and that your moments with this demon feels way too real to be considered dreams, and you suspect that your English project partner Na Jaemin has cursed you into this fit of constant nightmares?”

Renjun nods, only now realizing how deranged he must sound. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! Think about it, why does the demon resemble Jaemin? Because the demon carries the essence of the spell he used on me.”

“Hyung.”

Before Jisung can fit another word, Renjun adds. “And why did the nightmares only begin when I became partners with him for this stupid project? He probably needed a piece of my hair or a used napkin or something to complete his ritual. It all fits!”

“Hyung, you know I’m always up for unhinged conspiracy theories, but this is insanity.” Jisung makes a funny face as he lies back down on the bed. “Why would he even want to do that to you?”

Hmm. Now that he thinks about it, Jaemin doesn’t have a motive. There hasn’t been any animosity from him, at least not that Renjun is aware of. If anything, Jaemin has been helpful and unproblematic when it came to their project. Has he gone about this all wrong? Is Jaemin actually innocent and Renjun is simply losing his mind after being subject to hellfire smoke in his dreams for too long?

Could it be that Renjun keeps having these dreams with A’zaem because he finds himself thinking about Jaemin on certain nights? Jaemin with his witty replies to Renjun’s instagram stories. Jaemin and his diligence and nonchalance. Jaemin and his disconcerting ability to really get under Renjun’s skin and drive him absolutely bananas both from annoyance and want. Is dreaming about A'zaem his subconscious' method of interacting with Jaemin without actually interacting with Jaemin? No, that can't—that shouldn't be right. Renjun will store this information in the Let's Not Think About This Again section of his brain.

“What if… What if he's the demon? What if he isn’t human and is needing to feed on a soul and views me as prey?”

Jisung gasps. “That’s gotta be it!”

Renjun turns to Jisung quickly. “You think so too?!”

“No,” Jisung deadpans before sulking. “Can we please drop the subject? I was really looking forward to watching this movie...”

Renjun wants to make a rebuttal about the fact that Jisung has already watched The Avengers: Endgame more times than he can count on two hands. Really, Jisung should know what happens by now, but somehow still gets startled by the loud bits. Renjun doesn’t have the heart to be too mean to Jisung. He gets what Jisung doesn’t say though.

“You’re right,” Renjun says and lines himself against Jisung. “Hyung is sorry. Let's do what you invited me here to do.”

Jisung probably doesn’t realize, but his face is a direct clue to how he’s feeling. With a lopsided smile, Jisung turns to the TV and Renjun turns to Jisung to cuddle him the way they always do. Jisung takes up the whole length of the mattress from the tip of his head to his toes, but he is and probably always will be the little spoon if Renjun is around.

“Hyung,” Jisung says softly.

“Hmm?”

Opening music plays from the tiny speakers. The movie is starting. Backlight casts a soft glow on their silhouette.

“Nothing.”

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

It’s expectedly easy to surprise Renjun.

It could be a balloon popping from anywhere in his general vicinity. Or a loud, abrupt noise while a friend narrates a scary tale in a quiet room. Or even a water bottle going missing from his room only to be found much later under his bed. Suffice it to say that anything remotely shocking can get Renjun’s heart pumping.

However, he doesn’t expect to be baffled by his project-partner-slash-enemy-slash-possible-demon-in-his-dreams waiting for him by the exit of his Statistics classroom. Renjun hates to admit it, but Jaemin looks good. A loose, long-sleeve shirt, hands in the pockets of his fitted pants, and a mint hoodie tied around his shoulders are all he needs to be featured in the front page of the university paper.

“Renjunnie,” Jaemin calls as soon as he sees Renjun, another case of Jaemin feeling friendlier than they are. Several heads turn immediately, and Renjun has a sudden urge to drag Jaemin away from their prying eyes.

“What are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet at the Dream Cafe?”

Jaemin shrugs. “You were on the way.”

Renjun wants to ask how Jaemin knew his schedule, but he’s unsure if he’s ready to listen to a detailed recollection of him obtaining this information through possibly illegal means. He wouldn't put it past Jaemin to disguise himself as student worker and somehow gain access to everyone's records. Instead he just shakes his head and motions for Jaemin to get a move on.

The way to the cafe shouldn’t take much, just long enough for Renjun to wonder how Jaemin knew to pick him up at that specific classroom. As if reading his mind, Jaemin calmly says, “I remembered from when you showed your schedule.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“I know, but I just want to say I remembered you have Statistics, and this was the only one that started at 2:00 pm,” Jaemin answers without looking at Renjun. “I didn’t hack the university portal if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

Jaemin’s lips twitch as if he can see through Renjun’s lies.

When they enter the cafe, they instantly fall into their stations like a well-oiled machine. For two people who are not very alike, they work surprisingly well with each other. Maybe it’s specifically because of their differences that makes them the ideal partners; Renjun with his meticulous planning and overanalyzing and Jaemin with his spontaneity and a go with the flow attitude. Even their snacking habits mesh well as Renjun is the type to accidentally work through his dinner while Jaemin absolutely cannot go without having something edible in his hands.

