Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Taerae is, like, eighty five percent sure he’s going to hell when (if) he dies someday.

It’s a feeling that’s been creeping up on him for a while, a sneaking premonition that gets a bit heavier whenever he logs onto his stan Twitter account (he’s an arianator and a barb, life is hard) or when he can’t sleep and turns to the glowing orange warmth of Wattpad for a nice bedtime story.

Also, he totally used to be a kleptomaniac as a kid and even though Taerae certainly doesn’t think he’s evil, he also isn’t sure he’s done enough things to be considered good.

He’s never helped an old person cross the street or rescued someone who was drowning. If there was a fire he’d save himself before anyone else and sometimes he forgets to return the shopping cart to the store entrance and he definitely never tips more than ten percent (but he’s a broke student, so).

And, when he’s feeling lazy, he just puts everything in the trash can instead of sorting out recycling or trying to compost.

So Taerae’s honestly a little worried, because he’s been getting into a lot of online arguments and blocking old mutuals and trading insults with accounts he thinks are run by elementary school kids. Life is hard as a ride or die Ariana fan lately but he’s confident her next album will turn things around, even if she is sticking with spongebob guy.

And Nicki— well, Taerae isn’t really sure how he feels about Big Foot but it has a good beat! Lyrics aren’t that importance!

So even though he’s feeling a little concerned about his soul’s future prospects and reaching the pearly gates of heaven, he continues on with life. He defends his favorite singers with the harsh words of a seasoned film critic and he keeps reading his bedtime stories and he hangs out with his friends, the only people who don’t make him roll his eyes.

His friends are great. Taerae’s happy to be back at school with them, even if it means he has to sneakily eat his flaming hot Cheetos in science class and pretend not to be scrolling on his phone during math.

It’s a bit harder to wake up for school because he’s found a new batch of omegaverse Biden/Trump fics— Trump is the omega but he’s a little salty about it, which makes for the best kind of angst and miscommunication— but he’s still managing. He has his friends and his Twitter mutuals and that one closeted guy on the football team who just won’t stop sending him thirst traps even though Snapchat has been dead for years, so his life is pretty busy.

But even though Taerae doesn’t really have time to experience thoughts about the future, his brain is evil and so whenever he lies down to sleep or starts typing out an exposé thread, it sends him visions of dying a terrible fiery death in hell, over and over.

His mom comes home two days later with fake gravestones and an animatronic devil complete with curving horns and a pitchfork. She says they’re just Halloween decorations but Taerae subscribes to a monthly Tarot newsletter and he isn’t dumb— he knows this is the first of three warnings.

The second warning arrives only a week later when Taerae is doing his skincare routine late at night; he’d had to fight a feral pack of ten year olds in Sephora for his drunk elephant products but they truly make his skin glow and he needs to look pretty every day, just to spite his haters (the entire math department at his high school).

He props his elbows on the sink and leans in close to the mirror, rubbing the vitamin C serum into his cheekbones, hair held back by a vibrant pink Jojo Siwa headband. The lights in his bathroom are overly bright, casting his skin in garish white, buzzing every so often with too much electricity— and then as Taerae leans even closer to the mirror, the glass cracks with a loud snap.

He lurches back, barely muffling a screech, and stares in horror at the fractured glass. It looks as if someone has driven the tip of a knife into the mirror, little cracks spiderwebbing out from the place his eyes had been reflected.

Taerae’s watched enough horror movies to know what this means; he’s going to have at least seven years of terrible luck, if he even survives that long!

Trembling in fright, he scampers out of the bathroom and barricades himself in his room, burrowing down in a pile of plushies. His skincare routine is (marginally) less important than his life, after all!

He tells his friends about the broken mirror the next day at lunch but they don’t seem nearly so worried.

“It was probably just old,” Zhang Hao tells him, dipping a curly fry into a cup of ranch. “Glass flows downwards and gets weaker over time.”

Taerae sips from his Stanley— lilac today to match his sweater— and contemplates this. “But my mom only bought that mirror a few years ago.”

Ricky, beside him, looks up from his strawberry açaí bowl. “Maybe there was an earthquake?”

Hanbin wrinkles his brow and reaches out to hold Ricky’s free hand. “We live in Nebraska.”

“Whatever,” Ricky says, though the tips of his ears are pink. “You’re not cursed, TaeTae. You’re too pretty.”

But then his English Lit class is assigned to read Dante’s Inferno that Friday and even Taerae can’t deny anymore that the universe straight up wants him to know that death is approaching.

The circles of Hell don’t sound all that great and even though Taerae looks super cute in winter coats and earmuffs, he isn’t sure how he feels about being cold forever. What will he do with all his itty bitty crop tops? How will he get a honey beige tan?

Dante didn’t exactly have the forethought to write about where reading copious amounts of dead dove ABO fic might land someone among the circles, but Taerae has a bad feeling about ending up farther down. And it’s not as if any of the circles really sound appealing; there’s no mention of malls or cute Instagrammable spots or boba shops.

And no matter his friends’ assurances, he has received three signs of doom from the universe. Taerae isn’t dumb enough to wait until his walls start leaking blood or porcelain dolls begin to follow him around!

So even though Taerae is a Cancer and the planets are clearly aligned against him at the moment, he starts to plan. Running stan accounts requires a high level of organization and forethought and Taerae’s queens have taught him how to girlboss when necessary— now he just needs to lip sync (research) for his life.

He gets out his pink notebook and his glittery gel pens and he starts to find out just what the afterlife is actually like.

Despite all his hobbies, Taerae gets really good grades and he knows how to use JSTOR and Google scholar to their full advantage. So now when his life depends on it he reads academic papers and compiles a list of mythology books to check out from the library and he watches videos explaining the concept of Hell in different religions, taking notes all the while.

After a few hours his notebook is full of scribbled notes and his back is aching. Stretching, video paused, Taerae flops back onto his bed and stares morosely up at his ceiling.

“Well,” he announces to no one at all, “I’m fucked.”

All the religions and stories and interpretations of ancient 16th century paintings agree— Hell exists and it is not a nice place.

Taerae’s come across a ton of good information, too, on Heaven and similar happy lands of the afterlife. The problem is that it seems like a lot of work to reach those pearly gates and hear the cherubic choirs sing, and he just isn’t sure he has it in him to be perfectly kind and humble and generous for the rest of his life.

Would God really want him to share his fries after a long stacking practice, when he’s starving and tired and sweaty?

And what about gossip? Taerae can’t give that up, he’s a high school student! It’s in his blood!

Also, it’s only natural to feel jealous of Ricky’s baby Birkin. It’s buttery soft and so cute and if he had his own, he could totally accessorize it to be super adorable like Jane intended.

So he needs to be realistic, because even though he’d like to end up in Heaven’s golden city, he’s never been to church and he’s pretty sure it’s too late to start now. Also, he loves sleeping in on Sundays too much to give it up. 

But now that he’s realized he’s going to end up in Hell, Taerae isn’t sure what the next step is; how should he prepare for his future?

He decides to start attending hot yoga with his mom because in most stories Hell is hot; he’ll need to build up his tolerance. But the stretches are too difficult and Taerae’s dripping sweat after only ten minutes and he really, truly, thinks he’s going to pass out.

He’s so weak he can barely sip Dr. Pepper from his pink Stanley after the session has finished; even his lips are trembling and sweaty.

So, he can’t withstand the heat— but that’s okay! Hell might be chilly after all!

“Hanbin-hyung,” Taerae asks one afternoon, “can I come ice skate with you?”

“Sure!” Hanbin beams at him, ears flushing red, looking very adorable in his blue sweater vest. Hanbin is definitely getting into Heaven. “I would love to show you around!”

So Taerae bundles up in his thickest sweetener tour sweatshirt and perches some fluffy earmuffs over his ears and meets Hanbin at the skating rink. The actual skates are kindof terrifying and Hanbin has to hold him up because he keeps almost falling, but it is fun to shuffle round on the ice.

Unfortunately, though, as Taerae sits on his butt and watches Hanbin twist in graceful arcs, occasionally practicing his jumps, he realizes he’s freezing and miserable. The ice’s chill has sunk deep into his bones and is starting to hurt, nipping the tip of his nose and making his cheeks ache.

And Hell will definitely be colder than this, so… Taerae sighs, deeply, and then claps for Hanbin when he executes a series of perfect pirouettes.

So after his experiments with temperature Taerea is feeling a bit demoralized about his future chances of surviving Hell, but he knows the most important thing is to build up his pain tolerance. Everything he’s read has included a lot of detailed descriptions of torture and various punishments for all sorts of sins; Taerae really needs to prepare himself for this!

“Ricky-yah,” Taerae coos into his phone that weekend, “will you come over and help me wax my legs?”

Ricky scoffs, the sound of a reality show trickling through the line; probably Love Island. “As if you even need to ask.”

So when Ricky shows up armed with snacks and sugar wax and face masks as well as several bottles of nail polish, Taerae is prepared. He knows what he’s gotten himself into and he’s also constantly reminding himself that a whole lot of pain awaits him in the future.

“Don’t flinch!” Ricky scolds him an hour later, attempting once again to grasp the edge of the waxing sheet so he can rip it (and Taerae’s delicate leg hair) away. “You said you wanted this!”

“It’s going to hurt,” Taerae whines, trying to wriggle away without upsetting their liter of Dr. Pepper. “I don’t like things that hurt!”

“Beauty is pain,” Ricky deadpans and then he grabs the sheet in a flash and tears it away before Taerae can squeal for help.

It really, really hurts. It feels like his leg is on fire, stinging and burning and incredibly sensitive. Taerae wails, loudly, and throws a pillow at Ricky’s dumb face as hard as he can.

“You bitch!”

Ricky, a tiny smile curling his lips, calmly tosses the sheet of Taerae’s precious leg hair into the trash can and brandishes another. “You’re welcome.”

By the end of the night Taerae’s legs are very pink and perfectly smooth, thanks to Ricky’s attention to detail, and he’s entirely traumatized. No way is he going to survive in Hell! Torture is terrible and inhumane!

Taerae is honestly starting to feel a little desperate. He isn’t sure how long he has until the demons or whatever come for him but he still isn’t acclimated to any of the things waiting for him in Hell.

Life is so unfair. He’s only eighteen! This is basically child endangerment!

But no matter how much it sucks, Taerae needs to get over his resentment and figure out a plan for survival. He refuses to have his liver pecked out every day or be trapped in a river of boiling lava for eternity.

If he can’t make it on his own in Hell, he’s going to need help. The most obvious choice is, of course, his friends.

“Hey oomfs,” Taerae greets cheerfully as he sits down at his friend group’s designated table in the cafeteria, beaming round at everyone magnanimously. “Do you think you’re going to Hell and, if so, would you like to form an alliance?”

Hanbin, dressed in a creamy knit sweater and delicate silver jewelry, including a cross, frowns instantly. “Tae-ah? You don’t need to worry about that. We’re all ending up in Heaven.”

Zhang Hao, without blinking, says, “most definitely I am going to Hell. Like for sure.”

Hanbin lets out a tiny cry and turns to his boyfriend, holding tight to Hao’s wrist. “Baby! Don’t say that! Of course you’ll be in Heaven!”

Zhang Hao’s eyes linger on Hanbin’s exposed collarbones a little too long. “With the things I’ve thought about you? No way.”

“Oh—“ Hanbin blushes primrose pink and goes very quiet, though his hands disappear suspiciously beneath the table a few minutes later and don’t re-emerge until the end of lunch.

“I think we’ll all be reincarnated,” Gunwook answers cheerfully, glossy hair flopping in his eyes. “Hopefully as something fun! I’d love to be an otter.”

Ricky’s nose twitches in disdain. “I better be a human again. This face is too good for just one lifetime.”

Gyuvin sighs, either in affection or frustration, and offers a bite of his brownie to Ricky. “That’s so true baby.”

“Okay,” Taerae says loudly, trying to regain everyone’s attention. “But like, hypothetically, if we did go to Hell, how would we survive?”

“I think the whole point of Hell is that you don’t,” Gunwook counters. “But also I don’t think souls can die again?”

“Yeah, you’re just stuck there being punished forever,” Gyuvin agrees, now trying to feed Ricky a piece of celery. “It’s like, permanent.”

