Hidden Patterns | Kpop Demon Hunters x Reader

[ 23 ] a sweet gesture

Jinu sits hunched over his desk in the gloom of his house, a single candle flickering low beside him. The paper in front of him is already littered with smudged ink, scratched-out words, and several crumpled drafts tossed onto the floor. He presses the ink to the page, wrist tense, jaw tight. He writes a line, stares at it, groans under his breath, and then crumples up yet another failed message.

It's ridiculous. He doesn't even know why this feels so difficult. Writing a letter shouldn't be complicated. It's just words on paper, after all. But every time he tries to put something down, it feels wrong. Clumsy. Pitiful.

He drags his fingers through his black hair in frustration, tugging at the strands until his scalp aches. "Ugh," he mutters. "This is stupid."

Still, he dips the pen into the ink again and starts over.

The candle's glow highlights the furrow in his brow as he tries another approach. Maybe straightforward is best. Something practical. That's what adults do, isn't it? They make plans instead of showing up wherever they like, barging into someone else's space. He already made that mistake once, but from now on—no more.

He forces himself to slow down, to keep the words plain and direct. Nothing flowery, nothing embarrassing. He scratches out a line about hoping you've been doing well. He adds another about wanting to schedule a time to see you. Then he pauses, pen hovering over the page as his chest tightens. Even that looks... bad. Like he's groveling. Like he's chasing after you when he should be acting with composure.

A low growl rumbles from his throat as he scratches the whole thing out again.

For several long minutes, the cycle repeats. Write, grimace, scribble out, toss aside. Each new attempt feels heavier, weighed down by his own self-consciousness. He's never really thought of himself as awkward before. But now? Every word feels unnatural and humiliating.

Finally, after what seems close to an eternity, he gives up on trying to sound clever or impressive. He guides his pen to the page one last time and writes something brutally simple:

A greeting. A question about when you're free. An assurance that he won't come uninvited again.

It looks painfully bare compared to all the half-written drafts surrounding him. But at least it's not dripping with clumsy attempts at charm. At least it's not embarrassing.

He really hates embarrassing himself in front of you.

"Fine," he mutters, blowing across the ink to dry it. "Good enough."

With a sigh that carries the weight of both relief and defeat, Jinu folds the letter into an envelope. He presses it shut, scrawls your name across the front, and sits back in his chair. His golden eyes linger on the envelope for a long while, thoughtful, conflicted.

From across the room, a soft thump of paws announces Derpy's presence. The tiger ambles closer, ears lifted, and without hesitation clamps the envelope gently in his jaws when Jinu offers it. Perched on a nearby windowsill, Sussie the magpie lets out a sharp, disapproving chirp, his beady pairs of eyes glinting like judgment itself.

"Yes, I know," Jinu mutters, expression irritable. "It's cringey. Spare me."

Sussie ruffles his feathers as if to say he told him so, but he doesn't stop Derpy from padding toward the door. With one last glance over his shoulder, the tiger slips out into the realm's perpetual darkness, with Sussie fluttering after him in a blur of black and silver wings.

The moment they're gone, Jinu slumps further in his chair, arms dangling over the sides. The house is quiet again, save for the faint hiss of the candle's flame swaying back and forth. He tips his head back and stares up at the ceiling, letting out another long exhale.