✧༺♥༻∞ DISSONANCE ∞༺♥༻✧
A KPOP DEMON HUNTERS FANFICTION
❛𝙄𝙉 𝙒𝙃𝙄𝘾𝙃 idols shine on stage by day and fight lurking demons by night, the line between performance and salvation blurs dangerously thin. [name] has always lived in the quiet edges...
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🙤 · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · ꕥ · ┈┈┈┈┈┈ · 🙦
THE VAN RATTLED UP THE MOUNTAIN ROAD, ITS TIRES CRUNCHING AGAINST GRAVEL AND WINDING TURNS THAT SEEMED ENDLESS.
Bobby sat stiffly in the worn passenger seat, his knee bouncing in restless rhythm. [name] could tell he wasn't used to this kind of silence, no music, no bright city lights streaming past, no steady hum of traffic. Here, the world breathed differently. The air was thinner, clearer. Each breath carried the taste of pine and stone, as if the mountain itself demanded reverence.
When the van finally jerked to a stop, the driver announced, "Eunhaengsa," his voice flat but weighted with something close to respect. The old wooden doors creaked open, and they stepped out into a different world.
Bobby looked around, squinting against the pale wash of morning sun. His hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, but his entire stance screamed displacement. Seoul fit him like a second skin, bustling, loud, alive. Here, though, he seemed like a misplaced sketch on an old canvas. His sneakers crunched against the gravel path, too bright, too modern against the backdrop of weathered cream stone.
"This is where you grew up?" he asked, brows furrowed as his gaze traced the wide stone steps leading up to the temple gates.
"Yes," [name] answered softly. She felt her chest tighten, as it always did when she returned. She came here often on her own, whenever the weight of the idol world pressed too heavy on her. But bringing Bobby was different. Exposing this place, the quiet sanctuary of her childhood, was an intimacy she hadn't extended to many. Even the girls had only seen it under strange, fractured circumstances, when she had lost her memory and wandered the temple grounds like a ghost searching for itself.
Now she was whole. And yet, returning still carried that ache.
Bobby shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and followed her up the steps. "Looks...old," he muttered, though his voice carried no mockery. If anything, there was curiosity beneath the awkwardness, a boy too loud for a space too sacred.
"Older than you can imagine," she replied, lips curving faintly.
The gates loomed tall, wood weathered but strong, each carving etched with centuries of faith and prayer. She traced her hand over one familiar mark, her fingertips skimming the grooves worn smooth over time. This place remembered her, every step of her small feet across the stones, every laugh she tried to stifle during lessons, every night she cried quietly beneath her blankets, afraid of the golden wounds on her back.
Bobby hovered near the threshold, clearly unsure if he should step inside. "Are we...allowed?" he asked, his voice quieter now.
A laugh threatened to escape her chest. "Don't worry. I've been welcomed here since the day I arrived."
"And when was that?"
Her hand froze against the gate. The question wasn't careless. Bobby's tone was gentle, genuinely curious. But it cut through her like a blade, because the answer was tangled in blood and rain and a pair of wings she no longer had.
"Long ago," she said simply, pushing the gates open.
The air shifted instantly as they entered. The temple grounds stretched wide, embraced by the mountain's arms. Cream-colored stone walls, worn smooth, stood in quiet dignity, their surfaces bathed in the soft glow of morning light. The scent of incense drifted faintly on the wind, mixing with pine and earth. Silence wrapped around them, not empty, but full, the kind of silence that carried whispers of prayer, of legacy.
Bobby slowed his steps, gaze darting from the stone lanterns lining the path to the rows of fluttering prayer flags. His usual grin was gone, replaced by something softer.
"This is..." he trailed off, struggling to find a word.
"Different?" she offered.
He huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Different."
She smiled faintly. Bobby was never good at hiding discomfort, but there was something about the way he tried here, not to joke, not to fill the silence with meaningless words, that made her chest warm.
As they walked, her memories pressed in, heavy and vivid. She had run down these paths as a child, her bare feet slapping against stone worn smooth by centuries of monks. She had traced these very prayer flags with curious hands, listening to Monk Gyatso's gentle lessons about how even the wind carried blessings. She had sat in that courtyard, knees scraped, stubbornly refusing to cry as Monk Daeson bandaged her wounds.
Every corner of this place carried a fragment of her life.
And now she would share pieces of it with Bobby. Carefully chosen pieces.
He caught her lingering gaze on the main hall. "So what was it like? Growing up here, I mean."
She exhaled slowly. "Quiet. Disciplined. Different from what most kids would know, I think."
"Yeah, no kidding," he muttered, but his eyes stayed sharp on her, listening.
She stopped near the reflecting pool, the same place Monk Gyatso had first found her. The water shimmered faintly in the morning light, smooth as glass, a mirror of sky and stone. Her throat tightened. This pool had once held her broken body, her golden blood bleeding into its waters. But that wasn't a story she could tell Bobby.
Instead, she crouched by the edge, running her fingers lightly across the surface. Ripples spread outward, distorting her reflection. "I was lost when I first came here," she said softly. "I don't remember much of before. Just that the monks found me and took me in."
Bobby crouched beside her, resting his elbows on his knees. "And they raised you?"
"Yes. Fed me, taught me, gave me a place when I had none. Everything I know about patience, about kindness, about strength, came from them."
He nodded slowly, eyes scanning the water. "Sounds like you had it rough, though."
She tilted her head. "Why do you say that?"
He shrugged, lips pursed. "You just talk about it like it wasn't easy. Like you learned a lot of hard lessons here."
Her gaze flickered toward the distant training grounds, where she had bled and fought to prove she wasn't too fragile to survive. Where she had cried at night, aching from wounds no ordinary child would have endured.
"Yes," she admitted quietly. "There were hard lessons. But I think I needed them. They shaped me into who I am."
Bobby studied her for a long moment. His usual playful light was gone from his eyes, replaced by something more thoughtful. "Guess that's why people say your voice feels different. Like it's more than just music."
Her breath caught. For a moment, her chest ached with the weight of everything she couldn't say. That her voice was not just music but something dangerous, something sacred, something forbidden. That the first time she had sung here, the very earth trembled.
But instead, she only smiled faintly and looked back at the pool. "Maybe it's because I know what it's like to need comfort. To need light."
The silence stretched between them, not heavy but full, as the wind stirred the prayer flags overhead.
Bobby leaned back on his hands, exhaling softly. "I get it now," he said at last. "Why you wanted me to see this place. It's not just where you grew up it's who you are."
Her heart twisted at his words. Yes. And no. He saw the surface, but not the depths. And maybe it was better that way.
Still, she felt the faintest thread of relief that he could glimpse even a fraction of her truth.