“Maybe you could go to Purgatory, hyung,” Yujin offers, shiny eyes enormous. “It’s better than Hell.”

Ricky grabs the piece of celery from Gyuvin’s fingers and throws it halfway across the cafeteria, accidentally hitting a freshman girl in the temple. “Isn’t Purgatory a waiting room?”

“Yeah,” Yujin chirps, “it’d be like— like waiting at the DMV, but forever!”

”Or trying to return something at Walmart,” Jiwoong mutters.

Taerae feels ill. “I’d rather be in Hell, honestly.”

“Me too,” Hao agrees fervently, his cheeks pink with emotion. “So— ah, so much better.”

Taerae smiles at his flushed hyung, glad he’ll have at least one friend in the afterlife, and then looks round at everyone else. “I think we should make a plan to meet up in Hell once we die. So we can all work together to survive, okay?” 

Ricky rolls his eyes and Gyuvin clearly isn’t listening but Gunwook and Yujin, who are good babies, both nod.

“Sure, hyung,” Gunwook agrees amicably, “but it’d probably be better to get a devil or something to help us too. They could give us insider secrets.”

“Yeah,” Taerae agrees, but he isn’t really listening. He’s too busy thinking about codewords for him and his friends so they can find each other in the afterlife; souls might look nothing like their physical bodies.

What if he doesn’t even have a face once he’s dead? What if his soul is bald, or a weird color, or ugly?

Taerae keeps thinking over the dilemma of his future in Hell, devoting almost all his brain energy to possible survival tactics. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to just climb out and he doesn’t have a lover who will come down to rescue him like Orpheus and unfortunately he doesn’t think God will care about him when lots of other famous, important people will be down there too.

A week passes, and then another, and then one afternoon at the end of practice Taerae has an epiphany.

He’s just finished putting away his cups and the time mat— Taerae’s is Nebraska’s reigning cup stacking champion and has even earned a varsity letter from his school— and his thoughts are floating, wandering round randomly in his head.

Hell, the new season of the Golden Bachelor, demons, Queen Elizabeth, his science homework for tonight, boyfriends, Hell, Trisha Paytas’s baby, curly fries smothered in old bay, Hell…

Taerae jolts ramrod straight as if he’s been struck by a rod of lightning— he almost shouts out eureka!

He’s found a solution! He knows how to survive Hell now!

Taerae shouts a hurried farewell to his coach and teammates and races from the gym, not even stopping to straighten his Lululemon zip up. He’s panting by the time he reaches his house, severely out of shape— another reason he won’t survive in Hell without an ally— but he’s too excited to care.

Up in his room Taerae flops on his bed and wrenches his computer open, starting to research once more. This time, though, he types in far darker phrases— summoning rituals, how to call a demon, local Satanists near me.

He researches and researches and drinks a six pack of Dr. Pepper so that by the time he thinks he finally knows enough, his hands are shaking.

Taerae skips school the next day to go shopping, though he isn’t wandering his favorite mall or tearing into a box of Cinnabon bites. Instead he buys chalk (a pack of rainbow colors because that’s all Dollar Tree has) and a dozen tall black candles and the fanciest wine glass he can find at Target, though unfortunately it’s decorated with tiny glass ghosts.

He supposes it’s appropriate, though, because soon he’llbe a ghost if he doesn’t do something.

Taerae drives home with a thin film of cold sweat on his skin and hides all the supplies beneath his bed with a strange sort of detachment, shredding the receipts and clearing his search history until there’s absolutely no evidence left of his plan. He takes a shower, washing off the faint clinging scent of incense— he needs to burn a stick every day until the ritual— and then tries very hard to finish his history essay.

His brain simply isn’t working though. No matter how many Dr. Pepper’s he cracks open or how much crushed ice he chews on (his favorite snack), Taerae is too stressed and worried to focus.

What if the ritual he’s found is fake? What if nothing happens and then he really does have to resign himself to eternity burning or freezing in Hell?

Taerae whimpers, gripping his phone like a security blanket, and then frantically starts googling local churches. He finds a few good options but they all require weeks of classes in the Bible and how to be Holy before they’ll even consider a baptism! Taerae doesn’t have that kind of time!

And there’s communion, which seems like it could help (Satan can’t steal his soul if he’s ingested the blood and body of Christ, surely) but Taerae’s never gone to confession or learned what all the beads on a rosary mean, so.

“I’m gonna die,” he whimpers to no one at all, slumping over and feeling very close to tears. At least he’s a pretty crier. “This sucks.”

He mopes for a while, feeling very sorry for himself and very pitiful, and then his mom comes home and orders Pizza Hut for them and suddenly life feels a bit more worth keeping. Taerae falls asleep with hope in his heart and when he wakes at 6 am, to perform his daily incense ritual, it’s with a sleepy sort of confidence that everything will turn out okay.

His friends, occupied with Halloween plans and last minute costume adjustments, don’t quite notice his strange mood that week.

In fact the entire school is buzzing with the approaching holiday, and the world seems to agree; crimson and orange leaves flutter against crisp blue skies, carved pumpkins and fake gravestones and enormous spider’s webs decorating the homes in each neighborhood.

Taerae goes to cup stacking practice (he’s working on a new formation for Regionals) and he takes aesthetic notes in his classes and he even manages to leave a nice comment on the new chapter of his favorite Trump/Biden fic but he’s still distracted, still too quiet and nervous.

He hasn’t told anyone what he’s planning. His friends think he’s coming to their usual Halloween party but Taerae is going to pretend to have food poisoning; an easy lie to maintain if his ritual doesn’t work.

On the day of Halloween, which dawns gray and stormy and has the sky rumbling ominously every so often, Taerae feels so anxious that he can barely swallow his Reese’s Puffs. He’s wearing all black, cat ears perched on his head and eyeliner whiskers on his cheeks; everyone dresses up casually for school before changing into their real costumes at night.

“Happy Halloween,” Gyuvin cries when they all convene for lunch; he’s dressed up as a scarecrow. “Have some Dots!”

“Happy Halloween,” Taerae mumbles, listlessly accepting the little yellow box. He doesn’t think he can stomach any sugar right now; even his Dr. Pepper is sugar free today.

“I’m so excited for tonight,” Yujin is gushing to Hanbin and Hao, brown eyes alight. It’s the first year he’s been old enough to participate in their Halloween party; he’s been talking of nothing else for weeks. “Will someone really spike the punch?”

“No,” Hanbin assures quickly, the glittery fairy wings he wears quivering. “Of course not. It’s going to be a very safe party.”

“I’ll spike the punch,” Zhang Hao tells their youngest friend in an undertone, the red lenses in his eyes glowing crimson. “Probably tequila.”

Taerae listens to his friends and feels a great swell of affection for them but he doesn’t change his plans. When he hugs them goodbye at the end of lunch, clinging on a little longer than usual, they coo over him and pet his hair but they still don’t seem to notice the shadow of death lingering round him.

At home, after Taerae has sent his mom off to her own party and successfully implemented the food poisoning plan, he slowly climbs the stairs to his room. The house seems very quiet around him, filled with stormy gray shadows and odd murky light; he’s incredibly aware of how alone he is, how vulnerable his heart is inside his chest.

“You can do this,” he mutters to himself while he gathers his supplies and takes out the directions he’d scanned from the absolutely ancient book he’d found. “You’re not going to die.”

He begins by drawing a large pentagram in blue chalk— the closest thing he has to black— and then surrounding it with a purple circle. He works slowly, trying to make everything symmetrical and perfect, but his fingers are faintly shaking.

Taerae etches strange pink symbols from the book around each point of the pentagram, curling things which are pretty and yet, when he gazes at them too long, hurt his eyes. He’s breathing heavily by the time he finishes and there’s a nasty prickling in his nose, which he ignores.

Thunder claps outside his house, so close he feels the floorboards shake under his knees. Taerae stifles a whimper, setting the chalk aside and reaching for the candles instead. He arranges the tall black pillars inside the points of the pentagram, being very careful not to smudge the chalk, and then stands up so he can survey his work.

Everything seems symmetrical and correct so Taerae, his heart in his throat, moves on to the last steps of the summoning ritual.

He places the fancy glass into the very center of the star and then reaches for his glittery Barbie lighter. It’s an effort to keep his hands steady while he lights the candles, flame jumping up from the wicks to cast strange, yawning shadows across his suddenly eerie bedroom walls.

Taerae thinks he might be shaking. Still, any fear he feels now will pale by a thousandfold in comparison to what awaits him in Hell so he better tough it out.

He sets his lighter aside once all the candle flames have steadied and then reaches for the little silver knife he’d borrowed from the kitchen, belly fluttering. Taerae hatesbeing in pain, absolutely, but he makes himself reach out and hold his fingertip over the glass, teeth gritted.

With one quick slice blood drips into the glass, so vividly red and thin that Taerae feels nauseous and has to look away. He counts to three inside his head and then, still keeping his eyes averted, withdraws his hand and quickly wraps it in a towel.

It’s time for the final part now.

Taerae draws in a deep breath, trying not to flinch when he’s so close to potentially saving his soul from looking like crispy bacon, and stands between two points of the circle.

“Great and Terrible Demon,” he intones, gazing into the air because he refuses to look at his own blood. “I summon thee to answer my call. I offer my blood, my body, and my hand in fealty if only you will heed my plea.”

It isn’t the most believable sounding demon summoning Taerae’s ever seen— he’d thought all the best ones were in Latin— but he hopes he’ll at least end up with a minor demon; he can work with a plebeian resident of Hell.

Anyone too important and he’d be terrified!

Lowering his arms, he crouches low on the floorboards and gazes at the circle, waiting for something to change. The room is silent, whatever storm was brewing outside gone to sleep, and only darkness and wisps of yellow light surround him.

Taerae swallows, copper on the back of his teeth, belly heavy with disappointment and relief.

It hasn’t worked.

Sighing a little he reaches out for one of the candles, about to snuff out the flame, but then—

The candle flame flares a brilliant sapphire blue, climbing higher and higher until it burns impossibly tall. Taerae snatches his hand back with a squeak, terrified, yet he can’t feel even a shred of warmth emanating from the candle. 

Around the circle each candle begins to burn blue, casting his hands and the pentagram in cool light that reminds him of ice or being trapped underwater and drowning. Gasping for air, Taerae tries to scrabble back towards the safety of his bed, but the fresh cut on his hand aches with a sudden frigid chill.

He yelps, curling into a little ball, trying to cover his head as if that will make whatever’s happening go away.

With a sizzling sound, the blood in the decorative glass disappears. The symbols he drew round the pentagram burn with the same blue light as the candles, shifting and coiling like snakes, and then all at once lightning strikes outside his window and every single light goes out.

The world is plunged into darkness, a black so oily and thick Taerae can barely choke air into his lungs. Terrified, frozen to his very bones, he inches his fingertips across the smooth boards in search of his lighter, hoping that he can just—

Snap. The candles reignite, cool blue flames tinged with a brilliant emerald green. The glass is entirely gone, disappeared, and in its place stands a very handsome teenager.

They stare at each other, Taerae frozen in shock and still curled on the floor, the other boy assessing him with sharp eyes and a mouth that seems to be made to curl into laughter.

“Oh my god,” Taerae whispers, blinking rapidly. “Hi?”

The boy blinks back at him, blue flames reflected in his eyes. “You called?”

“Uhh.” Taerae swallows coppery blood and slowly, creakily, uncurls. He rises to his knees, gazing up at the boy— the demon? “Uh, yeah, that was me? But I didn’t think it would… work.”

The boy rises an eyebrow. He stands with an easy kind of confidence, dressed in clothes Taerae can see from the corner of his eye but which blur into black shadows when he tries to focus on them. Adorably, there are two tiny ebony horns peeking from the boy’s soft hair.

“Shall I go, then? I was in a rather important meeting.”

“No!” Taerae waves his hands around, panicked, but accidentally loses the towel wrapping his fresh wound. He hisses when the icy air hits his still drying blood, and the boy’s blue gaze flicks down instantly.

“You’re hurt.”

Taerae blushes in embarrassment and hides his hands behind his back. “It was part of the ritual to summon you. But it’s not that bad!”

The boy stares at him so intensely his knees quake and then shrugs, suddenly looking away. “Whatever. Why did you call me?”