It comes as no surprise that they’re able to tackle and finish cleanly the assigned parts for today.

The thing is.

The thing is, that once the human mind learns something of huge interest, it is prone to hyperfocus and overanalyze anything that relates to that. Ever since Jisung reasserted the possibility that Jaemin might be interested in him, it’s usually what Renjun ends up thinking about whenever he meets or is getting ready to meet Jaemin. So if he wears the color yellow more times lately than he usually does, or has been ordering more espressos than his usual vanilla latte, that’s entirely his own business and no one else’s.

“You know, for someone who lives on-campus, I don’t really see you around often,” Renjun tells him. “Where is it you said your building was?”

“Northeast side of university.”

“That’s close! Wouldn’t mind seeing what kind of cave you live in.” Renjun thinks he succeeds in sounding casual about it.

“We can’t,” Jaemin answers a bit too quickly for Renjun's liking. He shakes his head and somehow doesn't stumble despite speaking a mile a minute. “My roommate is not very fond of guests. He also doesn't like to wash dishes so it can pile up. Or do his laundry regularly. Honestly, I think we’re fine at The Dream Cafe. Why change it?”

Jaemin becomes talkative at the mention of Renjun seeing his room. Why? Maybe he’s embarrassed due to the state of his apartment. Maybe Renjun is simply too brash in requesting something as intimate as being in someone else’s living quarters. Renjun’s unsure.

In any case, Renjun drops the request.

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

In all the nights Renjun has met A’zaem, he has yet to see him smile.

They've painted in the dream session right after the first dinner. They've played cards between that sitting and now; who knew demons are such fast thinkers! And they've even just lied down on the throne room floor and gazed at the night sky A'zaem summoned to overlay his ceiling. Despite all of that, A'zaem has yet to grin or laugh or show any expression that shows he's enjoying his time.

And while it could be that demons merely don’t like to show happy expressions, surely a demon lord like A’zaem can feel uplifting emotions in his cold, stone heart. Do demons have hearts? Or is that simply human biology? Renjun plans to ask him later.

When Renjun reappears, A’zaem is already up and welcoming him. He must have transformed beforehand because he’s already human-sized. Tonight, he dons a purple, hooded cloak with gold lining. The hood covers even his horns, creating a shape that reminds Renjun of king cobras. His torso is out again, beautiful, muscled, and still diamond-marked—perhaps it’s a rule in The Underworld for demon lords to have their bodies perpetually on display.

“What are you wearing?”

A’zaem scoffs. “Why do you question it? Am I not allowed to be clothed in my favorite garments?” He gives a slow spin, hands outwards as if saying Well? Upon second inspection, Renjun has to admit that it looks fabulous on A’zaem figure. He has the perfect proportions for a cloak: broad shoulders, wide back, narrow waist. The material seems to be fine like silk. The lining reminds Renjun of actual aureate leaf pressed on fabric. Even the links look like real gold, clasping the garb loosely at the neck. 

“I wasn’t asking because I didn’t like it,” Renjun clarifies. “In fact, it looks really good. Just wondering why you have a different attire today.”

A'zaem shrugs. 

“Though if I have to change one thing…” Renjun moves forward. He’s too focused on his actions to notice the slight step back from A’zaem. Taking the demon’s hood in hand, Renjun gently peels it back to reveal A’zaem’s handsome face. As he does so, his skin brushes against the demon’s horns. This time, Renjun doesn’t miss the hiss that comes out as soon as they touch and stills.

It’s not until he breathes out that he realizes how close they’ve gotten. Renjun can see clearly the inconsistencies of A'zaem's complexion, like different shades of paint that haven’t fully diffused. There’s something tangible emanating just over A'zaem's skin, akin to a thick blanket of invisible matter—it’s neither hot nor cold, just is. His neck is slim and long. Flecks of amber decorate his irises, dazed and unblinking. Their feet are less than a foot apart. Renjun thinks if someone, or some thing, were to see them from behind, they’d think Renjun and A’zaem were kissing with Renjun’s arms around the demon’s neck.

And oh god, Renjun’s fingers are still clutching the hood; he forces himself to let go. Renjun instantly retreats, clasps his hands behind his back to refrain from doing something idiotic like put them around A’zaem again.

“Sorry, I—” Renjun starts, watching the ground. It’s uneven. “I shouldn’t have done that without your permission.”

A’zaem clears his throat, rubs his arm, and gives him a funny look. “There is nothing to be sorry about,” A’zaem assures him. Renjun nods.

A lull in the moment allows Renjun to survey his work. A’zaem is no longer in the shadows. His cheeks are star-scattered, eyes highlighted like liquid gold. Even with his mouth pursed, there’s a strange familiarity in how the ends of his lips turn up that is so Jaeminesque. Renjun shakes his head. Impossible. Well, technically not, but highly, highly improbable. He doesn't want to lead himself down this train of thought lest he spirals.

“It looks so much better like that,” Renjun gestures at the cloak. “This way we can see your face.”

