closed for (foreve)renovations

it’s not like being in regular form helps - he feels the prickling/pain under his skin instead, which is even more agonising than just feeling it in his wings

basically when lucifer’s wings are moulting he just wants to lock himself in his room and just lie there in demon form until it’s over

but since the entire moult lasts for roughly three weeks, he can’t do that if he wants to keep on top of his work

everyone else can generally tell when it’s moulting season because lucifer gets about 10000000x more irritable

you don’t realise though because he’s been avoiding you like the plague :((

but it turns out it was just because he doesn’t want to be mean to you! :D

it literally feels feels like someone’s constantly stabbing drawing pins into his back, so it’s hard NOT to get bitchy during moulting season - which is why he’s choosing to avoid you rather than accidentally hurt your feelings

except avoiding you also hurts your feelings, which he forgot to account for when he made that decision (lucifer you absolute goddamn buffoon)

in the end, the other brothers stage an intervention for their eldest brother, during which satan nearly hits him with a shoe and belphie calls him an idiot at least twenty times

lucifer’s inclined to punish them all for the impertinence, but he also realises that they kinda have a point

(and also it’s touching to him that his little brothers care about you so much, to the point where they’ll ALL actively start telling him off for hurting your feelings)

anyway, his moult is already coming to an end around this time! most of the pin feathers are gone, and the new feathers are still a little tender, but at least the constantly-being-stabbed feeling is mostly gone

so, he thinks to himself, he’ll make sure he gets a good night’s sleep and arrange a nice date to make everything up to you tomorrow

except it’s that very evening that you decide to burst into his room and start pummelling the stuffing out of his arm

he figures out by piecing together your broken speech that you’ve been given the low-down on the whole situation by his brothers, and that you’re REALLY mad at him for not just telling you that he wasn’t feeling well

and you’re ESPECIALLY mad that he instead chose to silently stew in his own misery like a frog in a boiling pot, because doesn’t he KNOW that you’d rather DIE than let him just be in pain indefinitely like this

the dramatics are unnecessary but lucifer literally loves it so much because it reminds him how much you love him and it makes his ego swell like 10000x, because to him there is no greater honour in the world than your love

anyway, once you’ve calmed down, your attitude does a complete 360

you hop onto his bed, give your lap a crisp slap, and order him to lie down in it immediately

you are very lucky that he loves you so much, because if anyone else tried this they’d be ground to dust in seconds

as it stands, all lucifer does is put up an extremely weak little fight (i.e. scoffs and gives that trademark ‘seriously?’ look) before immediately doing as you say

literally three-quarters of the tension leaves his body as soon as he does and oh wow why didn’t he do this sooner

he’s in such a state of relief that he doesn’t even think twice about complying when you tell him to switch to demon form for you

and, after all the tension of moulting season, loosening up and going demon form for a bit sounds like a really good idea actually

so he does!

he’s just starting to wonder exactly why you wanted him in demon form when he feels you start running your fingers gently through his feathers

you know that noise that cartoon characters make when they get blown/yanked up into the air really quick?? that’s the sound that plays in lucifer’s mind

no WONDER practically every animal with fur or feathers likes being pet in one way or another. it feels so good

you’re working your way through the rows and rows of somewhat crooked new feathers, veeery gently teasing them into neat lines, and then smoothing them over with your palm

it’s slow and methodical, like you’re working to some sort of beat, and

like at one point you make some stupid joke along the lines of ‘guess those pin feathers were really NEEDLING you haha’

honestly lucifer wants to be mad, but he can’t bring himself to be

tbh he can never get mad at any of your bad jokes, because they were part of the reason he ended up falling for you in the first place

this was basically how it went back before in the earlier days of you two knowing each other:

you: “hey lucifer, do your socks have holes in them?”

lucifer’s brain: okay look, we know that the human has a VERY nice face, but we have standards, and our standards are high, ESPECIALLY for personality, so do NOT fuck this up and do NOT start falling in love with the human

lucifer, out loud: “no they do not, why would—”

you: “then how’d you get your feet in them?! hahahahahahahahaha—”

lucifer’s brain: shit. they’re meeting all our standards. i think we’re in love with the human now.

based on the impression he gives most people, one would think that lucifer thinks you’re an idiot and doesn’t like you

but not so! what lucifer actually thinks is “my partner is an idiot and i like them SO MUCH”

basically your laugh makes his heart do somersaults, and whenever you lose it at one of your own jokes it makes him want to smile so wide his face starts aching

anyway back to the wing-grooming!

grjklhrjkhrlKJHKJSHFK DO YOU HAVE MAGIC IN YOUR HANDS???

AND YOUR VOICE APPARENTLY because lucifer can hear you cooing ‘ooooo what pretty wings’ under your breath, and it’s making his own breathing do funny things

you call him a gorgeous boy multiple times and he doesn’t even feel talked-down to, like he’d have assumed he would if ever addressed like that - he just basks in the compliment like ‘🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 you’re a gorgeous human tooooo’

obviously he doesn’t say that, nor does he really let it show on his face, but deep down in his soul he’s practically yelling it

you should really cherish this moment, because even if lucifer’s softer than pure cotton for you, it’s rare for him to be practically snuggling into your lap like this

there’s a combination of factors here:

1. he hasn’t had much contact with you since moulting season began, so he’s making up for lost time

2. doing all that work while simultaneously being in constant pain is EXHAUSTING and this is a great chance to wind down

and 3. man do your hands feel good

he straight up just falls asleep there in your lap after a while

some time later, he wakes up at a tiny hour of the morning, with you having fallen asleep sitting up

his wings are positively sparkling, you’ve done an absolutely fabulous job of neatening and smoothing out the new plumage

but now luci feels kind of bad because you look kind of exhausted

so he carefully eases himself out of your lap and climbs into bed properly, rearranging everything so that you’re nice and snug in his arms, with his wings wrapped around you like an extra protective layer of blankets

and now he kind of wants to cry because wow this cosiness just hits different. sleeping in your lap was great, but this is even GREATER. maybe he needs to sleep with you in demon form more often???