“Uh.” Taerae’s prepared a whole speech and everything— he almost made a PowerPoint too— but he’s thrown off by this demon’s appearance and casual speech.

He’d expected a fiery monster who would snarl in his face or try to eat him, not someone who’s— cute.

“I want to sell you my soul, please?” Shit, his voice totally just cracked. This is so embarrassing!

The boy, however, still looks super cool and muscular and disinterested. It’s honestly a little offensive; Taerae’s sure his soul is in better quality than a lot of the other musty people who end up in Hell!

“The standard slave contract, then.” The demon snaps his fingers and in a flash of green light he’s holding an ancient looking scroll of paper and a for real feather quill, both of which he hold out towards Taerae. “Sign your name on the dotted line.”

Why is this demon so bored? He could at least pretend to be a little exited! This is a big deal!

Taerae folds his arms across his chest and glowers at the demon, feeling annoyed now that he’s gotten over his fear. “Gross. I don’t want to be a slave. My soul’s totally worth more than that.”

The demon’s face doesn’t change. “It’s procedure. Mopping, cooking, walking the hellhounds. You will adjust eventually.”

Taerae crinkles his nose, feeling a sharp stab of worry for his delicate soul. “I don’t want to do manual labor. It’s… not for me.”

The demon rolls his eyes and, with another snap of his fingers, the contract vanishes in green smoke. He clasps his hands behind his back, inspecting Taerae with a critical gaze. "What skills might you offer, then?"

“Wellll,” Taerae draws out the syllables, thinking hard.

What is he good at?

Shopping, definitely, and he’s great at APA citations. He knows how to make the Gigi Hadid pasta and he can draw a perfect cat eye with liner and he’s just generally smart. He’s pretty good at singing and he always helps his friends write their insta captions and his mom taught him how to bake chocolate cupcakes once.

“I’m good at cooking,” he decides to tell the demon, drawing himself up and acting as confident as possible despite the fact that he’s still wearing his black cat ears. “And I can sing.”

The demon huffs lightly, shaking his head. “I have no need for a bard and my chefs are already excellent. I doubt you would be of use.”

Taerae is feeling a bit panicked now. He’d never expected it would be difficult to sell his soul to Hell’s demons— he thought they’d be jumping at the chance to corrupt another person!

“I can run your social media!”

The demon tilts his head, sharp jaw dripping shadows. He’s really very cute; if Taerae saw him at the mall he’d totally ask for his number. 

“I’m great at Instagram and TikTok,” Taerae brags, heart fluttering. “And Snapchat! And, okay, I don’t know how to use Facebook but who uses that anymore? Just, like, old people.”

The demon gazes at him, blue flames in his eyes flickering, and then shakes his head in the tiniest motion. “Our social media outreach is already quite high. We do not have difficulties recruiting— and Facebook is one of our most-utilized platforms.”

Fuck. What’s Taerae supposed to do now?

“Um,” he mumbles, curling his fingers against his chest and unconsciously shuffling closer to the circle. “So do you… do you have any open positions left that I would maybe fit?”

The demon straightens, blue-green candle flames flaring while the shadows draping the room seem to darken and coil, like slithering snakes. He clenches his jaw, inspecting Taerae, and then gives a sharp nod.

“I believe I do.”

Taerae jerks his head up, beaming at the demon in excitement. “Really? That’s great! What is it?”

The demon’s mouth slowly curls into a smile, though it isn’t quite a nice thing. His blue eyes shine and he has cute little dimples but he still seems— dangerous. “You will find out once your soul reaches the gates of Hell.”

Taerae hesitates. He isn’t sure about this; the demon could totally be tricking him and planning for him to do some terrible job, like filing his taxes or picking up all his nail clippings.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

The demon laughs, shadows shifting enough that his face seems brighter and his little black horns reflect blue flame too. “Will you trust me, human, if I share three truths with you?”

Taerae considers this and then, tentatively, nods. “I guess that would help.”

The demon grins at him, eyes flashing, and then suddenly dips into a low bow. His horns, up close, are faintly ridged and look very soft to the touch.

“My name is Matthew,” the demon tells him when he straightens, smile lingering round his lips and eyes bright with some hidden amusement Taerae can’t understand. “That is the first truth I will give you.”

Taerae nods, stepping closer so that his toes rest on the colorful chalk of the summoning circle. “I’m Taerae. It’s nice to meet you, Matthew.”

Matthew winks. “Likewise.”

Taerae is just opening his mouth to respond when— when the demon reaches out, takes hold of his wrist with surprisingly warm fingers, and steps out of the circle at the same time that he pushes Taerae backwards.

They move as if in a dance, stepping in time, and Taerae is so enamored with the demon’s beautiful face up close that he takes a few seconds to be scared.

“Hey!” He cries, tugging against Matthew’s warm fingers and glancing round frantically at his shadowed bed and the empty pentagram. “What are you doing? You can’t leave the circle!”

Matthew leans towards him, just the tiniest bit shorter, and grins so widely that each of his sharp teeth gleam. “I can, actually. That is your second truth.”

Taerae, shaking, is trying to figure out how to escape. If the circle can’t hold Matthew… then he isn’t safe at all! He needs to run and hide and maybe start praying to God for help!

“Please,” he whimpers, tears glossing his eyes suddenly because he doesn’t want to die yet, not when he’s never even been kissed. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m too young to die.”

Matthew’s smile fades and the demon gazes at him for a moment before he straightens and steps away, releasing Taerae’s wrist; his skin feels as if it’s been branded by fire.

“That’s true,” the demon agrees seriously. “You are too young to journey to my realm. This is my third truth; that I will watch over you.”

Taerae, who is clutching his wrist to his chest, bites his lip. “I don’t get it. You’ll have my soul sooner if I die.”

Matthew dips his head. “Yes. And yet I am very patient, and very interested in protecting what is mine; your soul is currently kept inside your body.”

Taerae isn’t sure how he feels about this demon already referring to his soul so possessively but he likes the idea of being watched over and protected— like a guardian Angel from down below!

“Okay,” he agrees at last, flexing his still-warm wrist. “I guess that makes sense. Um… do I need to sign a contract?”

“Oh yes,” Matthew says, summoning another ancient scroll of parchment with a snap. “Hell runs on contracts and litigation. Lawyers make up a very large sector of our population.”

Taerae takes the paper, unrolling it and not even attempting to read the cramped writing. He’s pretty sure it’s in Latin or Sanskrit and also he’s tired; he doesn’t have the energy. Whatever, he thinks, and then he signs at the bottom, after the miles and miles of words with the feather pen the demon hands over.

“Okay,” he sighs, giving the contract back and ignoring the weird tugging sensation low in his belly. “Is that it?”

Matthew takes the scroll very gently, vanishing it in a puff of smoke, and then looks up at Taerae with an odd expression. “I… yes. To seal our agreement, one more thing must happen.”

Taerae braces himself, trying not to cry. “What is it? Do you… need to drink my blood?”

Matthew laughs, eyes crinkling shut; it’s really a very cute look on him.

“No,” he reassures Taerae warmly, smiling even as he steps back into his personal space and, carefully, reaches for his wounded hand. “Nothing so terrible.”

Taerae goes very still, not sure how he feels about having the demon so close that their chests almost touch. Matthew smells like burnt autumn leaves and eggnog and bitter, salted black licorice. It’s intoxicating, like the heat emanating from his shadowed body and the warmth of his fingers on Taerae’s hand.

“Hold still,” Matthew murmurs unnecessarily and then he raises Taerae’s hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles, so scorchingly hot that Taerae can’t help gasping, his nerves burning alight.

What is this? Why does his body feel electrified? Why is his heart fluttering and fluttering, his belly quivering?

Matthew peeks up at him through his lashes, mouth still pressed to Taerae’s skin, and Taerae’s vision honestly whites out for a second. He feels lightheaded and on the verge of hysterical giggles; this cannot be happening!

No way did he accidentally summon a super cute and super gay demon!

“There,” Matthew murmurs, his lips too red when he pulls away. “All healed.”

His thumb lingers on Taerae’s pulse, pressing against the delicate veins, and then he steps back out into the cold shadows of the room.

Taerae, despite his best efforts, shivers and sways towards the demon. He wants that heat and touch and scent of autumn leaves, wants to press himself against Matthew’s chest and—

“I’ll be going now, Taerae.” Matthew stands inside the chalk circle once more, shadows flaring high round his muscled shoulders in the impression of wings, feathery soft. “Take care of yourself.”

“Wait!” Taerae stumbles forward, still dazed and feeling rather bereft, reaching out instinctively.

Both of his palms are peachy-smooth, skin unblemished and unmarked. He gazes at the demon, desperate for something he can’t name, and swallows with difficulty. “Will I… will I see you again?”

Matthew winks at him, the candles round the pentagram already beginning to sputter out. “If you are ever in mortal danger, though it is unlikely. Take care of your soul for me, Taerae.”

And then, in a great puff of licorice scented smoke, the demon disappears and the candles all go out while the regular house lights turn on. Outside his windows the snarling storm has gentled into rain and, if he concentrates, Taerae can faintly heat cars driving past and the shrieks of trick-or-treaters.

He’s alone. His room is perfectly normal, save for the smudged remnants of the summoning circle, and his hand is whole. It’s almost as if the demon never appeared at all.

“Okay,” Taerae mumbles to himself, still feeling shaky and cold and like he really needs a crisp Dr. Pepper. “Back to real life.”

🖤🖤🖤

His friends are eager to tell Taerae all about the party that he missed on Monday.

He’s feeling much better after a weekend spent resting and retail shopping for Christmas candles (he’s one of those people who hangs up mistletoe on November first) and watching as many fluffy romcoms as he could find. He’s almost back to normal, actually, save for the occasional bolt of warmth in his palm.

“It was so fun,” Gyuvin is saying enthusiastically, splashing more chocolate milk on the table with each gesture. “Katie S kissed Nick but, like, Katy B saw and—“

“And they’re neighbors and best friends,” Taerae finishes, eyes enormous because he’s locked in for this drama. “Oh my god, I know. I can’t believe it! What did Katy B do?”

“She threw the bowl of punch at them,” Ricky says, layering napkins across the table to soak up the milk. “They got drenched and then there was glass everywhere.”

“And then Henry stepped on the glass,” Gunwook adds, sighing. “So now the football team is pissed because they think they’re going to lose.”

“It’s not our fault,” Hao defends, frowning. “They should have more than one good player!”

“Anyways, Tae-ah, how was your Halloween?” Hanbin asks, eyes enormous. “Are you feeling better? We missed you so much!”

“It was pretty uneventful,” Taerae tells his friends, smiling and biting into his banana. “I just stayed in bed and rested. But I’m glad to be back with you!”

And really, he is— he’s ready for his life to go back to normal and to be perfectly boring and regular for decades and decades until he dies. There’s the nagging worry that he doesn’t know exactly what’s waiting for him in Hell but Taerae is young and that’s a problem for far, far in the future— he just needs to focus on the SAT’s and passing calculus for now.

It’s good to be a teenager. It’s good to complain about homework and practice cup stacking and help his mom cook dinner. It’s good to hang out with his friends and thirst over cute pop stars and be completely, totally regular.

And Taerae doesn’t have to worry about the universe trying to kill him anymore— because his soul is going to be kept safe in Hell.

As the days pass and he settles back into his normal life filled with normal teenager worries, Taerae begins to forget about the demon. Matthew hadn’t left any physical trace of his visit and the summoning circle has been washed away, candles and knife and chalk thrown out.

Everything is back to being totally regular, in an almost too-boring way.

Taerae goes to school and takes notes in his classes and eats with his friends. He practices stacking cups and he drinks too much Dr. Pepper and he stalks the ao3 profiles of his favorite Trump/Biden authors, waiting for an update.

Life goes on and Nebraska begins to move towards winter and, one morning, Taerae wakes up to find the world covered in a thick layer of snow.

For most other states this would mean a snow day but not for his dumb school; instead he pulls on his Ugg boots and fuzzy gloves and wraps an enormous scarf round his face and head, stepping out into the winter wonderland with a heavy sigh.

Taerae keeps his head down while he walks, concentrating on staying as warm as possible while also trying to ignore reality. Snow crunches under his Uggs, a brisk wind turning his cheeks pink and tugging at his scarf.