A’zaem snorts and rubs his chin in vain. “It is a lovely face, I admit. One that most of the Lesser and Higher Demons in the Court of the Damned tend to fall for.”

Renjun doesn’t disagree. “Oh, is that right? Sure you’re not only saying that because I have yet to meet another of your kind?”

“Absolutely!” A’zaem looks slightly affronted that Renjun even has to question it. “I am not known as the Second Best Looking Demon in All Nine Circles of Hell for nothing.”

Renjun laughs. “Only second?”

“That title belongs to His Unholiness.”

Renjun waits for him to continue, and when he doesn’t, asks, “Who is?”

There’s judgment in A'zaem's stare at Renjun's ignorance. A’zaem replies, “He answers to many names. The Fallen, The Devil, The Ruler of the Underworld, His Excellency. Lucifer, condemned He be.”

“And what happens when others vocally disagree?”

A’zaem shrugs. “They become nothing.”

At this, Renjun tilts his head. “What do you mean nothing? Like, they’re scorned by the Infernal population? Or?”

A’zaem shakes his head. “No, my sweet. They cease to exist. Disappear. No physical or spiritual body. No soul. Banished from Inferno and nowhere to be found in any dimension. They become, essentially, nothing.”

Renjun gulps. “Poof?”

“Poof.”

Renjun is flabbergasted. He has never given it much thought, but if human souls go to the High Heavens or The Underworld after death, then where do angels and demons go once they pass in the afterlife? Are they reborn as humans? Or maybe reanimated in their respective worlds? A question for another day, perhaps.

“Do not be glum, my sweet. I am certain nothingness is not so bad.”

Ceasing to exist… It’s one of the saddest things he’s heard. His thoughts halt, however, when A’zaem takes him by the chin and finally, finally gives him a smile. Renjun's knees hasn't ever felt so hollow. “Shall we eat together again tonight?”

Once more, it’s expectedly easy to surprise Renjun; however, he doesn’t foresee being flustered by receiving a genuine smile from a literal demon.

Heart, hands, head, be still, he orders. But it’s a challenge. His heart is pounding so hard he can sense it in his eardrums. His hands itch to touch A’zaem’s skin, feel whatever it is flowing out of A’zaem crackle under Renjun’s fingertips. Heads, not in the clouds but submerged down under, completely and utterly besotted by upturned lips, starlit cheeks, and the color blue.

“My sweet?”

“Hmm?”

“Food?”

“Y-Yes, that’d…” Renjun gulps. “That would be wonderful.”

Dinner is a grander affair than the ones before, if that’s even possible. This time, Renjun feels close enough to A’zaem to warrant a change in the seating arrangement. Instead of their usual opposite ends positions, Renjun picks up the chair and sets it right next to A’zaem.

I like it better like this, is the only explanation Renjun gives.

The demon lord doesn’t indicate whether he shares the sentiment or not, but from their interactions while eating, Renjun is certain A’zaem likes this better as well. Renjun gets to laugh at whatever funny thing that comes out of the demon’s mouth; this really seems to put a constant smile on A’zaem’s face now. A’zaem also likes to add more food to Renjun’s plate; Renjun has to admit, it makes his stomach swirl when someone takes care of him like this. It’s when a grain of rice gets stuck on the corner of Renjun’s lip that it all goes to shit.

A couple of things happen in quick successions.

A’zaem’s reaches over to Renjun’s face.

Renjun recoils.

He doesn’t mean to. Instinct must have taken over. But as soon as he does, he knows he’s made a mistake. A’zaem’s hand pauses midair, and he watches Renjun with guarded eyes before gradually retracting his arm.

“Apologies,” he says. Renjun would have never guessed A’zaem could make his voice as small as it is considering how big he can truly be. “There was a crumb by your lips. It would have been more advisable to tell you.”

Just as A’zaem is about to begin eating again, Renjun quickly grabs him by the hand. Shocked, A’zaem looks to Renjun, then where they’re joined by the fingers, then to Renjun again. Without wavering, Renjun slowly brings A’zaem’s hand to his face, right where he presumes it was headed before, and says, “Wipe it for me.”

“My sweet…”

“Please.” And because he needs A’zaem to know, Renjun adds, “I want you to.”

A’zaem uses a thumb to dust it off. That A'zaem has become more soft-handed ever since Renjun was pulled harshly that first night creates ringing in Renjun’s ears. It’s careful, cautious, as if he’s expending massive effort just to be gentle. When Renjun feels A’zaem’s initial pull, he stands strong and doesn’t let the demon go. He keeps A’zaem there, by his cheeks, nose, and lips, and leans in in search of the demon’s touch.

A’zaem exhales. His breath is impossibly warm, almost as if he has a furnace for lungs. A’zaem’s golden gaze doesn’t falter as he caresses a cheekbone and slowly, steadily, enters Renjun’s space. They’re only centimeters apart, the air in between lingering with each other. The distance is so little that Renjun’s whole face senses the dense, unseen substance that seeps out of A’zaem’s person. Subconsciously, Renjun’s eyes flicker to the demon’s lips, possibly fatal, but so lush and familiar all the same. All it takes is two centimeters to know.

