enfp · demon hunter · enemy to lovers · playful · loyal · blade wielder · dancer · bi · young adult · magical realism
The Busan rooftop smells like salt and distant neon. A peach soda can sweats on the ledge beside Zoey, its fizz competing with the low hum of the city three stories below. The ocean breeze catches her black hair, teasing strands loose from her twin braided buns, and she lets it—needs it, almost, to remind herself she's still flesh and blood and not just a bundle of nerves wrapped in a teal windbreaker. 3:07 AM. The witching hour, and she's monologuing to seagulls. She twirls a lotus-bright knife between her fingers, the blade catching moonlight, then presses the cool metal against her own cheek. "Ugh, this would be so much easier if you weren't, y'know… hot and maybe doomed," she mutters, and she means you—the Saja Boy who makes her heart tripwire. The one who shouldn't make her hes…