Shivering, vaguely miserable, Taerae turns the corner and starts down a new stretch of sidewalk. He steps forward, something glistening beneath his boots and feels—

His feet go out from under him, sliding across a layer of ice he hadn’t spotted until too late. Taerae has a moment to register how much this is going to hurt as he tips backwards, arms flailing spectacularly, and then—

Arms catch him and wrench him upright, tugging him securely back against a firm chest until he get his feet under himself. Taerae swoons for a moment, too dazed to cry, and then a voice growls in his ear; “you’re supposed to stay alive, human.”

Matthew.

Taerae jolts, tugging at the demon’s grip until he’s released and can spin to face him. He blinks, shell-shocked, but it really is his demon; here in the flesh!

Matthew is completely incongruous with the pretty white snow and large suburban homes. He’s still dressed in vaguely shadowed clothes and he’s scowling, brows knit with anger, but as Taerae watches a snowflake alights on one of his little black horns.

“Oh my god,” Taerae says, beginning to giggle. He claps his hands over his mouth but he can’t help himself; Matthew looks so disgruntled and so angry and so, sosilly in the snow; he isn’t intimidating at all! “You’re real!”

He bends over and allows himself to laugh, deeply, though perhaps his amusement is more from fright at how close he’d come to a concussion.

“Of course I’m real,” Matthew snaps, tugging (gently) on Taerae’s elbow until he straightens. The demon steps closer, scanning Taerae with those flame-blue eyes, a little wrinkle on his brow. “You’re cold. You need to wear more layers.”

Taerae giggles, again, and pats Matthew’s chest daringly; it feels very nice and firm and warm. “I’m fine! I’m used to the cold, silly. You don’t need to worry.”

Matthew stiffens and suddenly releases Taerae, stepping back. The snow beneath his wicked looking boots has melted away, showing gray concrete.

“I wasn’t worried about you. Rather— your soul. You would have died had you fallen.”

Taerae blinks in surprise. “Really? From some ice?”

Matthew huffs in annoyance and then points, angrily, at Taerae’s adorable Ugg boots (the Bailey Bow version). “Yes. Wear better shoes next time; these ones have abysmal traction.”

Taerae gasps, offended, and shuffles back a step. “I will not! These are cute!”

“Cute they may be,” Matthew snarls, “but they were almost the death of you. Do better!”

And, in a flash of smoke and vibrant emerald sparks, he disappears. Taerae’s left alone on the sidewalk, blinking after him and feeling incredibly offended; his boots are super cute and totally weather appropriate! No way is he giving them up!

He does pay more attention to where he steps as he continues his walk to school but there are no more tricky patches of ice and as he sits down in first period, he honestly feels a bit vindictive.

Take that, demon! He’s fine!

Taerae continues to wear his Uggs out of pure spite but he does allow his mom or his friends to drive him to school every morning; though really it’s because he hates being cold, not because of any warnings.

The third time he meets the demon is at lunch, a few weeks later. Taerae’s sitting with his friends, talking excitedly about the approaching Christmas holidays.

“Here, hyung,” Yujin offers, holding out a piece of white fruit speckled with black seeds. “It’s dragonfruit. Try some! My mom got it early for Christmas!”

“Ooh, pretty.” Taerae accepts the fruit and smiles at Yujin, who is so sweet. “Thank you!”

Everyone else takes some fruit too, happily trying it, but just as Taerae is about to take his first bite— a hand appears from nowhere and grabs the treat away.

“Hey!” He looks up, frustrated, and meet’s Matthew’s familiar icy blue eyes. The demon is glaring right back at him, sitting on the bench; somehow none of his friends or the other students in the cafeteria seem to have noticed.

“I was going to eat that.”

“No you weren’t,” Matthew tells him, almost growling. His horns seem a bit longer today, shining ebony black under the harsh fluorescent lights, his clothes and general demeanor entirely out of place in the bland cafeteria.

“You’re allergic to dragonfruit. You would have died— again.”

Taerae blinks in surprise. “I am? That’s new.”

Matthew rolls his eyes and pushes a hand through his coppery hair, clearly frustrated. “Stop almost dying! And don’t put things you’ve never tried before in your mouth.”

Taerae pouts a little, feeling that he doesn’t deserve to be scolded because how was he supposed to know? “But it looked yummy.”

Matthew bares his teeth, nostrils flaring. He brushes a warm fingertip down Taerae’s cheek, which does things to his belly, and then shakes his head.

“Being cute won’t save you, human. No dragonfruit.”

And then, once again, he disappears quite suddenly and dramatically in his glittery cloud of smoke. Taerae’s left alone, hungry and annoyed and with a heart beating entirely too fast, strangely craving black licorice.

“Hyung,” Ricky asks quietly when Taerae turns back to his friends. “Who were you talking to?”

“No one,” Taerae mutters, his cheeks too hot and his knees too weak. “Don’t worry about it, Ricky.”

Life moves on, though, and soon he forgets about the heat in the demon’s hands and how soft his red hair looks.

Taerae makes it through his finals and he cheerfully says goodbye to his friends, though of course they’ll see each other over the holidays. He wraps presents and places them under their beautifully decorated tree and he drinks gallons of cocoa with his mom, cuddled up on the couch while they watch cheesy Christmas romcoms, and they drive around their neighborhood at night to look at all the lights and yard decorations.

When his relatives descend on Christmas Day Taerae sets the table and endures lots of hugs and squeals over each gift he opens. It’s a festive day but really long, too, and so by the time he’s unloading the dishwasher at almost midnight, he’s tired and out of it.

He turns back towards the open machine, fluffy socks squeaking on the floorboards, only the cutlery tray left. He bends down, reaching for the tray, and feels that horrible sensation of gravity losing its grip on him as he overbalances and stumbles forward, falling and falling towards—

Hot hands on his hips, sweeping him up out of the path of the gleaming silver knife his mom had used to carve the Christmas roast.

“Taerae.” Matthew’s voice is cold silk against his ear, the demon’s fingers pressing hard into his hip bones and tummy.

Taerae swallows, heart pattering and jumping, and tries to remember why exactly demons are bad and not good boyfriend options.

“Yeah?” His voice is a weak croak, almost breaking, but thank God he’s still wearing his cute red sweater and the jeans that make his ass look great. Hopefully the demon will notice.

“We have to stop meeting like this, human.” Matthew sets him down, gently, but stays so close that Taerae is caged against the fridge.

He tips his head up, looking at the demon and trying not to ask to be picked up again; that was so fucking hot. “You have almost died thrice now; are you truly so eager to offer me your soul?”

Taerae bites his bottom lip and then feels elated when the demon’s icy eyes track the movement, pupils widening. “Um,” he mumbles, belly quivering, “um, no? I just… slipped?”

Matthew raises a brow. “You slipped. And almost fell. Onto a knife.”

Taerae blushes fuschia and wraps his arms round his waist, feeling embarrassed. “It wasn’t my fault! My mom asked me to put away the dishes!”

Matthew rolls his eyes, reaching out to flick Taerae’s chin. The demon is wearing something that resembles a t-shirt and so his arms, thick with muscle, are on display; Taerae’s mouth honestly waters before he quickly swallows.

“Don’t be such an obedient son! You almost died— again.”

“Really?” Taerae never knew the world was this dangerous! Wow, he’s lucky he even made it to eighteen!

“It would have stabbed you,” Matthew explains, sniffing angrily. He’s still touching Taerae’s chin, lightly cupping his lower jaw. It’s incredibly distracting. “You would have bled to death slowly, and painfully, and it would have been very traumatizing for your mother when she found you.”

“Yeah,” Taerae agrees faintly, still focused on Matthew’s muscles. He thinks he can make the demon’s clothes out more clearly too; he’s wearing leather(?!) pants, maybe, and vague silver jewelry. “That probably would have been bad.”

Matthew groans but seems to give up on the conversation as a lost cause; he raises his fingers, preparing to snap and vanish as he always does.

“Wait!” Taerae’s hand darts out and he latches onto the demon without meaning to, heart fluttering and blood heating like lava. “I—“

Matthew peers at him inquisitively but the thing is that Taerae doesn’t have a good excuse to ask the demon to stay. He knows Matthew is busy in Hell and they barely even know each other, are really only attached by their contract and because Taerae’s sold his soul to Matthew.

He shouldn’t even like him, shouldn’t sigh over his muscles and coppery hair and sharp, lovely eyes.

“Yes, human?”

Taerae fidgets, red in the face, and then squares his shoulders and looks Matthew right in his icy blue eyes. “Merry Christmas, Matthew.”

Matthew goes very still. He looks back at Taerae, scouring his soul, eyes glowing and flickering like real candles— and then his face softens, gradually, and his shoulders slump a little.

When the demon lowers his hand Taerae lets go, afraid he’s gone too far, but— but Matthew reaches out and very gently tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. The demon’s eyes are wide and dark, flames guttered out, and his mouth curves ever so faintly.

He looks human. He looks young and a bit vulnerable and maybe, nervous.

“Merry Christmas, Taerae,” Matthew murmurs. His fingertips linger on Taerae’s face, warm warm warm, and then his gaze flicks up to meet Taerae’s wide eyes; Matthew’s pupils sharpen and he disappears so suddenly that Taerae doesn’t even have time to blink.

He’s left alone in his kitchen, snow falling softly outside, the warmth from a demon’s touch lingering on his skin and desire pooled heavy in his belly.

🖤🖤🖤

Taerae doesn’t see Matthew again for a long while after Christmas. Perhaps it’s because he’s taking more care not to put himself in dangerous situations or perhaps it’s because the demon has simply stopped caring about saving his life; either way, they don’t meet again until March.

Taerae’s attending a basketball game with his friends, the second to last of the season, and the gymnasium is packed with students and parents and even a few reporters. Sports are  a big deal in their small town and so the bleachers are super full, groaning under the weight of so many bodies.

He’s standing at the very top of the bleachers, all the way to the right on the last row. Everyone’s jumping and screaming, making the metal structure really shake, and Gunwook’s flailing his large limbs around wildly because their team has just scored.

“Eagles!” Taerae screeches with everyone else, throat sore and face sweaty. It’s not that he cares so much about sports; it’s more that winter is boring after the holidays and he looks super cute in his cropped jersey and also he likes to put glitter on his face.

He jumps on his toes, so excited he doesn’t notice how close he’s come to the edge of the bleachers, and then— he falls off.

Taerae has a millisecond to consider just how much this is going to suck— like really, truly suck— before he finds himself twisting through space and time. When he opens his eyes, he’s in the dark hallway outside the gymnasium, safely standing on yellow linoleum tiles while Matthew runs his hands over his face and shoulders.

“Are you okay,” the demon is asking, words running together and shadows flaring round his shoulders in the vague shape of wings. “Are you hurt anywhere, or in pain, did you—“

Taerae shakes his head, trying to focus his blurry vision. He feels vaguely nauseous and his heart is starting to pound as he realizes what almost happened but he’s okay. He isn’t hurt.

“Matthew hyung, I’m fine,” he reassures the demon, tilting his face into the other boy’s palms and smiling a little, trying purposefully to be cute. He even flutters his lashes. “You got me out in time.”

Matthew sags against him, resting his forehead on Taerae’s shoulder.

It’s such an unexpected gesture that he lets out a squeak and then, very tentatively, reaches up to lay a palm on the demon’s back. He’s wearing a silky midnight shirt tonight, though the heat of his body bleeds through the material.

“I’m okay,” Taerae repeats quietly, hoping his own hammering heart will get the message. “Really. Nothing happened.”

Matthew sighs, air ghosting over Taerae’s collarbones which makes him twitch, and then pulls back a little. His face is pale and there are faint lavender shadows beneath his eyes, expression drawn. He looks tired.

“You must be more careful, Tae,” the demon tells him, more worn out than angry. His hands are curved round Taerae’s shoulders, anchoring him. “Please. I cannot— I am not sure I will make it, next time.”

Taerae suddenly feels very guilty. He’s never really considered the fact that Matthew has his own life and responsibilities which he has to leave behind any time Taerae comes close to being hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, curving his shoulders and nibbling his lip. “I didn’t mean to fall. It just happened.”