Eyes fluttering to a close, Renjun shortens the gap. His chest is pounding. His skin burns. Again, there’s an intense, ringing sound echoing in his ears. It goes up to a deafening crescendo until the blares just aren’t in his ears anymore but reverberating against the walls and resonating in the air. It’s so loud that the walls begin to shake and dust rains down from above.

Renjun blinks and takes in A’zaem’s similarly confused expression.

The whole castle is ringing.  

“What the—”

It sounds… It sounds like—

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

Renjun startles awake to a blaring sound echoing in his room.

He’s in his apartment. His blanket has nearly fallen off his body. On the bedside table is his phone, buzzing uncontrollably and going off much too loud for a device at the crack of dawn. One look shows that it’s Chenle with two missed calls and calling again at 3:17 am. 

Renjun tries to extract the venom in his voice when he answers.

“Chenle.”

Renjun doesn’t think he succeeds.

“Ge! You’re awake!”

“Zhong Chenle, you better have a good goddamn reason to disturb my—” Renjun stops. What’s he going to say? His dream with a demon? His spicy fantasy with someone who doesn’t exist? His possible wet dream with a blue-skinned devil who exudes the sex appeal of a Kardashian and reminds him of his project partner? In the end, he settles with “—my beauty sleep. Don’t you know it’s past 3:00 am?”

“I know, ge, I know.” Chenle hiccups. “But Jisung is completely wasted and I”—hic —“can’t drive him to his dorm.” Chenle lowers his voice to a whisper and, in a fit of contained giggles, says, “Because I think I’m drunk too.”

Hic.

“Is that Renjun-hyung?” Jisung slurs in the background.

What the fuck? Who gets shitfaced on a Thursday?

“No.”

“You’re lying! Give me- hand that over.”

“Sit down, you butthole.”

Scuffling sounds could be heard from the other side. A few grunts. Renjun thinks the phone falls somehow because there’s a couple of thumps before their voices become even more distant. There’s a muffled conversation, as if the phone’s stuck under one of them or perhaps forgotten on a carpet. The verbal and physical fight continues, with soft thuds and scratchy sounds coming in from the speaker.

And then, out of nowhere, Jisung’s voice connects clearly.

“Hyung? Renjun hyung? Did you- Are you still there, hyung?”

It’s never easy to stay mad at Jisung. Renjun’s anger dissipates as soon as he hears the younger man babble. He gets so much more talkative when he’s under the influence, and Renjun can conclude from just that bit that Jisung is, indeed, drunk.

“Hyung is here.”

“Hyung, thank god. I thought I”—something unintelligible—“I get if you wanna”—more words that Renjun has trouble understanding—“lose you.”

“Lose me? Jisung, what are you talking about?”

“Renjun hyung, come to...” Jisung snickers. “...eh, come get me.”

“Ji,” Renjun sighs. “It’s going to be 3:30 soon… Can’t you ask Chenle if you can stay over?”

“Nooo, want you,” Jisung huffs. “Want you to come here.”

When Renjun doesn’t answer for more than two seconds, Jisung uses his secret weapon. They both know that once Jisung does it, Renjun is too weak-willed to resist and can do nothing but succumb to the whims of his dongsaeng.

“Hyuuuung,” he whines in a cute, nasally tone. Renjun can imagine it now, big, giant, cuddly Jisung pouting his lips, furrowing his brows, and swaying in that innocent way of his. “Jithung wantth to thee you.”

Regular aegyo is bearable, but third-person aegyo performed specifically by Jisung is another monster that Renjun hasn’t yet figured out how to overcome. It hasn’t failed to win Renjun over before and doesn’t fail now as Renjun pinches the bridge of his nose, breathes out the last of his irritation, and shakes his head.

“Alright, Jiji.” He smiles through the phone. “Hyung’s coming.”

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

If one were to look at Renjun’s Naver history, they’d find a bunch of unusual search topics like Are demons real? And Is it possible to be genuinely attracted to a literal demon? And Advice for someone who thinks their classmate is the demon of their dreams.

Suffice it to say that it wouldn’t be what the college kids are into these days. He doesn’t find answers on Twitter. There’s surprisingly little information on Reddit that Renjun deems passably true or legitimate. But he does discover new, interesting concepts that he hadn’t been exposed to like Voodoo, Wicca, and various rituals that allow a person practicing witchcraft to communicate with demons.

None of them seems like how he meets A’zaem most nights.

Perhaps it’s not a spiritual phenomenon but rather an interdimensional one. Branching out his research proves to be useful. He revisits string theory, astral projection, and the theoretical multiverse. Renjun finds that while most of the information does not relate to his situation, there are a few instances that do.

Of these readings, one such method of dimensional travel sticks with him: wandering through the lower astral areas and stumbling upon a connective fold between your reality and another reality in the dream dimension. 

Renjun reads the passage.

Dreams are activities of the mind; the mind is the thinking faculty of the soul. For the mind to partake in dreams, it must first be present in the dream dimension. Therefore, it can be concluded that a part of the soul, or the soul itself, leaves the body when the mind transitions into the dream world.

