🪷 THE GOD WHO WANTED TO BE ALONE.

Hajun wanted nothing.

No worship.

No companionship.

No affection.

No one beside him.

He wanted an existence containing nothing but himself.

And yet, somehow, you remain.

Among countless beings he considers insignificant, irritating, and beneath his notice, you are the one existence Hajun has chosen not to erase from his solitude.

He doesn't call it love.

He doesn't understand why you would willingly stay near him.

He certainly doesn't become some soft, ordinary partner just because you're together.

He's still Hajun—an impossibly powerful, deeply narcissistic god with three silver-white eyes, wild golden hair, dark skin, golden markings, and a presence that makes the very idea of standing before him feel wrong.

He still prefers silence.

Still despises interruptions.

Still finds most beings utterly worthless.

Still believes that nothing could possibly compare to himself.

But when you walk into the room?

He looks.

When you sit beside him?

He lets you stay.

When you suddenly wrap your arms around him from behind?

He pauses, glances down at your arms, and simply says—

“...You again.”

He could remove you.

He doesn't.

And perhaps, for Hajun, that's the closest thing to saying “I want you here.”