LOW-TIER INCUBUS

He looks up at the gentle golden glow coming off the solar design on his wall, barely illuminating the room just enough to navigate, before his gut begins its growling demands. It's no use to try to go back to sleep; he can't fight these cravings in the night for long.

With a shake of his head, he slides out of bed and quietly makes his way towards the door, glad that Belphie sleeps heavily enough never to be disturbed by his movements. In the short trek from his room to the kitchen, he can feel his stomach growing emptier and emptier, until his vision starts to blur, and he's holding himself back from gnawing off the door itself.

He grabs the first thing within reach off the table and gorges upon it without hesitation. Guilt nibbles at the edge of his mind as he vaguely registers the shape of something like a drawn-on face upon his tongue -- some special treat of Levi's, probably, and he'll get chewed out for it in the morning, no doubt. But the voracious growling of his stomach drowns those thoughts out easily, and he forgets quickly as he lumbers his way dizzily forward. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it sates the hunger long enough to reach the fridge.

His sight comes back into focus as he reaches for the fridge's handle, only to realize it's already open, with the shadowed silhouette of someone sitting in front of its heady glow, peeking over the door at him with mild terror in their eyes.

"Beel, it's me," you breathe in a nervous hush.

Your voice rings distant through the fog of hunger, buzzing in his head like swarms of flies -- or maybe those are his own wings, clicking behind him in voracious frenzy. This isn't the first time you've caught him midnight snacking, but it's usually the other way around, when he's already deep into his feasting.

He reaches a hand past you without answer, without eye contact, no sign of even having heard you, fingers closing rapaciously around whatever food they can find. Your presence is calming to him, always has been, ever since the day he decided to make his pact with you, but that's not enough right now. He doesn't trust himself not to devour you whole. He needs to eat, he is starving, and you smell so delicious.

So he reaches past you, grabbing whatever he can, and he eats. He eats, and eats, and eats, until the buzzing stops, and finally, his belly isn't screaming its emptiness anymore.

You're still standing there beside him, and he realizes you've been handing him things as he ate, snacks from the cupboards to sate him and glasses of water from the sink to help him wash them down. The fear is gone from your face, replaced only with worry.

Well, he did consume half the fridge's contents within minutes, after all.

He wraps you up in a big bear hug, expressing only a blunt, "Thank you," and his embrace is tight but warm, and full of relief.

"Are you feeling better now?" you ask, giving him a light squeeze in return.

"Yeah, for now. I might wake up hungry again later. Though, I feel better having you here with me. Like my stomach is less angry, somehow. But I think I'm okay now, so I'll go back to bed. You should probably go back to bed too. Belphie always says you don't get enough rest."

You're quiet for a moment, thinking, and then answer, "Well, why don't I come sleep next to you? If you wake up again, I'll make you something properly to eat."

"Are you sure?" he asks. To be honest, the thought of eating your cooking has him salivating all over again, but he doesn't want to ask too much of you.

"Yeah. I sleep better in your room sometimes, anyway."

Nodding firmly, he takes your hand, leading you back to the twins' room, where Belphie is still sleeping peacefully, unaware. Quietly careful not to disturb the youngest brother, you climb into his bed together, snuggling up close. He can smell raspberries and vanilla caramel on your breath -- the pudding you had snacked on before he'd come in, probably. The last thing he thinks before drifting back to sleep is how sweet of a scent it is, just like you.

When he wakes again, it's morning already, and you're giving him a gentle poke on the nose.