Oftentimes, the setting of a dream is composed of various details that seem to be taken from random instances in one’s day-to-day reality. It can be a shoddy mishmash of cities, landscapes, people, or even imaginations, all of which usually appear to be in constant flux. There is a reason why dreams can be confusing. This is because the dream dimension is of a higher dimension than our reality.

In the same way that a 3-dimensional space is comprised of an infinite amount of 2-dimensional planes, the dream dimension is built of limitless realities stacked upon each other where the mind can choose to travel, or be momentarily absorbed into, another reality. In this sense, we can think of the dream dimension as the medium for a soul to traverse various realities with the mind as its vehicle.

If a traveler wanders too far or too frequently into the dream-reality continuum, it is possible to stumble into voids. Voids are simple, dimensional gaps and can be thought of as pockets of darkness with no sensory input and are thus not in any way a danger to the soul or the mind.

Similarly, a soul that has roamed a large area can find itself being swallowed by wormholes. Whereas voids are featureless, empty regions in the planes, wormholes are connective, interdimensional bridges that are capable of pulling one’s mind from one reality to another. The soul may find itself transported to a different dimension as quickly as a microsecond. However, these instances are rare as it requires an absurdly strong force from the parallel dimension or a spiritually magnetic attraction between the traveling soul and a residing element in the destinate reality. Some examples can be, but are not limited to: an object of immeasurable importance, an unforgettable memory, or, in most cases, another soul.

Renjun closes his laptop.

He's always been told that his imagination is quite strong, someone empathetic and easily hypnotized. Could it be that his soul has been wandering the dream world every time he goes to sleep and becomes sucked into these bits called wormholes? 

If he understood correctly, then this means it’s very possible that Renjun’s reality and his dreams with A’zaem are two realities of differing dimensions. But the passage states for that to happen, there must be a strong force from A'zaem's dimension. Or a... spiritually magnetic attraction between the traveling soul and a residing element in the destinate reality [...] an object of immeasurable importance, an unforgettable memory, or, in most cases, another soul.

Renjun evens his breathing. How can this be? There's no object in Hell that Renjun thinks would warrant such a pull. No unforgettable memory exists there either as this Renjun, him, hasn't ever been in The Underworld before. Another soul? The only one Renjun ever sees in that throne room is A'zaem. How can they have a spiritually magnetic attraction if they've never met before this?

He should be rejoicing in finding information that somewhat accurately describes his situation. Instead, Renjun’s face falls as one question bubbles up from the deep crevices of his brain. Renjun's reality with Jaemin and A'zaem's reality with Renjun...

Does this mean he can only choose one?

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

He doesn’t get his answer until a couple of days later.

They're set to meet in the library this time because Renjun has managed to convince Jaemin to finally try it out instead of the Dream Cafe.

Jaemin is asleep when Renjun arrives. Renjun has always known that Jaemin is attractive, but seeing him amidst a mountain of books, his head laid on his arms, lips slightly pursed, and eyelashes fanning prettily over closed eyes, is a different experience entirely.

When Renjun clears his throat, Jaemin doesn’t stir. He must have been exhausted from the night before. That works perfectly because Renjun is also tired and wouldn’t mind some shuteye for a few minutes. Making sure to make as little noise as possible, he grabs the chair next to Jaemin and imitates his position until they’re mirrors of each other.

If Renjun thought Jaemin looked beautiful before, he looks even more dazzling up close. This is probably the closest they’ve been. No more than a whisper away. Not for the first time, Renjun wonders how Jaemin’s lips might taste like. Would it be like coffee and cinnamon—rich but should only be taken in doses? Or artificial peaches—Jaemin looks exactly the type to constantly apply chapstick throughout the day; perhaps the flavor permanently clings to his mouth, perhaps it has woven itself in between the ridges, accumulating and waiting to be suckled off by another person. Renjun wants to know.

Jaemin’s complexion is as pale as it is tan, and when the sunlight from the library windows hits him at the right angle, his skin shines right back like golden honey. The scent of caffeine and old spice expands around him like a thin aura. There’s a calm rhythm that his breathing follows, consistent enough to make moisture accumulate on the tabletop. A few times, his breath travels across the small gap between them and kisses Renjun right on the corner of his mouth—it’s warm, too warm, a temperature that’s not normal for the average person.

Perhaps Jaemin’s blood solely runs hotter than the rest of humanity; it would explain why he’s so unlike anybody Renjun has met before. But seeing the shape of his lips, how they curl up at the ends in that familiar manner, observing the sharp slits of his closed eyes, and following the diamond trail of his cheeks, jaw, and chin, makes Renjun think… 

Perhaps not.

Have I been dreaming of you? Renjun wishes to ask him. Are my dreams a reality? A different type of truth but my truth all the same? Or have I just been deluding myself?

“If you do exist…” Renjun says, softer than a whisper. He doesn’t know how to finish it.

He doesn’t get to.

