Chapter Six: Humans Cry Over Weather
888 Words
(cont. Rhex— POV)
Once, a man shouted at us. Called me a monster. My fire rose, instinct sharp and immediate.
Ari squeezed my hand.
“Not worth it,” she said quietly.
So I did not burn him. This was very difficult. I deserve credit.
Later, she thanked me. She hugged me. I did not combust.
I think that was a victory.
Loving Ari is not about power. It is about restraint.
It is about learning that “I miss you” means “stay.”
That “are you hungry?” means “I care.”
That laughter can mean fear, joy, or both.
I am a demon.
I have destroyed things. I have survived hells.
But this—walking beside a human through lantern-lit streets, learning how to love gently—this is the hardest thing for me
but I choose it.
---
I learned something important about humans on a rainy Tuesday.
Rain is not just water to them.
It is emotion.
The day began normally. Ari and I planned to meet near Bukchon, walk between the old hanoks, drink warm tea, and argue gently about whether demons need umbrellas. (We do not. Rain evaporates on my skin. This is efficient.)
But when the clouds gathered and the rain started falling softly, Ari stopped walking.
She looked up.
She did not speak.
Her eyes filled with water that had nothing to do with the sky.
I panicked.
“Are you injured?” I asked immediately, scanning for threats. “Is the rain acidic? Is it cursed?”
She laughed weakly. “No. I’m just… sad.”
“Because of the rain?” I asked.
“Yes.”
This made no sense. Rain nourishes crops. Rain cools overheated demons. Rain is useful.
Ari sat on the wooden steps of a closed teahouse, hugging her knees. I stood there awkwardly, unsure whether to summon fire, a blanket, or an apology.
“I don’t know why,” she said. “Some days are just like this.”
So I sat beside her.
This was a decision. A careful one. Demons do not sit in vulnerability unless absolutely necessary. But she was small and damp and human, and leaving felt wrong.
The rain soaked her hair. I warmed the air slightly, careful not to steam her.
“You do not have to explain,” I said finally. “I will stay.”
She leaned against my shoulder.
I froze again.
But this time, I stayed frozen on purpose.
Later, we ducked into a convenience store. Ari bought hot coffee. I bought nothing, but stood very close to the heater like it was an old friend.
She handed me the cup.
“For your hands,” she said. “You feel cold today.”
Demons are not cold.
But I took it anyway.
We sat by the window, watching people hurry past with umbrellas. Ari traced shapes in the condensation. I studied her reflection instead.
“I worry sometimes,” she said quietly. “That I’ll become a burden to you.”
I frowned. “Explain.”
“I get sad. I overthink. I cry over weather.”
I considered this.
“I set villages on fire when I was younger,” I replied. “We all have flaws.”
She snorted. I believe this means affection.
As days pass, I notice small changes in myself.
I wake earlier, to walk her to work even when I do not need to. I practice lowering my horns’ glow in reflections. I learn which street food stalls she likes and pretend it is coincidence when we pass them.
Once, she caught me rehearsing.
“Were you… practicing talking to me?” she asked.
“No,” I said immediately.
Then: “…Yes.”
She laughed so hard she had to sit down.
This is another human thing. They find effort charming.
I fear hurting her without meaning to. Demons are heavy-handed creatures. We love fiercely. We protect destructively. I hold myself back constantly, like fire behind glass.
One night, she asked, “Do you ever want more?”
I did not answer immediately.
“I want… time,” I said carefully. “With you. However it comes.”
She smiled. “That’s a very demon answer.”
“What is a human answer?”
She thought. “I want the same.”
This felt like alignment. A rare event.
Sometimes, people stare. Sometimes they whisper. Once, an old woman crossed herself when she saw my horns.
Ari squeezed my hand.
“She’s scared,” she said gently. “Not cruel.”
I nodded. I am learning the difference.
We attend a small dinner with Lena and Corin by the river. I sit far from the water. Corin sits too close to a heater. We exchange polite nods, like creatures acknowledging each other’s dangers.
Ari laughs more there. Around people who understand.
On the walk home, she slips her hand into mine without looking.
I tighten my grip just enough to let her know I am there.
Loving a human is not dramatic.
It is rain. It is convenience store coffee. It is learning when to sit and when to speak.
It is choosing not to burn the world, even when you could.
And for her, I would choose it again.
---
- Writer
