A week had passed since Rogue had agreed to stay with Wynter, and in that time, things between them had shifted. The quiet, cautious distance they had once maintained had melted away, replaced with something closer to ease. Rogue, despite his internal reservations, had found a rhythm in their days together. Mornings began with a quick romp, coffee—Wynter's rich, dark brew—and soft conversations that didn't demand much but were grounding nonetheless. Rogue still couldn't quite wrap his mind around the simplicity of it all. It felt strange to be part of something so domestic, so human.

But the biggest change came when Rogue found a job.

After days of scanning the classifieds and wrangling with his own sense of self-doubt, Rogue had eventually settled on a receptionist position at a local dentist's office. The pay wasn't great, but it was steady, and it allowed him to use his ability to transform into someone else. The human world, after all, didn't take kindly to those who looked too different.

And Rogue was very different.

He couldn't step into the human world with his dark, almost unnatural appearance. The sleek black hair, the sharp red eyes, the skin that seemed to shimmer under certain lights—all of it screamed "otherworldly." So, instead, he'd used his powers to assume a more... acceptable form.

Amy, the receptionist, was a tall, blonde woman with soft blue eyes and a gentle, approachable smile. The transformation was seamless for Rogue. He didn't need a wig or makeup. His powers did all the work, effortlessly adjusting his features and the shade of his hair. He allowed the strands to fall naturally into place, as though they belonged. His pale skin shifted subtly to take on a healthy glow, the sharpness in his jaw softened to something gentler, and his dark eyes—those deep, unsettling red eyes—faded into a warm, honey brown. Everything about Amy was a mask, a perfect illusion to blend in.

But the mask came with its own set of complications.

Rogue stood in front of the mirror in their shared bedroom, pulling on the blouse and skirt he had chosen for the day. He was wearing Amy's face, her features. His own reflection—a reflection of someone who wasn't him—gazed back at him. It wasn't the first time he'd used this disguise, but today, there was something about it that felt more alien than usual. The longer he stayed in this form, the more it felt like he was losing touch with the person he truly was.

Wynter had been quiet about his transformation. He had never directly questioned Rogue about his need for it, but there was an unmistakable tension in the way he looked at Rogue sometimes. He didn't like it. Rogue could sense it. Wynter didn't like seeing him hide behind Amy. But Wynter understood. In the human world, Rogue couldn't afford to be anything less than perfectly normal.

The door creaked open behind him. Wynter stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. His usual casual attire—a dark shirt and joggers—seemed to enhance the soft glow of his skin in the dim light. His silver eyes locked onto Rogue's figure in the mirror, studying him.

"Are you ready?" Wynter's voice was low, his tone tinged with something unreadable.

Rogue hesitated, adjusting the hem of his blouse before turning around. "Yeah," he replied, a little too quickly. "Just... getting used to it."

Wynter's gaze softened slightly, his lips twitching into a small frown. "You don't have to do this, you know," he said, taking a step closer. "You could just stay here. I could take care of things. No one would ever know what you really are."

Rogue swallowed the lump in his throat, staring at the floor for a moment. There was a warmth to Wynter's voice, a tenderness that lingered in the air between them. He wanted to believe it—wanted to believe that Wynter could offer him a life without the need to hide. But the weight of the world, and the truth of what he was, sat heavy on his shoulders.

"I'm not going to hide forever, Wynter," Rogue said, lifting his eyes to meet Wynter's gaze. "But for now, this is what I need to do. To survive. I need a job. I need money. And this—" he gestured vaguely at his transformed form, "—helps me fit in."

Wynter didn't respond immediately. He simply studied Rogue for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a heavy sigh, he nodded. "I understand. But just... don't forget who you are, Rogue. No matter what face you wear."

Rogue's heart twisted at the kindness in Wynter's eyes. The understanding that Wynter always seemed to offer him, even when the rest of the world could only see a monster, was something Rogue wasn't used to. But he didn't want to lose himself in the role. He couldn't. Not entirely.

"Thanks, Wynter," he murmured. "I won't forget."

Later that day, Rogue found himself sitting behind the receptionist's desk at the dentist's office. The office was surprisingly quiet, with only a few patients waiting in the lobby. Amy's smile came easily, as always, a practiced motion. She was friendly, approachable—exactly what the patients needed. But Rogue's thoughts were elsewhere. The smile he gave them felt... hollow. It was as if the more he played Amy, the more distant he felt from who he was deep inside.

He glanced down at his phone, checking the time. An hour had passed, but the rest of the day stretched out before him like a never-ending series of small interactions. He hated the way the hours seemed to drag in this form. He hated the silence of it all, the distance between his true self and the life he was trying to lead.

The door to the office opened, and a new patient stepped in. Rogue greeted him automatically, his smile still as smooth and practiced as ever, but then his phone buzzed in his pocket.

It was a message from Wynter.

How's your day going? Everything okay?

Rogue smiled softly at the message, the warmth of Wynter's concern breaking through the wall of distance that had been building around him all day. He typed a response quickly, before he could think about it too much.

Yeah, just... long. I miss you.

It didn't take long for Wynter's reply to come through.

I miss you too. I'll be here when you get back. And remember—you're not just a mask.

Rogue let out a long breath, his heart skipping a beat at those words. He read them again, letting the sentiment sink in. There was something about the simple honesty in Wynter's messages that struck him deeper than anything else. He wasn't just a disguise. He was more than that.

Despite the mask he wore for the world, he couldn't deny that the connection he had with Wynter was real. And maybe, just maybe, it was enough to make the person behind the mask start to believe in something better.