oh shit his horns make it pretty hard to put his head on the pillow comfortably, never mind

though, if you really like sleeping wrapped up in his wings like this, he’d be totally willing to put up with the pillow discomfort

it’s not awful, anyway - absolutely nothing compared to the everything about moulting season, actually

so lucifer drifts back off to sleep soon enough, fully aware of the fact that he doesn’t have his alarm set and that he’ll probably oversleep tomorrow, but also fully aware of the fact that he doesn’t care

“Who goes there?!” You bark as soon as he approaches, yanking his hat off his head and stowing it in his bag to leave both hands free. “I hear your footsteps!”

“Whoa there!” He raises his left hand as you abruptly turn to face him, and he sees the telltale glint of a notched arrow aimed his way. “Calm down, we’re all friends here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, fingers still poised at the bowstring. “You have a weapon.”

“So do you,” He points out in reply, though he does take his other hand off the hilt of his blade, and lifts that as well. “So, have you noticed that you’re see-through?”

“My arrows are not,” You growl, and Childe notes with mild surprise that you’re right. The weapon in your hands seems perfectly solid compared to the rest of your body. “I aim to kill. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a free estate, isn’t it?” He spreads his arms to gesture around himself. The wind immediately bites at his exposed torso; he quickly brings his arms closer to himself again. “No one owns the mountains. Anyway - isn’t killing a bit harsh? Why can’t you aim to incapacitate instead?”

You regard him with mild disdain, then very slowly and deliberately move your arrow to point to his groin. At this, his eyes open wide with horror - only partly exaggerated. “Oh, never mind, killing’s fine, killing’s fine…”

For a moment you don’t move, but then you sigh and lower your bow. “...I will not fire. I have limited arrows as it is.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Childe observes you for a moment, then continues, “Can we go back to the see-through thing, then?”

“We cannot,” You dismiss almost grumpily, then look him up ad down. He wonders vaguely if you’re checking him out. “...are you an able fighter?”

At this, he practically inflates like a pufferfish with pride, your translucency forgotten in a heartbeat. “Ha! Well, I’d like to think so! Why - are you looking for a brawl?”

You cock a brow at him, drop the bow, then quite suddenly unsheathe a blade of your own - for a second he thinks it’s come out of nowhere, then realises that you’ve deftly pulled it out from your left sleeve. He doesn’t even know how you were hiding it in there without it being noticeable, but… well, all he can think for a few moments is whoa, that’s hot.

“I have not had a good fight in a very long time,” You announce, pointing the sword at him. He notes its oddly thin blade - the style of blacksmithery doesn’t seem local. “Amuse me.”

“Heh…” He pushes down on that familiar rush of adrenaline that always comes with a chance to draw his weapon. “What’s in it for me?”

“A satisfying battle is its own reward,” You reply, and that’s enough to bring a grin to his face. It seems you have similar ideologies. “We will fight to disarm. I doubt you will be able to strike me directly, anyway… if you manage to survive the first five seconds.”

He unsheathes his own blade. “What makes you think—”

Next thing he knows, he’s lying in the snow and staring up at a cloud so white that it makes his eyes hurt a little. There’s a dull aching sensation in the centre of his chest - after some extremely perplexed thought, he realises that you’d slammed the hilt of your sword into him.

“The first moments of a fight are some of the most important.” You lean over him - against the sky, your face is barely visible. You’re shimmering, like some sort of desert mirage. “You can win in a flash if you simply make your move swiftly enough.”

“Wh—” He sputters in outrage, sitting up quickly - you don’t move back in time, and his head phases through your torso entirely. “—oh, that’s not nice…”

“I suppose not,” You observe as he hops to his feet, wearing a marginally disturbed expression. “You were saying?’

“Huh...? Oh, right!” He points at you accusingly. “You didn’t tell me the fight had started yet!”

“Will your enemies do you the honour of warning you before they strike?” You ask in reply. Childe opens his mouth, then slowly shakes his head in defeat. “...this should be common knowledge to you. It is the first rule taught by any master worth their salt.”

Now that he thinks about it, he has heard something along those lines before. It’s just that he’s usually the enemy striking without warning - not the one being struck. “...well, I’ll concede. I let my guard down. Will you let me fight you for real now?”

You respond with a deft jab of your sword. Had he not kept his grip on his own weapon even as he went down, he’d have been skewered in seconds - but, thankfully, he manages to deflect the blow. As you draw your blade back to your side, he takes several long steps back, cursing the snow obstructing his boots.

“Good reaction time,” You note, then suddenly aim a slash at him that he only just parries. “Hmm. Your technique is sound.”

“Yours isn’t bad, either,” He replies, shifting his stance and tightening his grip around his blade hilt as he prepares for an attack of his own. “This’ll be fun.”

It’d probably do him well to be less arrogant next time. He attacks with the same deftness of movement that has been more than enough to fell countless opponents before - each move calculated and swift, almost mechanical in their accuracy. But you counter each one by a hair’s breadth; it almost takes his breath away, the way you match his every blow.

It’s as if the two of you are engaged in some kind of deadly dance, set to the tune of clashing steel. Your expression is muted and flat; the only hint that you’re engaged in the battle at all is the subtle spark in your eyes. Childe, meanwhile, feels his grin grow wider with each passing moment, heart thumping louder and louder each time your blades cross.

