Diablerie.

Diavolo’s eyes were downcast as he walked along, listening to Barbatos drone on about his schedule for the rest of the day. Of course, he knew it was important and definitely something he needed to do as it was his duty, yet, he couldn’t help but long for a sense of freedom. He longed for a time he could simply be himself, not worry about his princely duties—he longed for something, he just wasn’t quite sure what. Of course, he knew Barbatos was simply doing his own job, but it didn’t stop the prince from zoning out. He could hear the shorter man give an exasperated sigh before repeating his last few sentences. Maybe a walk around R.A.D.’s campus would help him focus.

It wasn’t helping. He sighed during the entire walk, each time getting a little more dramatic; he hunched his shoulders and slouched a bit more with each heave, dragging his feet along the ground as though he were a toddler throwing a temper-tantrum. His pitch was whiny, and he secretly did feel bad for his unbecoming behaviour towards Barbatos, but he couldn’t help himself.  

As though it were a beam of light on a cloudy day, something had caught his attention from the corner of his eye, and turned his entire mood around. Without raising Barbatos’ suspicion—or so he thought—his gaze honed in on a small, stray kitten walking along the path behind the shorter man. His face instinctually turned to one mixed with shock and adoration, both attempted to hide behind the thin veil of collectiveness. Golden eyes kept flickering from his butler to the tiny mammal behind him.

“As I said before, after meeting with Lucifer to go over the budget for...” Barbatos scrunched his nose before interrupting himself. “My lord, you aren’t paying attention again.”

“What?” Diavolo’s shoulders stiffened as he let out a half-hearted laugh, “Of course I am!”

“.....What are you distracted by?”

“It’s nothing! Wait--”  

Before Diavolo’s outstretched hand could stop him, Barbatos turned to lock eyes with the kitten that had caught his liege's attention. He held his stare as if the two of them had a contest going without so much as a word, until the kitten had meowed up at him.

“It’s talking to you!”

“I wish it wouldn’t.”

“Don’t be mean to it, it’s cute!”

“My lord, we do need to get through this schedule for the day--”

“I’d much rather sit with this kitten.”

Diavolo quickly jumped at the chance to get down on all fours to level with the kitten, ignoring Barbatos’ pleas for him to not ruin his uniform. He cooed as the kitten rubbed against his face, meowing softly at him in response to his badly-attempted meows, and rolled onto its back to play with one of the pendants hanging off of his coat. A genuine laugh erupted from the man as he pet the creature.

“I’m glad you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself, Lord Diavolo, however we do need to get going now--”

“I’ve decided to keep it!”

“Absolutely not.”

“What!”

Like a child who was told no in the toy store—or a better comparison would have been a kicked puppy—Diavolo looked up at him with pleading eyes and a pouting lip. He mumbled to himself, about being the prince and frankly doing whatever he’d like, as though he truly were a child.

“My lord, a cat in the castle would be a terrible idea. You are too busy to see to one--”

“You could do it!”

“--and I’m too busy ensuring you’re taken care of to worry about the cat as well.”

Diavolo groaned and rose to his feet, keeping his back towards Barbatos. After agreeing that he would be right, he attempted to walk off and change the subject towards the schedule Barbatos was so adamant about, only to jolt to a stop as the butler cleared his throat.

“My lord--”

“I thought you said we were busy!” Diavolo chuckled, attempting to continue again, “Let’s go!”

“The cat, my lord.”

“It ran into the bushes--”

“Please take the cat out of your coat pocket.”

Hanging his head as he was caught, he placed the kitten gently onto the path, watching it scamper away, chasing after some sort of bug. He crossed his arms and jutted his lip out into a pout, keeping his glare just a tad icy towards Barbatos. Again, he was aware he was just doing his job, but the kitten was so adorable and just the distraction he felt that he needed, and his friend simply just wouldn’t allow him to have it; so, he listened. He listened intensively, absorbing each word Barbatos had thrown him and repeated key points to prove he had listened. His eyes, however, flickered to the small animal who kept running in and out of the bushes, tempting his willpower and attention an embarrassing amount.