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

It’s comical that Renjun finds A’zaem the same way he found Jaemin: Stunning and peacefully asleep.

He’s on his throne, one hand settled on the armrest while the other supports his head.

Renjun’s always been a firm believer of fate and destinies rather than coincidence and probabilities. That’s exactly the reason his gut tells him that there is a connection between Jaemin and the demon lord A’zaem; he’s just not certain how strong that connection might be. As he stalks closer though, Renjun feels the same magnetic pull he feels with Jaemin. A need to be near and stay near, even if he’s unwilling to say as much.

There’s a part of him that wants to imitate A’zaem until they’re face-to-face, till their lips are merely a hair length away. Renjun’s not sure what it is about the atmosphere in The Underworld, but something in its chemical composition makes him braver and more reckless. One gulp of air has Renjun cutting the distance between them, just an arm away. A’zaem is still his usual height today, probably unprepared to meet Renjun right this moment. That’s okay though. There’s a sense of intimacy in seeing each other before being completely put together.

Renjun leans in and simply observes.

A’zaem is still rough and calloused in places. His skin still reminds Renjun of midnight skies, a blue violet bespeckled with star-like freckles that actually glow in the dark. His hair runs past his shoulders, fine and begging to be combed by another’s fingers. Renjun’s hands reach out but seizes midair. Is he allowed to touch? Is he able to bundle up the white strands in his fingers like liquid mercury pooling up in his palms before escaping in the spaces between his fingers?

He wants to ask. The demon lord’s name is on the tip of his tongue. Instead, a sharp gasp comes out as A’zaem’s arm shoots out to clasp Renjun by the hand and pulls him into a spontaneous hug. Renjun stumbles onto A’zaem’s lap, fairly winded as A’zaem draws him in tighter and tighter. Despite being initially startled, Renjun relaxes into the embrace and immerses himself in A’zaem’s presence. The sturdiness of his torso, his satisfying warmth, and the intoxicating scent that Renjun now associates with comfort.

“I did not expect you to come so soon, my sweet,” he says in greeting.

“I didn’t expect to be here either,” Renjun says, cheeks squished against A’zaem.

Silence.

“To be truthful, I was not sure I would see you again.”

Renjun resurfaces from where he was buried in A’zaem’s chest. “Why wouldn’t you think I’d come back?”

A’zaem clears his throat. Uncertainty colors his tone when he says, “I was not sure you wanted to.” After what almost happened, Renjun finishes in his head.

There are a few things Renjun really dislikes in the world. Cilantro, being forced to act innocent, and misunderstandings. It’s precisely why he rearranges himself so that he’s straddling a full-sized A’zaem with his knees and legs on either side of the demon.

Renjun frames A’zaem’s face. “I always want to.”

Jet black liquid drips from one of A’zaem’s nostrils.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Renjun says, hands flailing in alarm. “Your nose! I think it’s bleeding.”

A’zaem reaches for his nose to check. Upon seeing the dark liquid on his fingers, the demon lets out a thoughtful hum. “This is a first.” He must have performed some Infernal magic because as soon as he says it, his blood begins to trickle back up to where it came from.

“Even demons can get nosebleeds?”

A’zaem houses Renjun’s face with his hands. “My sweet,” he starts with a serious expression. “I find it hard to believe there exists a creature which can fully withstand the onslaught of your beauty.”

Heavy hands settle on his waist. A’zaem’s heat is more intoxicating than ever, spreading from where they’re touching skin to skin. His golden eyes don’t falter when he calls. “Renjun.”

It’s the first time A’zaem has ever said his name. It doesn’t have to travel far. Renjun is already so close, waiting, mouth open and ready to receive. A’zaem must understand as he waits for a beat, two, before diving in and capturing Renjun by the mouth.

Kissing a demon is not much different from kissing a human, Renjun has learned. Their lips are just as pillowy. Though stronger and longer, their tongues are just as playful. The main difference, perhaps, is that their breaths are much, much hotter. Intense heat filters out at every gasp and noise. All of that heat goes straight to Renjun’s member and makes him impossibly harder.

A’zaem must feel him by now, poking just right on his midriff. Sure enough, as they continue locking lips, Renjun begins to feel the large tent growing right underneath him. It’s super stiff. Though Renjun can’t see it yet, he already knows it’s humongous just from what he can feel. He doesn’t even know if that can all fit.

“I-Is that—” Renjun tries to ask but can’t, doesn’t want to separate from A’zaem and his tongue and the lovely press of his fingers on Renjun’s body. “It’s so big.”

“We can stop if you want to, my sweet.”

“No!” It comes out as a desperate shout. Renjun’s breathing hard. “I mean, no. I don’t want to stop. I was just stating an observation. But maybe…”

“Maybe…?”

Renjun bites his lip and hides his face on the crook of A’zaem’s neck. “Maybe… we can try i-it like this another time,” Renjun suggests. The gulp from the demon is audible, especially with Renjun’s ears pressed right up his throat. “Today, it might be more doable if you shrink back to human size.”