The thrill of an equal opponent is such that, when you finally knock the blade from his hands and send it spinning into a nearby snowdrift, Childe can’t do much other than throw back his head and laugh. He laughs for a while - long enough that he’s sure you’ll think he’s gone crazy when he finally stops. But he just can’t help it! He feels too good!

“...you enjoyed the battle, I assume,” You say drily as his laughter finally dies down. “Was it worth it?”

“Worth it?” He brushes away a tear. “Oh, it was worth it alright. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I learnt a little from every nation I visited,” You reply mysteriously, stowing your blade back in your sleeve. “From the masters I met, and from the many defeats I encountered along the way.”

“I’d expect no less,” He sighs with a smile, trudging over to retrieve his fallen blade. “So where’ve you been ‘along the way’?”

“All over the world,” You say, sweeping your arm out theatrically. Then you pause, looking around at the snow, and frown. “...my journey was not supposed to end here.”

“No?” Childe looks you up and down. Your clothes are hardly suitable for Snezhnayan weather. “Well, it’s true you don’t look like you’re from around here...”

You follow his gaze, then scowl a little. “I assure you, this is not my usual attire. I was not wearing my armour when I passed.”

“Oh. Oh.” He should probably be more surprised by that, “So you’re a ghost, then?

“I prefer spirit,” You say grandly.

“Spirit, right. How did you die?”

“...straight to the point, I see.” You give him a look, folding your arms. “...a once-friend murdered me. I had assumed they were as honourable as they appeared… as you can tell, they were not.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, intrigued. “...care to elaborate?”

“I suppose.” You pause for a moment, then begin matter-of-factly, “They had a little green stone that they used to aid them in battle. They used it to create a plant of poison, and used it alongside another herb to brew me a sedative tea. I lost consciousness within minutes and died in my sleep.”

That’s an… unorthodox way to use Dendro. Childe feels his own Hydro Vision burning a hole through the pouch hanging from his waist. “...how long ago was this?”

You ruminate on this for a long while. “If I have observed the seasons correctly, then it should have been at least one hundred and fifty years by the next thaw.”

“One hundred and—” He chokes on an inhale, and has to spend the next minute or so doubled over coughing. Meanwhile, you just stand there and watch him with a mildly concerned look on his face. “...why have you stuck around for so long?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” You reply. Now that he thinks about it, the way you talk makes a lot more sense when he considers that you’re from more than a century ago. “I do not wish for vengeance. Even if I did, my once-friend will be long-dead by now.”

“Probably,” He agrees, then pauses. “...why did they poison you?”

“I won a precious artifact during my travels,” You say, a distant look passing over your face for a moment. “A beautiful goblet. I suppose they coveted it… or else I wouldn’t have watched them steal it from the pack strapped to my cold corpse’s back.”

Childe winces a little. He’s not afraid of death himself, but it’s odd to hear someone talk so casually of their own demise. Not least because you’re the first (and only) not-yet-departed soul he’s ever met.

“...well,” he starts, rubbing hesitantly at the back of his neck, “I hope I… made your afterlife a little more interesting.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. A transient smile passes across your face. “You did, indeed. You are the first person I’ve met since I passed.”

He feels an odd little throb in his chest. Sympathy, he supposes. “Does it get lonely?”

“Perhaps. It has been too long for me to remember the difference between isolation and company.” You pause. “...but I would welcome another visit, if you ever have the time.”

He offers you a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And so he does. At first, he only comes by sparingly - to have a word, and exchange a few blows. But then, more and more, he finds himself making the long trek, not just to fight you, but to see you again. He hadn’t quite realised how easy you were on the eyes the first time he met you; he hadn’t quite realised how soothing your voice was, either.

The cold stops biting as much soon enough, and the bracing exercise does wonders for his stamina. Which is a good thing, because the lengths of your fights are getting almost ridiculous… even though you always manage to best him in the end. That’s alright, though; it just means he can keep getting stronger. It helps that it’s really quite alluring when you smirk at him after yet another defeat, too.

He gets questions from the other Harbingers about his constant absences, most of them accompanied with ill-intentioned jabs questioning his loyalty. He ignores all of them - until he’s given a mission to complete, he’ll spend his free time however he likes, and at the moment he really quite likes spending his free time with you.

The only problem would be that it reduces the time he gets to spend with his family, but there’s a silver lining to that cloud, too. Soon enough into his series of visits, you begin to tell him stories - of the landscapes you have traversed, the battles you have both fought in and witnessed, and the endless amount of other lives that you passed through like a leaf on a stream. And those stories most certainly go down well with the kids back home.

It’s clear that, even though it was cut short prematurely, you still lived an impressively full life; even after almost half a year has passed, you don’t seem anywhere close to running out of experiences to recount. Childe’s grateful for that; his siblings have gotten so accustomed to having your thrilling tales relayed to them that, were he to go back to telling them his own poorly-improvised stories, they’d be extremely disappointed.

Childe himself enjoys your stories greatly, too. In fact, he’s hiding something about that - there is one story that he never re-tells to his family, that he keeps close to his chest like a precious childhood toy. He can’t quite put why he does it into words, but he keeps doing it, anyway.

And, out of the many you tell him, it’s only that story that he asks to hear again. It isn’t one about conquest and conflict, as would be typical of him, but a fairly mundane one about your time in the nation of Liyue.

In it, you speak of a distant peak in Minlin - Mount Hulao, which towers over the Huaguang Stone Forest, and is hell to climb if you don’t know where to put your feet. You describe the amber crystals - prisons of the purest colour, locking everything they incarcerate into an eternal stasis that lasts for as long as the stone remains unshattered.