Matthew squeezes his shoulders gently. “I know that, Tae. I am only— I was worried for you.”

Taerae suddenly feels much better, warm flames curling in his belly. “Oh. Um— thank you for saving me, again.”

Matthew seems to physically make himself larger, a faint blue flame rekindling in his eyes. He smiles a little, a cocky sort of grin, and steps away. “You did get me out of a boring meeting. One of the nine Archdukes of Hell is rather angry with me.”

Taerae giggles, fascinated. “Why? What do you do in Hell, anyways?”

Matthew shrugs elegantly, smile widening. “A little of everything. I am— quite versatile.”

Taerae laughs fully, belly fluttering like mad. “And here I thought I just summoned a lowly demon! You’re important, aren’t you?”

“I like to think so.” Matthew’s eyes dance with blue-green flames now, dimples low in his round cheeks. He’s so cute; Taerae wants to kiss him and then ask for his jacket to wear.

The thought sobers him; Matthew might look like a cute boy but he’s a demon and, technically, he owns Taerae’s soul. They aren’t friends or crushes just starting to flirt. He doesn’t even know how old Matthew is or what his job actually is.

“Do… do you think I’ll like Hell?” Taerae twists his fingers nervously, peeking at Matthew through his lashes. He doesn’t know why he’s asked; Hell isn’t supposed to be fun. Of course he’ll hate it.

Matthew stops smiling, the shadowy wings behind him arcing up. “It’s not so bad,” he tells Taerae quietly, “not really. I think parts of it are quite beautiful.”

Taerae swallows. “Are there— malls, and things? Or is it just fields of lava?”

Matthew grins suddenly, wickedly sharp. “Oh yes there are lots of malls. And miles of parking lots and mountains you can’t ever reach the top of and fiery rivers full of piranhas.”

Taerae whimpers. “That doesn’t sound beautiful!”

Matthew hums in agreement. “Well, no, but it is Hell. And where you will live— there, it is lovely.”

Taerae opens his mouth but the buzzer sounds from inside the gymnasium, followed by a raucous wave of cheers and shouts. Matthew glances at the closed double doors and then looks back to Taerae, glowing eyes shining in the dim hallway.

“Time to go, little human. Try to live more carefully before we meet again.”

Taerae pouts. “It’s not my fault!”

But Matthew, as always, has irritatingly already vanished and only the faint scent of licorice lingers in the hallway. Huffing, muttering under his breath, Taerae enters the gym again to celebrate with his friends because their team, magically, has won the game.

When he takes up being vegetarian two months later, in May, he never expects that it will eventually summon the demon back to his side.

Taerae’s decided to be supportive of Gunwook, who is trying to be vegetarian to save the animals and also because he watched an ocean documentary recently, but he’s honestly starting to struggle after only a few weeks.

He keeps waking up from dreams of hotdogs and juicy cheeseburgers and he’d literally kill someone for a single slice of salami and he just really, really wants to eat some fried chicken. He’d never noticed before how much meat there is in the world but now that he can’t taste it, it’s everywhere he looks.

His mom makes roast chicken for dinner and the cafeteria serves pepperoni pizza and Ricky has a little container of caviar (Gunwook says they can’t have fish either) and Gyuvin’s eating a Turkey sandwich and, honestly, Taerae’s starting to feel a bit light-headed.

He’s at home one evening, cuddled up in bed reading a new fic (Trump and Biden have just found out they’re fated mates, despite the presidential race), when his demon appears in a puff of glittery black smoke and perches on the edge of his bed.

Taerae startles badly, dropping his phone; he does not look cute right now! He isn’t even wearing a crop top!

“Hyung,” he stutters, trying to comb his fluffy hair down while also wondering frantically if there’s any dried mascara on his cheeks; he’d cried a little when Biden dropped out of the race and Trump started to get heartsick over his missing mate. “What are you doing here?”

Matthew sighs, the sound of someone long-suffering and weary of it, and just gives him a look.

Taerae, bewildered, sits up against his fluffy pillows. “What, was I going to die in bed? Is there a tornado or something? A serial killer?”

“No,” Matthew huffs, eyes darting to the brilliant orange app on Taerae’s phone; quickly he slides it beneath the blankets. “You’re not in mortal danger.”

Taerae beams, feeling quite happy. “Oh! I know! Did you miss me and just decide to stop by for some quality time?”

Matthew scoffs, the silver embroidery on his black shirt gleaming in the light. He’s wearing more rings tonight and his horns have grown yet again; they’re beginning to angle back.

“No, I didn’t miss you. I simply stopped by to warn you.”

Taerae is genuinely confused and, also, a little turned on. Matthew’s thighs look so delicious in those tight leather pants. “About what?”

Matthew rolls his eyes so hard they should start bleeding. “You’re very iron deficient! It’s unhealthy!”

Taerae blinks. “Oh. That? It’s fine.”

Matthew bares his sharp teeth and leans forward on the bed, fingers planted and shadow-wings flaring. He’s so pretty that Taerae has to hold back a coo.

“If you must be vegetarian, at least take your iron supplements Kim Taerae! You need them!”

Taerae isn’t sure he agrees. “They taste bad. And they make my tummy hurt.” He widens his eyes, trying to seem pitiful and cute and totally innocent.

His demon glowers at him. “They hurt you?”

Taerae nods sadly, sniffling for dramatic effect. “Yeah. Like— a lot. I can’t even eat after.”

“Who makes them?”

Taerae frowns. “I don’t know, some company in Idaho? It says on the bottle.”

Matthew nods once, sharp jaw clenched. “Regardless, you’re low on iron.”

Taerae widens his eyes, leaning back a little more against his pillows. He’s hoping if he looks pitiful enough, the demon will come up here and cuddle with him. “Like, in a life threatening way?”

Matthew’s wings fold down against his back. “Not… quite. But it would have been, eventually.”

Taerae, a bloodhound for the truth, narrows his eyes. “How long? I’d like a number, please.”

Matthew huffs and puffs and looks everywhere but, eventually, he breaks. “In about ten more years,” he mutters, the tips of his ears turning red.

Taerae barely bites back a smile. “Okay. Thank you for letting me know— I’ll find some new supplements.”

It’s so cute when the demon perks up, shadow wings rising and icy blue eyes brightening. “Oh. That’s… that’s good.”

Taerae smiles at him at last, because he’s literally soadorable, and feels more butterflies spawn in his belly. “Is there anything else, hyung?”

Matthew twists his fingers, the perfect picture of a nervous teenager boy save for his wings and glowing eyes and wicked horns.

“You should eat an orange sometime,” he mumbles, “you kindof almost have scurvy.”

Oh. Taerae has been eating a lot of biscuits and gravy and tater tots lately. He supposes he can swallow a tangerine too, maybe.

“Okay,” he agrees and then, impulsively, he pats the covers. “Do you wanna watch a movie with me?”

Matthew’s eyes widen and the blue fire in them winks out. “A movie?”

“Yes! It’ll be fun. Do you know what romcoms are?”

The demon shakes his head, tentatively inching up the bed towards him. “No. We only have reality TV and commercials in Hell.”

“That sucks,” Taerae says sadly, reaching out for his laptop even as he makes room for Matthew. The demon seems almost frightened as he gingerly lifts up the blankets and slides underneath, too stiff to fully lean back against the pink pillows. “I get so angry when there’s ads right before the couple kisses.”

“Yes,” Matthew sighs, puffing out his cheeks adorably. “One of my most terrible inventions, along with AI. I do apologize.”

Taerae giggles, because his demon is so funny sometimes, and then hauls open his laptop to find a good movie. He wants to show Matthew a real romcom, the wonderful kind from the 2000’s, and eventually he decides on 27 Dresses.

They cuddle down in his nest of pillows and fluffy blankets and stuffed animals to watch, gradually slumping closer while they watch the main characters fall in love. Taerae has to stop often to explain things to Matthew, though oddly his demon knows all about weddings and maids of honor and mothers-in-law.

Halfway through the movie, an orange materializes in Matthew’s hands; the demon begins to carefully peel it and clouds of sweet citrus perfume the air.

“Here,” Matthew murmurs, holding out a succulent slice of the fruit to Taerae, whose eyes are glued to the screen. “Try it.”

Distracted, Taerae opens his mouth and accepts the orange, happily crunching down. It’s sweet and tangy and his lips almost brush the demon’s fingertips.

They finish the movie in the same manner, Matthew feeding Taerae slices of orange instead of focusing on the main couple’s romance, but his demon seems pleased and so he feels content too.

Best of all, he’s managed to eat the entire orange, sliver by sliver, and banish the impending threat of scurvy.

When Taerae wakes in the morning, his room still smells faintly of sharp citrus and the bottle of iron supplements he dislikes so much has disappeared from his bureau.

A few days later, eating lunch with his friends, Zhang Hao is scrolling through the news (they all know Taerae likes to hear any Trump/Biden updates) and gives a little gasp. “Oh, there was a really bad fire.”

Gyuvin looks up from his food. “Here?”

“No, in Idaho,” Hao explains, eyes darting across his phone. “At a factory. It says… no one was inside so it’s like, not that bad, but the factory was completely destroyed.”

“Hyung,” Taerae whines, “that’s boring. Did Trump say anything else about the phone call? Did he tweet about Biden again on Truth Social?”

Zhang Hao sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’m looking, TaeTae, please be patient.”

As Nebraska’s snow melts into spring, Taerae begins to see more and more of his demon. It’s a change from when he first signed over his soul but he certainly isn’t complaining; he’s more than happy to see Matthew’s cute horns and hear his voice and have the chance to flirt with him.

Taerae thinks, a bit giddily, that the demon is beginning to care for him too. Matthew is almost too overprotective in the reasons he uses to justify his appearances, whisking Taerae away from situations that really weren’t threatening to his life at all.

Taerae loves it.

He feels like a delicate princess being swept up by a knight (demon) and he’s always sure to cuddle himself into Matthew’s arms while he murmurs his thanks to the demon for protecting him so well.

“Absolutely not,” Matthew tells him when he appears one night at a house party, whisking away the cherries jubilee vape Taerae was about to try for the first time ever.

The little pink device disappears into smoke and Taerae slumps, sure that he’ll never have a taste now. “Those things are terrible for you. Do you want to hand over your soul sooner?”

Taerae looks up at the demon, bathed in flashing neon lights, and thinks about asking him to dance. What would it feel like, to have Matthew’s hands on his waist, his hips, his ass?

“No,” he agrees reluctantly as people swirl around them, somehow giving Matthew’s shadowed wings a wide berth without ever seeming to notice him. “Not really.”

Matthew stops frowning, blue eyes intense while he studies Taerae’s face. He reaches out, lightly touching the glittery stars on his cheekbone, and then nods. “Then don’t smoke. Ever.”

His demon disappears before Taerae can argue and he spends the rest of the party curled in a corner, moping and feeling sad for himself because he’s sure he won’t see Matthew again for ages.

And yet just a week later when Taerae is taking his roller skates out of the garage, ready to be used again now that it’s spring, his demon appears in the driveway.

“Taerae.” Matthew’s hands are on his hips; he’s wearing black jeans and an old band t-shirt today, and a heavy frown. “I know you aren’t about to put those death traps on.”

Taerae widens his eyes at his demon, butterflies swooping wildly round his belly. “Hi hyung! Isn’t it a beautiful day?”

“They don’t even have a brake,” Matthew hisses, advancing and managing to seem six feet tall despite his slightly shorter stature. “You could skate right into traffic! Or a phone pole!”

“I have a helmet,” Taerae argues, “and knee pads! I’ll be fine, hyung. You worry too much.” 

“Foam,” Matthew snorts, dripping in derision. “As if those things could keep you safe. If you insist on skating, I will accompany you.”

The demon holds out his hand, glowering and giving off a general air of displeasure, but… but Taerae secretly thinks his demon just wants to stay with him.

“Okay!” Taerae agrees happily, sliding his rollerblades on and buckling his yellow helmet, rolling towards Matthew and accidentally crashing straight into his chest.

The demon’s wings flare as he catches him, holding tight to his waist; worried for his own life, Taerae clutches at Matthew’s shoulders.

“Hyung,” he says quietly, tipping his chin to look at Matthew, “you saved me again.”