It was a quiet evening, the kind that lingered between dusk and nightfall, where the city hummed with a soft, almost melodic buzz. Rogue had just locked the door of the dentist office, his body still in the guise of Amy—the face, the hair, the soft smile. As soon as he stepped inside his car,  a small white sedan that Wynter insisted Rogue to drive until Rogue raised enough money for his own car.

He looked at the message, the familiar glow of Wynter's name lighting up the screen.

Hey, could you pick up some groceries while you're out? Just a few things—eggs, milk, bread, and some veggies. Thanks, babe.

Rogue's lips tugged into a small, almost fond smile at the word babe. He wasn't used to such intimacy, but it was a comfort he hadn't anticipated. Wynter's affection had become one of the few things Rogue could rely on.

Sure. I'll grab it now, he replied, his fingers typing swiftly over the screen.

The grocery store wasn't far, just a quick walk through the city. It was easy to blend in, to slip into the rhythm of the mundane world. But tonight, something felt off. Rogue's senses prickled, though he couldn't quite place why.

The automatic doors of the grocery store slid open with a soft whoosh, and Rogue stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of produce and cleaning products. As he moved through the aisles, he gathered the items Wynter had requested, placing them in his cart with methodical precision. The whole time, his mind lingered on the feeling of unease, that low hum in the back of his skull, as though something—or someone—was watching him.

He rounded the corner near the dairy section when he felt it—a sharp prickle at the base of his neck, a presence that sent a cold wave of recognition washing over him. He turned slowly, his heart rate quickening.

A woman stood a few feet away, eyeing him with a mix of disdain and curiosity. She was tall, with dark hair pulled into a tight bun, dressed in a black leather jacket and faded jeans. Her skin was pale, her eyes a piercing, almost unnatural shade of blue. Rogue's breath caught in his throat when she looked directly at him, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

The aura was unmistakable.

Leviathan.

Despite the disguise, Rogue knew exactly who she was. She was one of his sisters from hell—one of the demons who had haunted his life for as long as he could remember. Her appearance had shifted slightly, a human façade over her true form, but the malevolent aura around her was unmistakable.

Leviathan took a slow step forward, her heels clicking on the polished tile. The air around her seemed to shimmer, as if the boundaries between the mortal world and the hellish abyss she came from were thinner in her presence.

"So, this is how low you've sunk," Leviathan's voice was smooth, dripping with venom, yet there was a cold amusement in her tone. "You're hiding in plain sight as a human—pretending to be something you're not—and worse, you've shackled yourself to a fae."

Rogue's stomach twisted at her words. He knew this conversation was inevitable. He had hoped to avoid it, to keep his relationships with Wynter and his otherworldly origins separate. But Leviathan didn't care about his plans. She never had.

"What are you doing here, Levi?" Rogue asked, his voice low but sharp, struggling to suppress the surge of anger rising within him. He didn't like the way she looked at him—like he was something to be pitied or despised.

Leviathan tilted her head, the mockery in her smile deepening. "You think I don't know what you've been up to? Fae don't belong in the world of demons, Rogue. You're an idiot if you think they ever will." She stepped closer, her presence suffocating as she towered over him. "You've chosen weakness, clinging to that miserable creature. What does it even offer you? A pretty face and pretty words? It's not enough. You belong with your own kind, Rogue."

Rogue swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the handle of his cart. He could feel his claws lengthening, the raw power of his demonic nature beginning to flare up at her words. The fury within him was familiar, like an old friend, but he kept it in check. He had learned long ago how to keep the beast inside him quiet—especially when the confrontation wasn't worth it.

"You don't get it," Rogue muttered, trying to steady himself. "Wynter... he's different. He sees me. I don't have to hide when I'm with him."

Leviathan's lips curled into a sharp smile. "And that's your excuse? You trust a fae?" Her laughter was cold, mocking, as if the very idea of it disgusted her. "You think he's going to protect you from the dangers of the world, from your own blood? You're a fool."

Rogue shook his head, his pulse quickening. "You don't understand. Wynter is... he's not like the rest of them. He's not like you."

Leviathan's eyes darkened, and for a moment, the air around her seemed to pulse with malice. "You really think you can just walk away from us, don't you? That you can choose the weak, fragile humans over your own kind? Fine. Live with the fae. Let him hold you. But just know this, Rogue: You are still ours." Her words were low and venomous, a reminder of the power she and the rest of the demons held over him.

Rogue's hands curled into fists, his fingernails cutting into his palms. The last thing he wanted was for Leviathan to drag him back into the hellish grip of their world. The thought of it—of being dragged back to their domain, a place where he was nothing but a tool, an obedient servant—sickened him.

"You don't own me," Rogue said, his voice dangerously calm. "I'm done with you, Levi. Don't come near me again."

Leviathan's lips twisted into a dark grin. "You'll regret this, Rogue. One day, you'll come crawling back to us. When the fae turns on you—because they always do—you'll remember this conversation. And you'll remember me."

Without another word, she turned and strode away, her heels clicking against the tile like the ticking of a time bomb.

Rogue watched her disappear into the store, the weight of her words still pressing down on him. His mind raced, the memory of the encounter lingering like a bitter taste in the back of his throat.

He hadn't realized just how far he had fallen until Leviathan's words echoed in his mind. But there was one thing he knew for sure: He would never go back. He was done with Hell.

Rogue took a steadying breath and turned back toward the cart, his hands now trembling slightly as he picked up the last few items Wynter had requested.