Above all, though, you talk of the view - of cloud-shrouded peaks, distant blue waters, and rippling green grass. You talk of how the sunset would cloak the trees with the most vivid golden glow you’d ever seen, and of how the pale sunrise and chilled morning dew served as a far better wake-up call than the sound of an ambushing enemy. Rather unusually, your favourite time to go gazing on the mountain was deep in the night - at the right time, it’d seem like the moon and stars had cast a silvery shroud of gossamer over Liyue.

This, above all others, is Childe’s favourite story of yours.

He’d be lying if he was saying he was still paying complete attention to the words, though; rather, he likes to watch you. It’s when you describe that view that you look the closest to corporeal that you’ve ever been, when a true smile comes closest to actually lingering on your face. The sparkle he sees in your eyes then is different to the one he spots in the midst of a fight, and though the latter was bolstering enough to warrant several returns, he thinks that it’s the former that keeps him coming back to you now, over and over again.

Is it possible to love someone across so many years? He’s not sure - but he’s also not sure what other word he could apply to how it feels to be near you these days. And it’s not the sort of term that Childe throws around lightly, but somehow it feels right.

He’d never say it, of course. 'I love you’ - he can’t even touch you; he doubts that you’d believe him if he suddenly made that confession. But he thinks it to himself, practises whispering it into the night when he’s about to fall asleep, and shouts it silently - a thousand times for each smile that passes across your face.

Childe doesn’t do things by halves. Like his thirst for battle, his feelings are all-consuming, and sometimes it’s all he can do to keep himself from screaming with the intensity of it all. It’s such an odd thing, something straight out of a folk tale - to have fallen in love with a piece of the long-forgotten past. Those stories never end well, nothing that brings the living and the dead too close does… but Childe allows himself to dream.

In many of your stories about Liyue, you talk about a so-called adeptus who lives upon that Mount Hulao that you love so much - an adeptus named Mountain Shaper. Somehow you earned the honour of being able to call him your master for a short while, and it was he who gifted you the bow that you aimed at Childe when he first met you.

“It was buried by its first master,” You tell him, holding it out for him to take a closer look. “Mountain Shaper presented it to me just before I left Liyue, and I have wielded it since. It fires well, even if it is rusted. Perhaps you could learn to use it one day… after all, I have no use for it.”

“Sounds fun,” He agrees, reaching out, then pausing when his fingers pass straight through the bow’s handle. “...that’ll be a bit of an obstacle, though… and I warn you, I’m hopeless with anything long range at the moment.”

You don’t seem fazed. “Ah, the instrument is never as important as the one who wields it. As long as the bow you find is sturdy, it will serve well as a weapon - and, as long as you polish your craft, you will find your aim is true before long.”

He agrees with you then, but the topic never quite seems to crop up again after that day. The two of you fight with your respective blades, as always, and as always you send his flying away in the end. Somehow, though, the idea of finally being able to hold that bow of yours nestles at the back of his mind, and never quite leaves.

Maybe it’s because you don’t seem to place much sentimental value in your blade - at least, not nearly as much as you do in your bow. Maybe it’s because of the link it shares with your story about Mount Hulao. Or maybe it’s just a matter of principle - if he were able to touch the bow, he might be able to touch you, too.

Childe has grown soft, it seems. He’s let his guard down. He becomes too comfortable with you, too comfortable in your existence, too comfortable in this routine he has fallen into. He forgets himself and the position he has been given; a position that is flimsy as it is, recent as his appointment has been. He supposes that what follows is some kind divine retribution for forgetting his place.

Precisely two years to the day he met you, he finally bests you in battle. He doesn’t register it at first, but then he catches it - the shine of your blade as it’s flung skywards. In the sudden burst of excitement that follows, he doesn’t realise that your sword does not return to earth - it fades away in a cloud of mist and dust.

“I did it! I beat you!” He drops his own blade - it sinks into the snow with a muted thump - and pumps his fist in the air, suddenly feeling like a little boy again for the first time in years. “Oh, wow— I really have gotten stronger, huh?”

“You have, indeed,” You agree, and he realises you’re smiling at him - properly, without it fading within seconds as it always does. “Congratulations, Ajax.”

He feels an odd little shiver shoot up his back. It’s been a long time now since he told you his birth name, but he hadn’t expected you to suddenly use it so bluntly. “Well— it’s all down to you.”

“Perhaps.” Your smile is the brightest he’s ever seen it - but, for some odd reason, he feels his own falter. “Ajax - take this for me, would you?”

You’re holding out your bow. His smile truly drops at this; a cold sense of dread steals over him. “...what? You know I can’t touch it.”

“I have reason to believe that that might have changed.” You push the bow forward, and he takes a step back, hands held stiff by his sides. “...what’s wrong?”

He’s silent for a long while, staring at both you and the bow warily. The realisation had hit him as soon as he saw your smile, he thinks. When he speaks again, his voice is small - almost child-like. “...you’re leaving.”

“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter,” You chuckle, and he curses the fact that he can’t appreciate the sound. “Besides - I left a hundred and fifty years ago. It isn’t quite a recent development.”

“But you didn’t,” He says, and he hates how petulant he sounds. “You’re still here. You’re… you’re still with me.”

“I was never going to stay around forever, Ajax,” You say gently. “I died a long time ago.”

You reach forward again, with your hand instead of the bow, and this time he does not move away. When your hand meets his cheek, it doesn’t pass through it - for the first time, Childe feels your touch.

“You fight well,” You say gently. “And you’ve grown stronger.”

“There’s no point to it,” He mutters bitterly, fighting the urge to turn away. “I wouldn’t have bothered if I knew this would happen.”

You give him a stern frown“That’s a foolish thing to say and you know it.”