Renjun has barely finished his sentence before A’zaem starts his transformation. He must have been eager to continue because it takes no time at all before he’s kissing Renjun again. Soon clothes are being discarded one by one. Renjun ravages A’zaem’s neck, sucking at it in hopes that love bites would form and show the Infernal World that this demon belongs to a human. Just as he finishes, A’zaem catches him by the hair and pulls him back just enough to reveal the long line of his neck.

A lengthy sigh comes out when A’zaem begins to suckle at the skin there. For a second, Renjun wonders if necks are generally more sensitive than lips because once A’zaem started to attack the flesh underneath his jaw, Renjun’s body goes completely limp. It’s pleasurable and intense and makes Renjun’s bones feel absolutely brittle. Just the thought of A’zaem loving Renjun’s body so much, wanting to kiss every inch of it, makes Renjun delirious.

Once they’re fully naked, A’zaem picks him up and lays him on the carpeted ground. Royal pillows have been conjured from somewhere, enough to surround them and be of use if required. Renjun's briefs is thrown over somewhere to the side, while A’zaem is completely bare.

“You’re so beautiful,” Renjun admits.

A’zaem snorts. “I should be the one telling you that.”

The demon goes back to kissing all of Renjun—on the throat, on the jut of his pointed shoulders, even the slight dip between his collarbones. Renjun sets one hand on A’zaem’s nape while the other takes one of A’zaem’s hands and leads it down to Renjun’s most private place.

A’zaem looks to him, eyes begging for a confirmation. A squeeze of the hand is all they need before A’zaem is circling Renjun’s bottom with a lubricated finger. He supposes magic is a perk of having sex with a demon. The first finger is always the most uncomfortable. Once he relaxes though, it becomes easier to accept two. And then three.

“Right there,” Renjun groans when A’zaem glides against it.

He looks devilishly handsome as he smirks. “Right here?”

The moan that comes out of Renjun is unprecedented. He’s never heard himself sound so raw, so wrecked. A’zaem doesn’t stop, fingering him at the same spot over and over until Renjun is seeing stars.

“N-No, ahh. A-A’zaem, wait!” Renjun manages in between breaths. “I want to—”

“My sweet?”

As Renjun mentioned before, something in the air of The Underworld makes Renjun absolutely reckless. At least, that’s what he tells himself when suddenly grabs A’zaem by his crotch.

It’s different. A’zaem is definitely longer than all the men Renjun has taken. It’s a bit arrow-shaped, the head narrower at the top and the base of his length wider than the mushroom tip. Renjun shudders at the thought of that monstrosity filling him up to the brim.

“I want you.”

A’zaem must understand because he flicks Renjun’s hand away to replace it with his own. Renjun’s legs are manhandled and is now slung on A’zaem’s shoulders, effectively folding him in half. Grabbing his shaft and coating it with his magical lube, A’zaem glides the head up and down Renjun’s opening before pressing in. The pressure is unbelievable. The pointedness makes the glide easy. Already, Renjun feels the stretch as A’zaem enters him inch by incredible inch.

“Breathe, my sweet.”

Renjun does, but it’s so difficult with something so huge filling him up. Renjun can feel himself widening along with A’zaem’s girth. Slowly, between kisses, A’zaem pushes further until he’s all the way inside. Renjun has to consciously tell his brain in, out, in, out just to relax.

“Your heat is unbelievable,” A’zaem says in the lull. “You grip me so tightly, my sweet. I will reach climax in no time.”

“Inside,” Renjun orders, unable to produce long sentences. “Finish inside.”

“Of course.”

While they wait for him to become accustomed to A'zaem's size, A'zaem captures him by the lips once more. Never has Renjun enjoyed the act of kissing so much, and it's a welcome distraction from the burn of the stretch underneath.

Some time between the fourth minute and fifth, Renjun lets out a moan. “M'Ready.”

“As you wish.” A’zaem grips him by the waist to keep him in place. His channel burns as A’zaem pulls back. The first slide, however, is euphoric. Renjun sees stars. They rock on the pillowed ground, A’zaem's hip snaps forward at a rapid speed. A chorus of contrasting sounds could be heard in the throne room. The wet slap of skin on skin as A’zaem continues his thrusting. The obscene squelches of Renjun’s entrance having to accommodate such a large intrusion. The broken pants and groans from both Renjun and A’zaem as they chase an orgasm together.

“A’zaem.”

“My sweet.”

“A’zaem.” Na Jaemin. A’Jaem. Na Zaemin.

Renjun chants their names every time A’zaem shoves his hips forward. The force is so strong that Renjun is incrementally pushed farther away during impact. He doesn't know how long they've been at it. Time is measured by the accumulating sweat on their faces and the number of times Renjun has whined A'zaem's name.

“I’m close,” Renjun somehow manages from A'zaem's continuous thrusting.

“Me too, my sweet.” A’zaem speeds up his movements. It’s here that Renjun loses the ability to talk, let alone think. The insistent pressure of A’zaem's member has Renjun absolutely blank-minded. “T-Together.”

A’zaem thrusts once. Twice. Renjun squeezes.