Matthew huffs, his breath scented with licorice, and only holds Taerae closer, wings curving up to hide them both. “I always do.”

Taerae beams, squeezing his demon and then wriggling away. “I know! Let’s go— there’s a patch of daffodils I want to show you!”

Matthew holds his hand while he skates, steadying him anytime there’s a crack in the sidewalk and helping him slow before they cross the road. He glowers at anyone who comes too close and snaps his teeth at a fluffy little dog that stops to sniff Taerae and generally gives off the most menacing vibes ever.

It’s really hot. Taerae’s cheeks are pink and not from the effort of skating; he wishes he could take off his dumb helmet but Matthew would throw a fit.

They reach the daffodils eventually and both admire the bright buttery yellow of the flowers, their trumpet centers.

“I love spring,” Taerae sighs, a warm breeze brushing his shoulders. Matthew’s fingers, against his, feel perfectly right. “It’s so pretty.”

“We don’t have spring in Hell,” Matthew admits, still gazing at the daffodils. “Or any season really. It’s just cold all the time.”

Taerae frowns. “No flowers? At all?”

Matthew shakes his head and then turns away from the daffodils, eyes sparking blue flame. “We should head back, you need to eat something.”

As Taerae falls asleep that night, tired from his exercise and thoughts full of Matthew’s pretty face and the sandwich the demon had so carefully prepared for him, he dreams of Hell covered in vibrant yellow daffodils.

When Matthew appears in his room two weeks later, already frowning, Taerae freezes guiltily. All he’s doing is making a snack in his airfryer (tater tots) but when he sees the demon he knows what it means.

“I’m just making food!” He almost cries, blinking up at Matthew. “That can’t be dangerous!”

Matthew stalks forward and unplugs the machine with a vicious tug; the delicious scent of crispy tater tots quickly evaporates.

“These things,” Matthew tells him, pointing scornfully at the air fryer, “are full of microplastics. They’re terrible for you.”

Taerae droops. “My tater tots,” he says sadly, belly constricting in hunger.

Matthew rolls his eyes and snaps his fingers; a bowl of tater tots appears in front of Taerae, sizzling with oil and perfectly golden-brown. “Just summon me next time. No more air fryers!”

Taerae claps his hands in delight and reaches for the bottle of ranch, hardly noticing when his demon disappears because he knows Matthew will back sooner rather than later.

Only four days pass before he’s proved correct.

It’s late at night, probably three am by now, but he’s just found an amazing new canon Trump/Biden fic with all his favorite tags; soulmates, angst, accidental pregnancy, and enemies-to-friends-to-lovers.

He’s thoroughly enjoying himself, cuddled up in bed as his eyes fly across his phone and he clicks the Next Chapter button without any regard for his tired brain or the fact that he has school in the morning. He just has to know what happens— will Biden tell Trump about the baby before the first debate? Will having Covid impact the pregnancy?

“Taerae-yah.”

He barely holds back a screech but he does throw his phone at the dark corners of his room, where the voice comes from. There’s a bottle of pepper spray in his bedside table—

Matthew emerges from the shadows, looking very grumpy and holding Taerae’s phone in one hand. He’s wearing what might arguably be called sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie which looks so soft and cozy that Taerae instantly covets it.

His hair is tousled and his wings are tucked away and he just looks— sweet.

Sweet and warm and like he’d be the perfect boyfriend to cuddle up with all night long.

“Hi hyungie,” he greets quietly, the late hour making everything seem hazy and slippery, his eyes aching a bit from staring at his phone for so long. “What’s up?”

Matthew rubs his face and then gives him a look, which makes Taerae squirm even as butterflies swirl in his belly.

“Tae-ah,” his demon murmurs, coming to sit right beside him on the bed, purposefully setting his phone out of his reach. “It’s late. You should be asleep.”

Taerae gnaws his lower lip, reaching out to touch the demon’s sweatshirt and finding it just as cozy as he’d expected. “I’m reading a really good book,” he explains, tugging lightly on the sweatshirt’s hem. “I’ll be fine.”

Matthew frowns. “Sleep deprivation is very unhealthy. It compounds over time and can lead to—“

Taerae giggles, pulling on the sweatshirt again so that his demon is forced to lean closer. He tips his chin up, looking into Matthew’s pretty face, and smiles at him. “Are you my doctor now, hyung?”

Matthew huffs, though he allows Taerae to reach up and play with the strings of his hoodie. “No. Just— concerned for my possession.”

“My soul, you mean,” Taerae clarifies easily; he’s long reconciled himself with the fact that the demon owns his soul and he finds it rather comforting, actually. “But sleep deprivation only affects my physical body, right?”

Matthew smells like licorice and woodsmoke and dewy grass. His eyes are so pretty-sharp and his horns have grown longer again, angling back towards his wings. Taerae really, really wants to touch them.

“Yeah,” his demon agrees begrudgingly, “but your soul is inside your body, so. Sleep more often please.”

Taerae hums low in his throat, feeling daring and dangerous in the shadows of the night. He pulls on the strings of Matthew’s hoodie until the demon is forced to bend low, bringing their faces close together.

“I’ll go to sleep now if you stay,” he murmurs, looking the demon right in his glowing blue eyes. “Promise.”

Matthew’s eyes widen and he stares down at Taerae for what is, arguably, a very queer amount of time. Then he swallows, nods, and settles himself stiffly on the bed beside Taerae.

It honestly feels like a miracle. Taerae can’t believe the demon is actually here, in his bed, but he quickly capitalizes on it; faking a very wide yawn, he stretches his arms out and then manages to cuddle down for sleep against Matthew’s chest and the lovely, fluffy sweatshirt.

“Mm,” he hums, closing his eyes and nuzzling his cheek more firmly against the demon’s chest, happily breathing in licorice. “I’m so sleepy.”

He can tell that Matthew isn’t breathing. The demon is just lying there, stiff as a board, tolerating Taerae. It’s honestly annoying— Taerae had thought they were making good progress!

“Hyungie,” he murmurs without opening his eyes, still feigning exhaustion even though his blood has never been this hot before. “If you rub my back it’ll help me fall asleep.”

Matthew doesn’t reply but a moment later his hand brushes tentatively against Taerae’s shoulder, stroking down his spine in the lightest of touches. Feeling as if there’s a sun in his belly, Taerae tucks himself more firmly against the demon’s chest and tries to hide his smile in the cozy sweatshirt fabric.

“Am I doing it right?” Matthew’s voice is a whisper in the quiet bedroom, hand still rubbing tentatively up and down Taerae’s back.

Taerae swallows a squeal and, determinedly keeping his eyes closed, makes a low sound of affirmation. He feels cozy and warm and very safe, cuddled up against his demon; as if nothing in the world or the afterlife could ever hurt him.

That night he dreams of nothing at all, and when he wakes in the morning he finds a single glossy black feather resting upon his bedside table.

🖤🖤🖤

Matthew pops up one afternoon when Taerae is walking home from school, looking harried and windswept. There’s an enormous puppy tucked under one of his arms and he’s covered in what might be orange slime but he looks straight at Taerae, expression determined.

“Hyung!” Taerae says, stopping and staring with wide eyes; the puppy has three slobbering heads. “Hi! What’s up?”

“I can’t stay for long,” Matthew tells him quickly, hissing down at the puppy and then looking back at him. “But— here. You need these.”

Taerae accepts the case his demon hands over, wondering what on Earth it holds. When he flips it open he finds— glasses?

“Your vision is terrible,” Matthew explains with a huff, struggling with the puppy now. “You need to be more—“

And then with a pop and a burst of glittering black smoke, he’s gone. Taerae’s left alone, staring at the sidewalk where his demon stood and wondering what, exactly, Matthew’s job in Hell is.

Does Hell have zoos? Or vets? Is that what his demon does?

“Okay,” he says to thin air, sliding the wire rim glasses onto his nose and immediately feeling surprised at all the leaves he can see on the trees. Were those symbols always painted on the road?

He keeps wearing his glasses because he finds they really improve the quality of his life, and because his friends all tell him he looks super cute in them. He adds a few sweater vests to his wardrobe and a pair of tweed pants, which make his thighs look so yummy.

He keeps waiting for Matthew to show up again, almost eagerly anticipating how his demon will improve his life again; he feels good with his glasses and his sleep schedule and his new iron supplements. It’s not so hard to do physical tasks and he doesn’t get random nose bleeds anymore and he has more energy in his morning classes.

Really, everyone who wants to improve their lives should summon a demon! It’s almost like having a personal trainer!

But when he arrives home in the middle of July, he finds Matthew tearing down all the strands of fairy lights he’d painstakingly hung around his room. The demon wears a cropped t-shirt and Taerae almost gets distracted by the pale flashes of skin round his waist, almost.

“Matthew-hyung!” He cries, dropping his backpack and racing forward. “What are you doing?”

Matthew turns to look at him, completely unphased. “You’re home. Good— these need to be thrown away.”

Taerae makes a low noise, staring sadly down at the piles of lights. “Why?”

“They’re a fire hazard,” Matthew explains, jumping off Taerae’s bed and approaching him. He seems almost pleased; reaching out, he caresses Taerae’s cheek sweetly. “It was very dangerous to have them in your room, Angel.”

Taerae’s heart flutters but he’s still feeling sad. “Hyung,” he says quietly, looking up at Matthew. “I liked them. I worked really hard to put them up.”

Matthew’s smile drops and his hand on Taerae’s cheek stills. “But… they aren’t safe.”

Taerae pouts, widening his eyes until tears bead on his lashes. “But I liked them. They made me happy.”

Matthew looks as if someone has stabbed him. His wings have flared up and there are shadows dripping from the ceiling, dark and oily and terrifying to anyone else.

“Please, Angel,” the demon whispers, “please don’t be sad. Please don’t cry.”

Taerae sniffles and then tips his face a bit more firmly into Matthew’s palm, curling his fingers round the demon’s belt loops. “Will you put them back?”

Matthew clenches his jaw, the flames in his eyes guttering low. “I… would rather not. They really could start a fire.”

Taerae’s lower lip wobbles. “But if there was a fire, you’d come and save me. Right hyung?”

The flames in Matthew’s eyes gutter out as his face softens, fingers gently swiping beneath Taerae’s eye to catch a single crystalline tear. “That’s right, Angel,” he agrees softly, “I’ll always save you.”

Taerae smiles a little, his heart warm with affection. “So then I don’t need to worry.”

Matthew, still gazing at him as if he’s the sun, nods. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll put your lights up again.”

Taerae sits on his bed and happily watches Matthew while his demon rehangs the strands of fairy lights, calling out directions until his room is perfect once more. He claps in delight and then opens his arms for Matthew, giving the demon the warmest hug he can.

The butterflies in his belly, already numbering in the thousands, hatch yet again.

He’s entirely enamored with his demon until the day Matthew tries to take away his lifeblood, his ambrosia, his Dr. Pepper.

They’re sitting in Taerae’s backyard, enjoying the August sunshine and watching a few bees lazily collect pollen from his mom’s dahlias. Matthew had shown up to give him a band aid— Taerae scratched a mosquito bite too much— and then never quite left.

Taerae doesn’t mind. He’s high on the bliss of summer and crop tops and ice cream floats and wearing his tiniest shorts in front of the demon. Matthew’s arm brushes his every few minutes and their pinkies are linked atop the picnic blanket; best of all, his demon seems to finally be resting and enjoying some free time too.

“I’m gonna go get some drinks,” Taerae says eventually, once there’s a bit too much sweat sliding down his spine. “Want anything?”

“Mm,” Matthew hums, cracking one sparkling brown eye. “No. Be careful.”

Taerae laughs at him, flicking his nose and getting up. “The fridge isn’t going to kill me, Mattchu!”

His demon frowns, long ebony horns shining in the sunlight. “I never know with you. You’re very clumsy.”

Taerae ignores him and emerges a few minutes later with several cans of Dr. Pepper, mouth watering; he hasn’t had anything to drink since his morning soda with breakfast.

Plopping back onto the blanket, he cracks open a can and takes one long, wonderful sip before his drink suddenly vanishes from right between his hands!

“Hyung!” Taerae stares down at his demon in shock and hurt, fingers still wet with condensation but unhappily deprived of his sustenance. “Give it back!”