He looks at you. Everything rushes in on him so quickly that, for a fleeting moment, he feels as if he can't breathe. Something inside him aches, keens, whimpers - it wants to grasp your hand, hold on tight, and never let go. But... he can’t move. He can’t do anything but stare at you, drinking in your face greedily, as if he’ll never see it again - because he won’t.

Slowly, you draw away from him. He follows your motion; in that split second before your hand leaves his cheek, he thinks a million words - but he can’t find it in himself to say any of them aloud.

“It isn’t fair,” He murmurs finally, face crumpling. “We didn’t have enough time.”

“Of course we didn’t. It’s cruel - that I had to remain here for over a hundred years, and only spend two of them with you. But my time has always been stolen. You have to remember that.”

You hold your bow out to him again. This time, he doesn’t reject it. He only looks at it, then back at you. “...so this is it, then?”

“This is it,” You repeat back to him, and take a small step forward. “Take it. I know you will wield it well.”

He reaches forward, agonisingly slowly - hoping that, if he can drag this moment out for long enough, he can make it last an eternity. But time stops for no one; finally, his hand closes around its solid handle.

You smile at him, one last time. “Thank you, Ajax.”

The bow weighs heavily in his hand. Childe’s breath catches. All he can do is stand and watch you disappear.

Everything after that feels like an echo. He takes the bow back home with him, trudging through the snow, feeling the bitter cold for the first time in a long while. In the months that come, his fellow Harbingers question his sudden obsession with the weapon he’s neglected ever since he joined their ranks, but he has no answers for them. He only practises harder -  until the string of your bow is as familiar to him as his own palms.

He goes back to keenly awaiting the next outpost to take, if only to avoid the too-familiar Snezhnayan snow. Eventually, a mission comes up - and he receives several disparaging looks from his fellow Harbingers when he practically jumps at the opportunity, but he couldn’t care less. Within a week, he’s on a boat bound for Liyue.

His first move upon arriving in the Harbour is not to scout around for info regarding Rex Lapis, as he was advised to do. Instead, he stops a passing local, and asks for directions to Mount Hulao.

The golden-eyed gentleman is detailed in his instruction, and kind in his warning about the adeptus who will surely strike this insolent human down for daring to enter his abode. Childe barely hears his talk of sigils and permissions; his mind is already set on one track, and by the time he sets off, the only thing he remembers is the route that has been dictated to him.

Funnily enough, he meets no obstruction on his way up the mountain. No crystal comes to swallow him up; no adeptus comes to smite him. Perhaps it is the presence of the bow that he has carried since the day he lost you, or perhaps it is something else entirely, but it seems Mountain Carver will allow him passage on the mountain for now.

It’s dark by the time he reaches the peak. He barely feels the exhaustion weighing down his legs - only the relief as he finally sits down, and breathes in the cool night air.

“Uh huh.” His eyebrows lift at that, and you give him a slightly suspicious look. “...what’s that look for?”

“Nothing in particular,” He answers casually, looking away to focus on opening his lunch bag. “I’m just surprised you actually got him to pay attention. How’d you manage to find an exhibit he was actually interested him?”

“I just knew which ones to show him,” You say nonchalantly. “Like the cool vase. It was so cool that this one guy just stood there staring at it from across the room the whole time.”

“Right.” Satan raises an eyebrow at you, smiling in mild amusement. “Are you sure that wasn’t just a statue?”

“...it definitely wasn’t,” You say after a moment, deciding that you don’t want to contemplate the alternative. There’s no way you and Mammon are that stupid. “You’d know it too if you saw the vase. It was a really cool one.”

“So you keep saying,” He replies with a sigh, unwrapping a muffin and beginning to pick out the chocolate chips like a heathen, like he always does even though he knows you hate it. “But, you know, it sounded to me like Mammon was paying more attention to you than the vase. He’s talking a lot more about the look on your face than any of the exhibits.”

You nod seriously. “Yeah, it’s a problem for both of us. The other day I was talking to Levi, see, and he went—” - you put on a weird, Spongebob-y kind of voice - “— ‘Are you actually gonna tell me about the cafe or are you just gonna keep talking about Mammon the whole time?’ Like that.”

“A cafe?” asks Satan in clear anticipation, while Asmo pretends he didn’t start recording you in the middle of your Levi impression. “What kind?”

“Not a cat one,” You say, and Satan immediately drops all pretence of interest in what you’re saying. “Anyway, we talked about it a bit, and we both figured that you guys can just suck it up and listen or turn off your ears, 'cause we like talking about each other, so we’re gonna keep doing it.”

“Well, good for you, hon,” Asmo smiles and gives you a little thumbs-up of approval. He pauses, then asks, this time wearing an oddly devious expression, “Soooo… how are things going with Mammon.”

You give him a vaguely confused look. “...good? Were you not listening to the… the everything that I just said?”

“No, I mean, like…” He gives you a coy sort of look. “...are you two… serious yet?”

You consider for a moment, reaching for your juice box and beginning to chew absently on the end of your straw. Across the canteen, Mammon laughs so loudly at something that several demons around him shoot him disgruntled looks. “Dunno. What’s your definition of serious?”

“Well, you know me…” He does something funny with his hands. “Have you, like... sealed the deal? Made it official? Maybe even… got it on?”

“Got what on?” You ask cluelessly, still contemplating his original question. Satan, meanwhile, gives Asmo a mildly distasteful look. “...y’know, I don’t know if we ever did make it official…”

Before either Asmo or Satan have a chance to ask you what you’re planning, you stand up, cup your hands around your mouth, and yell across the canteen, “HEY, MAMMON!”

He snaps around to look at you so quickly that you have to wonder if he was waiting for you to call out to him. “YEAH?”

“ARE WE OFFICIAL YET?”

“HUH?”

“ARE— WE— OFFICIAL— YET?”