A’zaem releases with a roar that echoes in the throne room. Renjun reaches climax at the same time, voice lost from the mind-numbing intensity of it all. He shoots on his stomach while A’zaem deposits inside. Renjun can feel it; it’s so much. Too much.

“K-Kiss me,” Renjun requests, every part of his body tingling.

A’zaem does.

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

Renjun’s eyes fly open.

His breathing is heavy, muscles loose and tired from overwork. The shirt he’s wearing sticks onto his back, drenched with sweat. His neck feels tender, the way it usually does when someone laps at it for too long. A slight twitch of his body makes him hiss; the tiny movement makes him realize just how sore his entrance is.

What the fuck?

As he takes in his surroundings, he notes that they’re still in the library and Jaemin is still napping in front of him. On Jaemin’s neck is a purpling bruise, the same exact spot Renjun gave A’zaem his love bite. Perspiration has condensed on Jaemin’s forehead. His eyebrows are relaxed, mouth slightly ajar in what seems to be a post-coital state.

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, Renjun thinks to himself. 

Just as he finishes his mantra, Jaemin’s eyes flutter open.

He gives Renjun a dazed look, half-lidded and glassy-eyed. There’s a sign of content in his small smile.

“Renjunnie,” Jaemin utters his name, voice sultry and scratchy with sleep. Renjun has to consciously refrain from doing something stupid like record it with his phone with the sole purpose of waking up to it every morning. “You’re here.”

“Jaemin.”

The seriousness in Renjun seems to rouse Jaemin. He instantly sits up, back ramrod straight, and eyes wide open as if he’s been doused by ice water. Renjun grabs him by the wrist and drags him to a secluded corner of the library. It’s silent here. Just books, the dust, and them.

There are a lot of things Renjun wants to know. Too many questions he wants to ask.

How can Renjun inquire about them without sounding deranged? How can he imply that he suspects Jaemin is the demon lord that he’s gone head over heels for during their intimate hours in the dream world? Or is it that A’zaem has become the apparatus for everything Renjun has wanted to do with Jaemin? Or both? While he thinks being detailed has its advantages, Renjun settles this time for being frank and direct. Instead, what he says is this.

“Be honest with me.” Renjun is amazed that he sounds as collected as he does, even when he can barely hear his own voice from how loud his chest is beating. “Is it real?”

“Is what real?”

“The—” Renjun almost backs out, too afraid of what he would do if his suspicions are proven false. However, Renjun has always been too curious for his own good. “The dreams. These things that happened in my head. Are they real?”

Jaemin keeps a straight face. He stalks closer until they’re chest-to-chest, until Renjun has no choice but to look up at him. Jaemin takes him by the cheek, brushes it, and says, “Just because it happened in your head doesn’t mean it didn't happen at all.”

In the seconds it takes for Renjun to release a sigh of relief, the rows of books transform into the walls of the familiar throne room. Jaemin has long, silver hair, strands floating to the sides like gravity has paused momentarily. He is midnight-skinned and leather-horned and starry-cheeked, a silver diamond marked on his chest. Bright, orange embers slowly peel off his skin and fly about like a filter of fireflies. He stares at Renjun in liquid gold, and Renjun is stolen for the nth time.

There's an indescribable amount of pressure like space is caving in on itself. And then, as soon Renjun feels it, as soon he sees him, nothing.

Renjun is in disbelief. Jaemin is, again, the same boy he’d met a year and a half ago, crinkly-eyed and smiley and breathtaking.

“Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Na Jaemin, infernus A’zaem of House Asmodeus, Duke of Lechery and Sixth in Line for the Throne in the Second Circle of Hell.” Jaemin takes his hand with the lightest grip before turning it over to reveal Renjun’s birthmark. Without releasing eye contact, Jaemin dips down and plants a soft kiss on the darkened spot. Dull heat pools where Jaemin’s lips meet Renjun’s skin. As he straightens, Jaemin gives Renjun one of his signature serpentine smiles. “Pleasure to be in your company, sweet cheeks.”

Ah. Renjun shakes his head. This should have been the biggest tell. He hears now that the intonation is exactly the same. 

“I’m Renjun, House of Huang, college student, and three semesters away from graduating Summa Cum Laude,” Renjun says, biting his tongue. “And likewise.”

Jaemin grins down at him, amused.

Renjun coughs. “So… Should I call you A’zaem or Jaemin?”

A shrug. “I am both, so you may use what you wish,” he answers and pulls Renjun by the hand till Renjun collides with his sinewy chest. An arm coils around Renjun’s lower back, and Jaemin leans down until Renjun can almost taste the honey from his breath. Grinning like a devil, Jaemin adds, “Either name uttered by these lips will sound lovely.”

Renjun tips his head and captures Jaemin’s mouth with his own.

“Noted.”

ψ(^Ф∀Ф^)ψ

Renjun would like to amend his previous statement.

There has been a change in the list of activities he enjoys most in all the worlds, and they are now these: landscape painting, discovering new conspiracy theories with his best friend Jisung, and kissing the devilish smirk off Na Jaemin’s face.