Matthew, eyes closed and arms behind his head, hums low in his throat. He soaks up the heat like a snake, wings spread as he luxuriates in the sunshine and grows hotter and hotter.

“Mm. No.”

Taerae’s lips pull back in a snarl. He does not play about his Dr. Pepper!

“Give. It. Back.”

Matthew peers up at him at last, wearing a smug little grin. “You’re so cute when you’re angry Angel—“

Taerae screeches and dives onto Matthew, tackling him and pinning him to the ground. His knees dig into the demon’s slim hips and his hands push his shoulders down, keeping him in place; he bends down until their noses almost touch and glares into Matthew’s wide, surprised eyes.

“Do not fuck with my Dr. Pepper,” he hisses, blood sizzling and throat dry. “I’ll skin you alive and boil your organs. Hyung.”

Matthew could probably get away from Taerae, if he really wanted to, but the demon is smart enough to lie still. His wings have curved up round them and there are blue sparks spiraling the length of his horns but he isn’t fighting with Taerae, just looking up at him with wide, dark eyes.

“You need to drink more water, darling,” Matthew tells him gently, hand raising to cup Taerae’s elbow. “All that processed sugar isn’t good for you.”

Taerae snarls again, wishing he had a knife nearby. “I drink at least five cans a day,” he informs his demon tightly. “That’s more than enough.”

Matthew frowns, a cute little wrinkle appearing between his brows. “Dr. Pepper isn’t hydrating, TaeTae.”

“No,” Taerae snaps, “but it’s a liquid.”

Matthew blinks, long lashes brushing his sun-pink cheeks. “I suppose that’s true.”

Taerae glares down at him a moment longer and then sits back on Matthew’s hips, allowing the demon to push himself up until they’re face to face again. It feels— right, to be perched in his demon’s lap, nose to nose, Matthew’s arm loosely wound round his hips.

“It’s settled, then?” He asks sharply, staring into his demon’s eyes. “I can keep my Dr. Pepper?”

Matthew huffs a little, wings fluttering against the grass, but he eventually nods. “I don’t like it but… I suppose so.

Taerae lets out a long breath, anger seeping away, and runs his fingers lightly through Matthew’s soft copper hair.

“Thank you, hyung,” he says very sweetly, fluttering his lashes and pulling on his most cherubic smile.

Matthew’s eyes widen and his blush deepens, rose crawling up his throat and coloring the tips of his ears. “You’re welcome Angel,” he murmurs, seeming as if he’s almost been enchanted.

Taerae giggles and crawls off his demon’s lap, satisfied that he’s gotten what he wanted. He reaches for the remaining cans of soda and opens another, holding it out to Matthew with another cute smile.

“Wanna try some? It’s really good!”

Matthew hates the soda, declaring it tastes like metallic bubble gum, but they have a lovely rest of their afternoon. Taerae falls asleep in the evening sunset and wakes up a few hours later, tucked cozily into bed with the AC turned on high just the way he likes it; his room smells faintly of licorice.

Summer draws to a close and when Taerae walks to his first day of school, Matthew is there to accompany him.

“Lots of cars,” his demon justifies when he asks how exactly his life is in danger this time. “It’s dangerous. You should really wear a helmet all the time.”

Taerae quickly reaches out and takes his demon’s hand, giving him a sweet smile as shouting students and stressed parents flow all around them. “Thanks for walking me to school, hyung.”

Matthew shuffles his feet and avoids Taerae’s eyes but his wings curve round him when a football player brushes too close, drawing him into feathery warmth and safety.

“Have a good day, Angel,” his demon tells him, peeking up at Taerae with gentle brown eyes. “Keep your soul safe for me.”

Taerae floats through his first few classes with a dreamy smile and a low warmth in his belly, the butterflies he’d felt so often now a permanent part of his body. His friends seem to notice his mood and tease him relentlessly, asking if he’s found a new pool boy to crush on over the summer.

“No,” Taerae tells them, a secret little smile on his lips. “Not a pool boy.”

September seems to fly by, the weather gradually cooling as the sycamore and beech and maple trees begin to change color.

Matthew helps him rake crimson leaves off his lawn (“it’s dangerous, Angel, you could fall and impale yourself! Let me do it”) and shows up during his chemistry labs (“touching sodium chloride? Absolutely not!”) and cheers for Taerae during his first stacking competition of the season (“well, no, you weren’t quite in danger but I had a bit of free time and I wanted to see this odd sport”).

October arrives before Taerae knows it and, once again, his friends start to plan their costumes. Jiwoong and Hao and Hanbin are all seniors now, while he’s a junior along with Ricky. Gyuvin and Gunwook and Yujin are sophomores and it just— it seems as if they’re growing up so quickly.

“We could be teletubbies,” Gyuvin exclaims at lunch, almost stabbing Taerae in the eye with his wildly waving fork. “That would be so cool!”

Matthew materializes a second later, squeezing onto the end of the bench across from Taerae and glowering at Gyuvin. Taerae’s figured out that no one can see the demon, or feel him, yet somehow Jiwoong unconsciously makes room for him.

“I wanted to be One Direction,” Yujin says, pouting.

“There’s five of them, baby, and eight of us,” Hanbin counters, though he softens the truth by handing Yujin a Twinkie.

“Four, actually,” Gyuvin mumbles but he closes his mouth when Hao gives him a look.

All this time Taerae has been watching Matthew and being watched in return, an electric blue current crackling between them. His cheeks are flushed and he wishes, dearly, that he was sitting in his demon’s lap again while he introduced Matthew to his friends.

He’s sure they’d all get along very well; his demon is bitingly funny and loves to play tricks on unsuspecting humans. Ricky would especially adore him.

Taerae winks at Matthew and then turns to his friends. “What if we dressed up as demons?”

Hao’s eyes light up and Ricky looks away from his phone for the first time. “Evil demons?”

Taerae shrugs casually. “Or sexy demons. Either one.”

“Good idea!” Gunwook agrees, accidentally elbowing Jiwoong, whose face pinches. “I’d love to be a demon!”

“We’ll need horns,” Hao lists off, while Ricky busily types for him. “And tails, and wings if we can figure out how to make them work. And lots of red or black clothing.”

“Leather too,” Taerae interjects, eyeing Matthew’s jacket appreciatively. He’s wanted to steal it for months now.

His demon narrows his eyes at him, snatching up Taerae’s Stanley and sipping before making a disgusted face; of course it’s filled with Dr. Pepper instead of water.

“Are demons pretty, though?” Hanbin asks, fingering his silver cross necklace. “I don’t want to dress up as something ugly.”

Matthew rolls his eyes and Taerae bites back his giggles, grinning at Hanbin instead. “Super pretty, I promise.”

“Baby,” Hao croons, turning to his boyfriend. “You’re pretty no matter what you wear.”

Gyuvin pretends to throw up but it’s a foot nudging against his own that draws Taerae’s attention; Matthew is gazing at him across the table, cheeks flushed and dark eyes wide, flames completely guttered out.

“Tae-ah,” his demon starts to say, knuckles white atop the table. Taerae, though, shakes his head firmly and hands Matthew the brownie he’d been saving to eat last.

“You are pretty, hyung,” he tells his demon, no room for argument in his voice. “I know. I have eyes.”

Matthew blinks, although he takes the brownie and nibbles on it. “But I have horns.”

“Yes, and they’re lovely.” Taerae casts an appreciative look at his demon’s horns, which are ebony black and fade to a creamy white at the tips; they’re very long and wickedly sharp but seem to have finally finished growing.

“And my wings?”

Taerae glances longingly at the shadow wings, which are very soft whenever he’s been wrapped up in them, and nods. “Also beautiful.”

Matthew’s cheeks are a dark rosy pink as he concentrates on finishing the rest of his brownie, but he wears a tiny pleased smile which makes Taerae’s heart swell in return. The feelings he’s harbored for his demon have only deepened over time, changing from a rosy crush to something— more.

“Tae-hyungie?” Taerae tears his eyes away from Matthew to look at his friends, who are all watching him with varying expressions of worry.

“Hm?”

Yujin tilts his head, blinking owlishly at him. “Who are you talking to?”

“Uh,” Taerae glances back at Matthew but the demon has vanished, only a few crumbs left on the table. “No one!”

“His imaginary boyfriend,” Jiwoong mutters as Taerae bids his friends farewell and heads off towards his next class. He’s sure they’re going to gossip about him and his slipping grasp on sanity but honestly— he doesn’t care.

Taerae is happy and his soul will be safe when he eventually dies, someday far far into the future, and he has the cutest demon ever wrapped around his finger (he’s pretty sure).

It’s Halloween before he knows it, crimson leaves on the trees and glowing Jack-o-lanterns decorating their town. Taerae’s gone bobbing for apples with his friends and run through corn mazes and made pumpkin pie and eaten so many caramel apples his teeth hurt; he’s ready for Halloween and then Christmas.

He wants to give Matthew a present this year. He’s already picked out a lovely vintage leather jacket embroidered with crocuses and he can’t wait to hand it over to the demon; maybe, if he’s lucky, they’ll find themselves beneath a sprig of mistletoe too.

He dresses alone in his room, singing along to his favorite Disney songs, painting his lips vibrant red and swiping glitter across his cheeks. The horns Hao bought for everyone are glittery red and cute, just like the fake wings; they hadn’t been able to find forked tails to complete the costume though.

Stepping back, Taerae studies his reflection.

He’s wearing leather pants that lace up along the sides with brilliant crimson silk, tied in cute little bows at his hips, and a sheer billowing top of black mesh inlaid with flowers. There’s another ribbon round his throat and his eyes are smoky with liner, entrancing; he wishes Matthew were here to see him.

But his demon had let him know a few days prior that Halloween is possibly the busiest night of the year for Hell’s citizens and that he likely wouldn’t be able to spare the time for a meeting. He’d been very apologetic but Taerae will be okay; he has his friends and buckets of candy waiting to be eaten.

“Happy Halloween,” Taerae squeals as he races across his dewy lawn to where his friends wait on the sidewalk, horns and wings glittering even in the dark. Arms reach out for him and he gladly allows himself to be pulled into a group hug, everyone giddy on sugar and the wailing decorations lighting up the night.

“You’re so hot TaeTae,” Hao compliments him, running his fingers appreciatively over the choker ribbon.

“I like being a demon,” Ricky agrees, doing a little shimmy; he’s dressed entirely in black and seems to be made for his horns and wings. “Good idea!”

“Next year we should be angels though,” Hanbin says, tugging a bit self consciously on his tiny red crop top, almost all of his chest out for the world (Zhang Hao) to ogle. “Try out both sides, you know?”

“Yeah,” Zhang Hao agrees, reaching out and tracing a finger over his boyfriend’s bare stomach, dark eyes glittering. “It’s really good to switch sometimes, isn’t it Hanbin-ah?”

“I don’t care,” Yujin announces loudly, poking anyone he can reach, “I just want candy! Let’s go!”

They set off into the night like a pack of hellhounds on a hunt, unerringly steering towards the richest neighborhoods where they can collect the largest chocolate bars and fanciest organic, all natural gummies. Taerae holds hands with Gunwook and skips across slick lawns and shadowed sidewalks, swinging his basket as it grows heavy with loot, feeling entirely happy with his life.

A full moon shines overhead and he can hear his friends chattering, can feel their warmth as they brush close round him. Their shadows yawn across empty streets, crowned in horns, and when they shriek at animatronic witches or bowls of peeled grapes because they really do feel like eyeballs, it’s as a group.

“Trick-or-treat!” They chorus over and over, accepting candy or arguing over who gets the green apple Laffy Taffy. Yujin leads them, his bag the heaviest, while Ricky poses for photos and Gyuvin races round fake gravestones and Jiwoong is already halfway through eating his own candy.

At last, though, the many costumed princesses and fairies and pirates and ghosts begin to trickle home and their bags are too heavy to carry much further.

“Let’s go home,” Hanbin calls to everyone, waving his plastic pitchfork to gather their attention. “Did we lose anyone?”

Taerae holds onto Gunwook, who grabs Gyuvin, who holds Yujin, who holds Jiwoong and Ricky, who takes Hao’s hand, and then Hanbin reaches out for his boyfriend. They race across midnight lawns in a line, laughing wildly, shadows stretching so tall it seems that the tips of their glittering horns almost touch the full moon.