“WHY’RE YA ASKIN’ ME THAT NOW?”

“JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION!”

“UH— SURE, GO ON!”

“NICE!”

“LOVE YA!”

“LOVE YOU TOO!” You holler back, before finally sinking back down into your seat. Mammon, meanwhile, turns to carry on his conversation with his own lunch buddies, wearing a satisfied and slightly abashed smile.

“I cannot believe you,” Asmo sighs. “You couldn’t be more romantic about it?”

“Romantic isn’t a word in my dichotomy,” You say breezily. “But, I dunno, I reckon we can get pretty lovey-dovey…”

“Dictionary, not dichotomy, and that literally means the same thing,” Satan corrects - two in one go, like the smart-ass he is. He looks around the cafeteria, then grimaces. “...what was that for, anyway? We’re getting stared at now.”

“I’m getting stared at, actually,” You say, pretending to wave like a celebrity at the several demons still sending you disdainful looks. “I love my fans.”

Satan follows your line of sight and aims a glare at one of the demons giving you a particularly mean-spirited look - at which point they quickly turn to face the other direction. Of course, he decides to follow that sweet little act of friendship with a very sarcastic,  “You’re going to make Asmo jealous.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Asmo shakes his head airily. “Two hundred against fifty thousand, it’s hardly a fair competition…”

“There aren’t even thirty thousand students at the R.A.D!” You object. “You liar!”

He gives you a slightly pitying look. “I’m talking about our Devilgram followers, hon.”

“Oh… hey, that’s not fair!” You point at him with theatrically narrowed eyes. “I post better stuff than you, anyway. It’s not my fault demons don’t appreciate good humour…”

“Twenty puns about trees in a row is hardly good humour,” Satan deadpans, even though you both know he liked every single one of those damn tree puns. “I’m surprised you have any followers at all.”

Spoken like a true guy who is following you. You scowl at him - mostly playfully. “You’re so mean to me.”

“And Mammon treats you like you’re the universe’s gift to demonkind,” He replies with a shrug. “I’d like to think I’m balancing that out.”

You think about this for a while, then hum and lean forward on the table, lifting your left hand to block out your view of Satan’s face. “...I think I am the universe’s gift to demonkind, though.”

“Of course you are, hon,” agrees Asmo with an indulgent smile.

Satan, on the other hand, raises an eyebrow at you, then asks, “Did you come with a receipt if we want to return you?”

“Satan!” Asmo gives him a scandalised look, and you can’t entirely tell if it’s serious or not. “Don’t talk like that to the universe’s gift to us!”

“Asmo,” You say, eyes wide and voice wondering like a child in a cheesy Christmas movie, “I love you.”

He smiles at you brightly. “Love you too, hon, but don’t let Mammon hear you saying that.”

“He doesn’t mind,” You dismiss. “I mean, he did before, but he doesn’t anymore, cause we talked about it. I say the same words, but they mean a different thing when I say it to him, cause he’s my one and on-lyyyyyy…”

“Great speech, [Name],” sighs Satan. “I’ll save it for your wedding.”

“Oooo, a wedding,” You say, eyes round. “You know, I always thought it’d be fun to get married in one of those blow-up dinosaur costumes. I bet Mammon’d do it if I asked him.”

“He’d blow up the R.A.D. if you asked him, that’s not a high bar to cross,” Satan replies, shaking his head, then pauses and looks you in the face properly. “...are you seriously considering marrying him?”

You grin and shrug. Asmo gasps loudly and drops his half-eaten apple. “No, are you serious?! Wait, wait, there’s no way you’re having a wedding in dinosaur costumes—

“Oh, yeah, totally. I could ask him now, actually, get that out the way so we can start planning—HEY, MAMMON!” You call again, before either of the others can stop you. He swivels around to face you again. “D’YOU WANNA GET MARRIED?”

A disbelieving grin breaks across his face, so wide that it’s clearly visible even from the other side of the room. “WHAT?”

“DO— YOU— WANT— TO— GET— MARRIED— TO— ME?”

“WH— REALLY?!”

“DO YOU WANT TO OR NOT?”

“WELL, YEAH, TOTALLY!”

“AWESOME! WHEN DO YOU WANT THE WEDDING?”

“SATURDAY SOUND GOOD?”

“YEAH, SOUNDS GREAT!”

“LOVE YA!”

“LOVE YOU TOO!”

“I’m going to be sick,” Satan says flatly as you turn to face your two lunch table friends again. Despite his words, he doesn’t look nauseous at all, so you think that maybe he’s lying.

The rest of lunch is spent pretending to be interested in the many, many pictures Asmo shows you on his D.D.D., while Satan pretends not to be invested in this apparent wedding that’s happening on Saturday, and acts as if he won’t cry if you don’t ask him to get involved. You do contemplate not letting him in on preparations, but that’d be a bit mean-spirited, even if he did deserve it.

You’re not entirely sure if the wedding’s actually on or not, but either way you’ve already decided that Asmo can be your maid of honour and Satan your best man. (Usually the two marrying parties only get one of those each, but you think you deserve both.) Diavolo would probably agree to officiate, and maybe Lucifer would do the walking-down-the-aisle if you begged him super hard… of course, there’d be a very short guest list, but you’d like it better that way, anyway…

You’re not ashamed to say that you pay absolutely no attention to the rest of your lessons that day, too caught up in contemplating what exactly would change if you and Mammon did suddenly just get hitched. Not much, right? It’s not like marriage will suddenly make you love each other more (and personally you think you already love each other the perfect amount). What do people even get married for in the first place, actually…?

Later, Mammon catches up with you as you’re leaving the R.A.D., greeting you as usual by charging up and throwing his arms around your shoulders from behind. He falls into step beside you, oddly quiet for the first few minutes, swinging your hand back and forth like a thoughtful pendulum.