Before he had realized it, however, one of the seven brothers had also been walking along campus. Noticing the two of them talk, Satan minded his own business and only stopped as a kitten randomly appeared in his path. Without so much as a second thought, he scooped the animal up and kept on his way, not realizing the heartbroken, utter shock that had washed over the Devildom’s prince.

“That seems to be the end of it, Lord Diavolo. Shall we move on to our meeting--”

“Did you see that!”

Barbatos tilted his head and looked behind him where Diavolo had been pointing; he used all of his might not to raise an eyebrow at his boss.

“See... what, exactly?”

“The--”

“If you’re going to mention the cat again, then please forgive me for cutting you off. We simply cannot have the cat.”

“But Satan took it!”

“Ah, then you should take solace in knowing that cat is well taken care of. Now, moving on to our meeting, my lord.”

Without so much as another word, Barbatos ushered Diavolo off towards their next location, the cat never left his mind.

***

By the end of the day, MC had noticed something weighing on the prince. He seemed sluggish, lost in thought, a million miles away in those eyes as they sat across the room from him. During the rare moment he sat alone, MC approached him casually.

“Hey,” they leaned against the edge of his desk, “something on your mind?”

“Oh? Was it obvious?”

“I’m just a really good guesser.”

Diavolo leaned back in his chair and shot them an award-winning smile, the hearty, whimsical laugh he’s known for followed suit.

“Then that must be your version of magic, interesting. I’ll admit there is something on my mind that I just can’t shake.”

“Care to tell me what it is?”

Before MC could even get the last syllable out, Diavolo slammed his hands on the desk and stood instantly. He leaned in towards them with wide eyes and a slight pout, not noticing that his sudden closeness caused MC to swallow hard.

“Satan took my cat!”

“..... I’m sorry, what?”

“My cat! He took it!”

“You... had a cat?”

“Yes! No! Kind of?”

“Diavolo, not to sound rude but... I’m really not following.”

He sat back down and bit the inside of his cheek, sighing heavily before explaining himself.

“There was this kitten, outside, it was absolutely adorable. The roundest little face, big eyes, soft fur—it was tiny, too! Just the perfect little thing, and I wanted to take it home! Take care of it! But--”

“But?” MC dragged out their syllables.

“But,” Diavolo mimicked their actions, “Barbatos said it was impossible to take care of a cat as of now. He refused to let me take it, and not only that, but I had to watch in silence as Satan came along and took the cat as his own!”

“Well, if Satan took it--”

“Then it’s in good hands, yes, Barbatos said the same; that isn’t the point!”  

Diavolo held his tongue on what truly bothered him, hoping that MC-the-great-guesser wouldn’t take notice that his burst of emotions dug much deeper than just a little cat he met outside. A thought passed his mind and it clicked for him—a plan—he'd have to think more about. He composed himself, stood up and straightened out his coat before shooting another large, fake smile towards the human.

“Anyway, I have other meetings to get to, unfortunately. It is my duty, after all. My apologies for being so... emotional, but thank you for lending me your time.”

MC’s eyes followed as he stiffly walked from the room. He may have been the prince of Devildom, but MC couldn’t hide the smile on their lips towards his childish behaviour they grew to find endearing. They did wonder what deeper emotions were hidden behind his need for the cat, however.

***

Relaxing by the window, MC was startled to hear a light knock against the glass in the middle of the night. Terrified, they very slowly turned their head to meet face to face with a disheveled prince, smiling from ear to ear. Tossing fear and confusion aside, they rushed to open the window and called out to him in a hushed tone.

“Diavolo? What are you doing here? I mean... here, and also, at my window.” They grabbed his hands and helped him start to climb in. “There is a front door, you know. I’m pretty sure Lucifer wants you to use it. Should I let him know you’re here--”

“No!” Diavolo cried as he fell forward through the window. He sat up as though nothing had happened. “I’m here in secret, please keep it between the two of us!”

“Al...right, but why exactly are you here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it is the middle of the night, and you know it seems...” They couldn’t finish their statement due to nerves and turned away to keep the red on their cheeks hidden.