“Road!” Hanbin yells from up ahead, although they all still crush into one another as they come to a stop. Taerae huddles closer to Gunwook for warmth, peering both ways across the shadowed, abandoned stretch of asphalt.

“It’s fine, hyungie,” he calls back; he’s eager to cuddle up with his friends and trade candy while they watch a scary movie. “We can go!”

Hanbin says something Taerae doesn’t hear and then begins to lead them across the road in a great huddle of bodies, hands still linked.

Taerae’s concentrating on not stepping on Gyuvin’s shoes or dropping his candy and so he doesn’t see the bright headlights or hear the roaring of an enormous motor speeding towards them.

None of his friends do; there simply isn’t enough time.

🖤🖤🖤

Taerae opens his eyes to a candy pink sky and clouds the same shade as rich amethyst jewels. He blinks, wondering why his dream had scared him so much— something about a truck?— and then sits up, looking round for his friends.

They’re all there, all seven of them. Yujin is sitting up too, rubbing his head and frowning around. Gyuvin and Ricky are helping one another stand, while Jiwoong is bent over Gunwook, lightly pinching his cheek. Hao and Hanbin, curled together even in sleep, have yet to rise.

They’re all wearing their costumes, too, which Taerae thinks is strange. Surely they didn’t forget to change before bed, right? And why can’t he remember the rest of their sleepover after they arrived home from trick-or-treating? 

“Hyungie?” It’s Yujin, reaching up to hold his hand. “Where are we?”

Taerae glances round at the pink sky and low purple clouds; they seem to rest atop a hill of pale yellow grass which gently slopes down to a valley below. There’s a path, to their right, made of glittering black stones and Taerae has the oddest feeling that they should follow it.

“I’m not sure, baby,” he tells Yujin, squeezing his hand tight. “But we’re all together so things can’t be too bad.”

Yujin, his little face cast rosy beneath the sky, nods and shakily stands. “I wish we had our candy. I don’t remember dropping it.”

“Yeah,” Taerae agrees with a sigh, “candy or a Dr. Pepper.”

Their other friends have managed to wake up at last and are now groggily gathering together, all vaguely confused. Jiwoong’s missing one of his shoes and Ricky keeps complaining about not having his phone, but they are at least together and unharmed.

“I think we should follow that path,” Taerae announces to his friends, belly lurching. “It seems important.”

Hanbin, clutching his cross necklace, is looking round uneasily. “This place is so weird. Do you think we’ve been kidnapped?”

“No,” Taerae scoffs, allowing Yujin to burrow into his shoulder. “We’re just— a little lost. But it’ll be fine! I bet I can find the way to help!”

So they set off on the path of guttering, sleek black stones— obsidian, maybe. Taerae leads the way and his friends follow, all a bit confused as they glance round at the strange landscape every so often.

They pass a river which runs crimson red and gives off heat, like a fire, and after a while they begin to realize that it’s a bit cold. Pretty gray snowflakes fall from the pink sky but they crumble into ash the moment they’re touched, staining their hands. There are no trees or animals or any sign of other living things round them; only the black stones they walk upon and the strengthening cold the longer they travel.

At last, though, after passing through the valley and climbing what Taerae’s pretty sure was a mountain, he catches sight of something in the distance.

“Look!” He cries, pointing to his weary friends. “A castle!”

Indeed, the thin turrets and crenelated ramparts of a fierce castle rise in the distance, just visible at the far end of the valley entrance they stand in. The sign of other humans gives them all a burst of energy and they walk on, quickly now, holding hands so as not to fall on the slippery stones.

Taerae wonders, idly, where Matthew is, but he assures himself with the knowledge that if this strange place was a threat to his life, his demon would be here.

Matthew will always save him, he is sure, and so he tugs his friends forward with a light heart.

The valley begins to change around them, yellow grass peppered with fiery flowers which remind him of lilies but are truly made from burning, crackling flames. Trees crop up every so often, silvery bark and gilded copper leaves and fruit hewn from enormous, faceted gemstones.

Gorgeous birds sit in the silver tree branches, their long drooping tail feathers made of blue-green flames, intelligent eyes coal-bright. They sing such sweet melodies that the last of Taerae’s fear slips away and he realizes, gazing round with wonder, how beautiful this hidden valley is.

Amethyst and aubergine clouds roll lazily across the horizon, the sky pink as rose petals. He watches a fiery bird burst into true flames until only a pile of thick gray ash remains on the ground; a warm breeze blows the ash away to reveal a large ivory egg which soon hatches to reveal an adorable, fluffy chick.

Taerae claps his hands in delight and then turns to sniff the daffodil Ricky has picked; the flower is wrought completely from golden metal yet is soft to the touch and smells exactly like spring, like home.

The further they venture into the valley, the more wonderful treasures they discover.

Tangerine orange frogs that breathe jets of flame and miniature dragons who seem to be crafted entirely from ice, yet can glide elegantly through the air. Diamond icicles drip from silver trees and the iridescent water of a small stream turns to the glassy surface of a mirror when they peer into it, reflecting back their childhood faces instead of their current selves.

At the far end of the valley the path of black obsidian ends before an enormous, elaborate pair of metal gates. They tower almost thirty feet in the air and are intricately carved with coiling snakes and apple blossoms; they give off a deathly cold chill and block the way to the castle they’d spotted.

And, best of all, Matthew stands before the gates, arms clasped behind his back and shadow wings held high, no longer hazy. His wings are gorgeous, sleek ebony feathers which fade into downy white closest to his body.

Matthew’s horns gleam in the rosy light of this place, his clothes more formal than Taerae’s used to; leather pants and a swirling black cape, heavy boots covering his feet. On his head, nestled between his horns, a dark metal circlet catches the light every so often.

“Hyung!” Taerae cries, forgetting that his friends are all watching as he drops Yujin’s hand and races forward, straight into Matthew’s open arms.

“Angel,” Matthew whispers, soft lips brushing Taerae’s ear. “I have been waiting for you.”

“You’re here,” Taerae murmurs against Matthew’s throat, cuddling into his demon’s warm chest and feeling all his worries fade away. “I knew you’d come to save me! You always do!”

A little giddy, he luxuriates in the strength of Matthew’s arms round his waist, the familiar smell of licorice. He feels, truly, as if he’s come home now that his demon is here too.

“TaeTae?” Hanbin’s voice is sharp and high with worry. “Who is this?”

Taerae’s eyes widen and he turns in Matthew’s arms, loving the way his demon merely shifts yet does not let him go. He peers at all his friends, who wear confused expressions or outright fear, and then glances back over his shoulder at Matthew.

“You can see him?”

“The guy with wings and horns?” Gyuvin asks dubiously, Yujin hidden behind him. “Yeah. He’s like, super obvious.”

Taerae beams at his friends, overjoyed, and bounces on my toes. “Oh my gosh, finally! I’ve wanted to introduce you to him for forever! Everyone— meet Matthew! He’s my demon!”

His friends don’t seem very surprised. Ricky yawns and Jiwoong rolls his eyes and Yujin peeks round Gyuvin, enormous eyes taking everything in.

“So— your imaginary boyfriend is actually real?”

“Yes,” Taerae snaps, feeling offended. “And he isn’t imaginary! He was just invisible before!”

“Angel.” Matthew’s voice is low, his fingers warm on Taerae’s hips. Thrilled, Taerae glances back at him with a smile but—

But his demon’s dark eyes are crinkled with pain and he isn’t smiling or laughing or trying to tease him. He doesn’t seem happy at all.

“Angel,” Matthew repeats quietly, “sweetheart, there was an accident. I couldn’t— I couldn’t reach you in time.”

Taerae blinks. “Okay? Are we, like, in a demon hospital?”

Matthew shakes his head slowly, sharp jaw clenching and dark wings flaring. “No, Angel,” he murmurs, “not quite.”

Taerae bites his lower lip and then nods resolutely. He thinks he’s known all along, actually, ever since he woke up on that hill with his friends. This strange place, the lovely fiery flowers and silver trees— it all feels as thrilling and magical as his demon.

It feels like the best sort of adventure waiting to happen.

“So…” he smiles at Matthew, his lovely demon, and winds his arms a bit tighter round Matthew’s strong shoulders. “My soul belongs to you forever now?”

Blue flames crackle at the tips of his demon’s horns and his arms tighten involuntarily around Taerae’s waist, pressing their chests together. “You aren’t angry? Or— or sad? You’re so young, Angel, you should have—“

Taerae scoffs and rolls up onto his toes, because his demon’s boots make him taller, and finally kisses Matthew like he’s been wanting to do for almost a year now.

His demon tastes of licorice and sugar and the sweet, sweet ambrosia that’s Dr. Pepper. His mouth is hot and his hands burn into Taerae’s hips, branding him through his clothes; Taerae moans and tries to lean closer, nipping his demon’s lower lip until Matthew hisses against his mouth.

“Angel,” Matthew murmurs, low and silky-smooth, his hands tracing a fiery path up Taerae’s spine. “Let me at least show you your new home first.”

Taerae reluctantly draws away, licking his swollen lips hungrily. He’s been salivating over Matthew for months by now; he can’t wait to pounce on his demon and not allow him out of their bed for a long, long while.

“My home?”

Matthew’s red mouth curves as he gestures to the castle beyond the gates, which have now swung wide. The valley on the other side seems to be carpeted in golden daffodils and fire lilies, a whole field of pretty flowers.

“Your castle awaits, my prince,” Matthew teases, eyes glimmering with just a hint of blue flame.

Taerae rolls his eyes but then ruins it by leaning in and kissing the tip of Matthew’s nose. “A castle,” he sighs dreamily, “for me?”

“One of many,” his demon reassures him, rubbing his spine soothingly. “If it’s not to your liking, replacements can be built. All you need do is ask.”

“Damn,” a voice says from far too close, startling them both. Taerae squeaks and Matthew conjures a blue fireball in an instant, wings rising high protectively.

It’s only Gyuvin and the rest of their friends, though, shamelessly staring at them. Gyuvin looks at the castle again and then back at Taerae, brows raised. “I want a demon sugar daddy too. How’d you get yours?”

Taerae blushes pink and holds Matthew a tinier bit tighter, silently congratulating himself on his immaculate planning and flirting skills. “I drew a bisexual summoning circle? And sold him my soul?”

“We can totally do that,” Ricky mutters, and then he smiles charmingly at Matthew. “Do you have any siblings? Or cousins? Or single friends?”

Matthew sighs lightly. “You are all my guests,” he proclaims loudly, “welcome to Hell. Make yourselves at home.”

Taerae’s friends don’t seem very surprised at the truth either. They share a few looks and then begin to stream forward through the gates, nodding to Matthew or greeting him quietly, more curious than anything.

Taerae, though, squints at his demon. “You are important. I knew it!”

Matthew winks at him and takes his hand, linking their fingers together. “Oh, immensely. The most important person to ever exist.”

“Hey,” Taerae asks as they walk hand in hand towards his demon’s spiky castle, happiness warming his unbeating heart. “Is my soul pretty?”

Matthew glances over at him, dark eyes shining, and snorts a little though he can’t suppress his smile. “I’m not indulging your ego.”

“Oh, come on hyungie,” Taerae whines, widening his eyes and fluttering his lashes until he’s sure he looks adorable; he can’t wait to peek into a mirror. “Tell me! I’m not bald, right? My soul has hair?”

Matthew laughs, wings fluttering and softly brushing against Taerae’s back, cocooning him in downy warmth. “Your soul is pleasing to look at, Angel,” he answers at last, voice rich and amused. “I promise.”

Taerae wriggles happily, pleased for a moment before a new question pops into his mind. “But like, on a scale of one to ten, what would you rate my soul?”

“A perfect ten.”

Taerae blushes, holding Matthew’s arm tighter as he’s escorted towards the shining black walls of his new, and eternal, home. “I’m so glad you’re the demon I sold my soul too, Mattchu-hyung. But— you never told me. What job will I have here?”

Matthew laughs again, warm as crackling flames, and tugs him a bit closer by their linked hands.

“You are to be my husband, of course,” he murmurs, kissing Taerae’s knuckles until he blushes rosy as the sky. “And King Consort of all the Underworld.”