“...are you actually serious?” He asks finally. “About the… the marryin’ thing?”

You shrug and knock your shoulder gently into his. “If you want me to be.”

He’s quiet for another few moments. “...well, yeah, obviously.”

“Big commitment, marriage,” You say lightly after a moment.

“Psh,” Mammon shakes his head with a scoff. “I don’t reckon it’s that big a deal, is it? I know I like you, so if I wanna marry you, I will.”

“...yeah, it really isn’t a big deal,” You decide after a few seconds. “And it’s like we’ll like each other less just ‘cause we didn’t sign a contract, either.”

“Right?” The two of you continue walking in comfortable silence for a while. “...but, y’know… it does sound kinda nice. A contract’s all official, right? So, like… that’d make us official.”

“We’re already official, though. Remember at lunch?”

“Well, yeah, but…” He shrugs a little, giving your hand three light squeezes in quick succession. “...a contract’s kinda different. And, I dunno, the matching rings’d be nice.”

“Like a symbol,” You agree. “That you’re my dumbass forever.”

“I’m already your dumbass forever, idiot.”

“Your idiot. Also forever.”

“Forever does sound pretty great.” Mammon slows down a little. “...maybe Saturday’s too soon for somethin’ big and important like that. Weddings are usually, like, hyper-planned or somethin’, aren’t they?”

“Nah, there’s no fun in that,” You dismiss. “If we leave it too long, we’ll start second-guessing, and that’s no fun, either. I reckon we should just do whatever feels right, no take backs.”

He snickers. “Yeah, no take backs. And no take backs on the marryin’ thing, either, got it?”

“Got it. You know you’re never getting rid of me after that, right?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Fine by me.”

“...is fine good?’

“Fine’s the best, actually.”

“The best,” You repeat, wondering if you’d somehow get into trouble if you just threw yourself at him now. “You know what? You’re really great.”

“Right, the Traveller, yes,” Gorou nods distractedly. “So, [Name] - was there anything wrong? Were they injured?”

“I— I didn’t get close enough to find out,” Kozume replies nervously, hyper-focusing on Gorou’s face in an effort to stop himself from looking behind him. His tail… it’s still wagging. “But they seemed fine.”

“Seemed isn’t good enough,” Gorou mutters almost frenetically. “Injuries can be internal, too… why else would they come here? Maybe there’s trouble in Ritou. Or maybe they need something done…?”

He’s talking more to himself than Kozume at this point. The fluffy ears atop his head keep alternating between turning downwards and perking up, and he can’t seem to decide whether he wants to be excited or worried.

“...I’ll have to go see them,” Gorou decides finally, nodding firmly to himself. “Just to make sure nothing is amiss. Thank you for letting me know - Kabuto, was it?”

“My name’s—” Kozume begins, but doesn’t have time to finish before Gorou has turned and bound off for the shore. “...Kozume…”

Gorou makes it to the shore within a few minutes, practically sprinting the length of the entire island to get there. It’s been, what, a month since he’s last properly spent time with you? It’s been pure torture at times, but with the distance between your homes, there isn’t much he can do. He’d been planning an long date in Inazuma City just to make up for it all…

Good thing he’s going to see you now - in a purely professional capacity, of course, because technically he’s still on the clock, and technically he also has multiple duties to perform today, but checking up on you counts as a duty, too, right? You’ve never been to Watatsumi before, so even if you’re not here because of a problem, it’s his job as a general to make sure you don’t get lost or anything… the fact that he hasn’t seen you for so long has nothing to do with it! Nothing at all!!

He bounds over a rock and comes to a stop on the sand. For a moment he doesn’t see anything, and he wonders if Kozume was playing some kind of cruel trick. No, that can’t be right - he’s always been nice to him… so where are you…?

“Hey, it’s General Gorou!”

Aether and Paimon hurry up to him from somewhere further down the beach. Gorou returns their smiles and tries not to look too much like he’s trying to look for someone else.

“Ah, there you are,” He greets, attempting something like coolness. “What brings you to Watatsumi?”

“Looking for fish,” Aether replies amiably.

“Fish?” Gorou repeats. Of all the places to go fishing, he chooses Watatsumi? Her Excellency won’t be happy if she finds out… “...I see. So is— ahem, is [Name] with you?”

“Who?” asks Paimon cluelessly, and for a moment Gorou’s face falls, but then she ‘ohhh’s in realisation and nods. “Oh, right! From Ritou, right?”

“They owe us some Mora for ferrying them all the way over here,” nods Aether, folding his arms. “Just another commission…”

“I see - I’ll pay the fare, it’s no problem…” Gorou pats down his pockets for his money pouch, still glancing around in hopes of seeing you nearby. “...where are they?”

“They went off to the barracks,” Aether says, stretching out his hand and nodding in satisfaction as Gorou drops a series of clinking coins into his palm. “I think they said they wanted to surprise you. They brought a cake, too, it was a nightmare keeping it from smashing in the Waverider.”

“Oh…” It’s futile to even try to hide how enthusiastically his tail is responding to this. “Well, I… is there anything you need me for?”

“We’re fine!” Paimon reassures. “We know where to find the fish. You go and see your, um…”

She trails off - Gorou realises that she’s waiting for him to fill in the blank. He smiles a little bashfully. “Ah, well… [Name]’s my… my person, I guess?”

“Your ‘person’,” repeats Aether with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Right…”

“Hey, it’s—” He feels oddly defensive, suddenly. “—it’s more than it sounds like, alright? I just… don’t really know what words to use…”

“No, we get it,” Aether waves him off - though judging by the expression on Paimon’s face, she doesn’t. “Just go and spend some time with your person. Don’t worry about us.”

Well, if he’s going to say that, Gorou might as well take him on for his word. He doesn’t bother sticking around to continue acting like it isn’t you that he primarily cares about at the moment; he just bounds off for his room in the barracks.

There are several other soldiers buzzing around the door, exchanging what sounds suspiciously like gossip. They all go quiet as soon as Gorou approaches, and all simultaneously point at his door, clearing a path for him to get through. Is he imagining the knowing grins on their faces?

He slides the door open and steps through, swiftly shutting it behind him. There’s a little cupcake sitting resplendent on the table in the middle of the room - but no you. Come on, what’s the point of the cake if you won’t stick around to enjoy it with me…?

He peers into the other room, wondering if you’ve already made yourself at home in his bedroom, but there’s no sign of you there, either. Ears drooping, he shuffles towards the table and sits down - so immeasurable is his disappointment that even the perfect frosting-to-cake ratio of the cupcake doesn’t bring a smile to his face.

Did you just come to leave behind the cake and then immediately leave again? You didn’t even leave a note - if he hadn’t gone to see Aether first, he wouldn’t even have known that this was a gift from you. Besides, you should know by now that he’d prefer your company over a gift any day.

Unless you’re busy with some other kind of business on Watatsumi, and leaving the cake for him was just a brief detour. He guesses he can understand that...

Gorou’s midway through the cupcake when he realises that he’s been spending the last few minutes pouting to himself - like a child who’s been denied a toy. Even once he’s caught himself, though, he finds it kind of hard to wipe it off.

He licks a bit of stray frosting from his finger and folds the cake wrapper into a neat square, then sets it on his table and sits back with a morose sigh. A few moments of silence follow, and then he suddenly realises that it isn’t that silent at all.

His wardrobe is laughing. And he gets the feeling that it’s been laughing for a while now.

You don’t even bother trying to escape when Gorou abruptly makes a dash for the wardrobe and yanks the doors open. For a moment he stands there, staring dumb-foundedly down at you - his tail seems to have caught onto the situation before his brain has, because it’s started wagging forcefully enough to create a breeze.

“There he is!” You coo exaggeratedly, reaching up and allowing him to pull you out of your hiding place. “Took you that long, huh?”

“I was tired,” He mumbles in a flustered attempt at an excuse, tugging you through to his bedroom. “And I didn’t think you’d be hiding…”

“I wanted to surprise you,” You reply, settling back on the mat and smiling when he practically dives for your lap. “I didn’t think you’d just start sulking immediately.”

“Mrmhh,” He grumbles, beginning to pout again. “You could’ve just said hello.”

“It was funnier this way, though.” You scratch behind his ears. His tail starts thumping aggressively on his sheets; you pretend not to notice. “I hear you’ve been busy.”

“It’s always busy on Watatsumi,” He sighs, turning over onto his back to stare up at you adoringly. When you go to move your hand, he catches it and moves it straight back to his ears; you dutifully resume your ministrations. “There’s always something else to do.”

“The Divine Priestess hasn’t given you any breaks?”

“Well, we do get them regularly, but…” He reaches up and bats lazily at one of the tassels on your shirt. “...it feels strange to spend too much time idle around here. Anyway, that’s usually when I write out my Ms Hina responses.”

“Oh, yeah. Did you get mine? I sent it ages ago, but the guy I asked to deliver it for me didn’t seem that reliable. I think he only agreed ‘cause he was gonna send a question, too.”

Gorou pauses, then thinks for a moment. “I don’t know… wait— was it that Arataki guy that you sent it with?”

“That’s the one.”

“I think I ran into him while he was delivering it,” He recalls. “I was going to go collect my letters for the week, and then he came barrelling up like his life depended on it. He said something about accidentally leaving the letter in his pocket for two weeks…”

“Well, that’s Itto for you,” You sigh. “Heart’s in the right place, at least. Have you read it yet?”

“No…” One of his ears flicks slightly, as if in intrigue. “What did you write?”

“Ahhh, I think I’d rather leave that a secret…” You grin, tweaking his nose playfully with your free hand. He wrinkles it, but smiles back up at you anyway. “Just promise to give me a real heartfelt response, okay?”

“How’ll I know which one’s yours?”

“You will,” You say mysteriously. That only serves to make him more  curious, but he supposes he can afford to wait until his next letter-writing break.

He closes his eyes and just lies there with his head in your lap for a while, humming to himself in undisguised content as you alternate between scratching his ears and running your fingers through his ear. He’ll have to return the favour somehow later, but he just feels so comfortable right now… surely it’d be alright if he just took a little nap?

His thoughts turn to that letter you’ve sent just before he drops off, still contemplating exactly what you’ve asked Ms Hina about. Knowing you, it could be something completely nonsensical - but you know what? He’d be fine with that. As long as it’s something you’ve written, he’ll be sure to read and reply to it as diligently as possible.

Dear the lovely and wise Ms Hina—

I have a huge dilemma! I love my partner SO MUCH, but we don't live in the same place, and sometimes we don’t see each other in person for ages. I just want to make sure he knows that I’m always proud of him and how hard he works, and that everyone appreciates him for what he’s done for the cause he believes in. How can I make sure he knows exactly how absolutely floored I am that he’s decided to keep me? How should I go about telling him how cute it is when he gets excited over cake and how cool it is when he’s focused on something and how much I appreciate him and everything he does?

—

Dearest reader—

Personally, from the way you write, I think your partner knows all of this already. I'm sure he appreciates it dearly, too. In this case, all you need to do is stay by his side, in spirit if not in person, and everything should be just fine. I imagine that this lucky partner of yours would reciprocate everything you think of him tenfold. And I'm sure he loves you deeply, so don't falter in thinking that he does.