“Hm? Oh, about that!” He stood up suddenly, “I’m going on an adventure! Come with me!”

“Shh! You’re the one who said this was a ‘secret visit’, so keep your voice down!”

“Right!” He lowered his voice, “I’m going on an adventure, so come with me.”

“Where exactly is your adventure going to lead us? Does Barbatos know--”

“No, he does not and he doesn’t need to!”  

Diavolo’s eyebrows were drawn together, nose scrunched in irritation. He sighed and shook his head, forcing an apologetic smile on his lips.

“My apologies, I mean, this isn’t a matter that concerns Barbatos. I came to you for assistance this time, I thought perhaps we could have some fun; what do you say?”

MC twisted their lips to the side, eyeing whatever the tall man was hiding; it didn’t take much to see that he was, in fact, hiding something... but what was it? They nodded, agreeing to whatever plan he may have, knowing they couldn’t just let the prince of Devildom run off and make childish mistakes on his own. MC would get in trouble with Barbatos at that point, and they shivered at the thought of being on bad terms with him. Once they silently agreed, Diavolo captured their hand in his—blind to the eruption of blush across their face—and quickly slipped into the hall.

They were dragged along as Diavolo tiptoed dramatically, peeking around corners and hiding in the shadows. MC was flung around as though they were some sort of paper doll. Diavolo seemed way too out of his element to sneak around properly, so MC called out to him quietly to have him take a moment and explain just what he was doing.

“Stop, stop. You’re terrible at this. Where are you going anyway? The front door isn’t up the stairs--”

“Our destination is, though!” He said in a hushed shout, his movements a bit antsy. “We have to go up.”

“To where, exactly?”

“Hush!”

He covered their mouth with his hand, oblivious to how it caused their heart flutter, he focused his attention to the sound of walking in the hallway behind them. Diavolo rushed them along, stopping at a door and quickly attempting to jiggle his way through the lock. MC faced the hallway, wary of the approaching footsteps and faint voices as they kept watch; Diavolo simply used magic to unlock the handle, and pulled MC in so quick he literally swept them off of their feet. Both of them held an ear against the door and heard as two of the brothers made their way back to their rooms. Before MC could give a sigh of relief, they could hear Diavolo cooing at something in a baby tone. A light bulb went off in their head as they slowly turned to face the room, a look of distaste, disbelief, and irritation graced their features.

“We broke into Satan’s room.”

“Yes!” Diavolo held the kitten up to his face, laughing as it give his cheek a few kisses.

“A cat.”

“Yes!”

“We broke in... to Satan’s room,” MC put heavy emphasis on Satan being the owner, “to steal a cat.”

“Yes.”

“Diavolo!” MC shouted before quickly quieting back down, “We’re dead if we’re caught in here! Well, I will be. You’re the prince of Devildom, you probably won’t be. But I will be. Satan is going to get pissed, oh my god, I’m going to die, aren’t I? I am. I’m going to die. I’m--”

Diavolo held the kitten up to MC’s face, the latter stopping their rant in their tracks as the kitten gave their nose a few kisses. They couldn’t stop themselves from getting red at how cute the prince seemed to smile at them, but they forced disapproval on their features.

“He had the kitten I wanted. I couldn’t simply ask him for it, even if he agreed, Barbatos would make me return it.”

“What difference is that opposed to stealing it?”

Diavolo sat on the ground and stared at the kitten in his hands, a faraway look of longing replaced his usual cheerful smile. MC refused to let him play it off again.

“What’s actually eating at you?”

“The difference, I guess...” he couldn’t meet their eye and instead focused on petting the cat, “is the adventure. The ability to do something so ridiculous for the thrill and fun of it all. Throwing aside the fact that I’m the prince, for once. Just being a person, since people don’t tend to treat me that way. I thought... if I could have this cat, even after being told no, I could have a sense of freedom. It sounds absolutely ridiculous hearing myself say it out loud. Definitely not the presence a ruler should have, huh?”

His sad smile broke MC’s heart in two. Without a word, they moved next to him; he thought they were going to pet the cat so he offered it to them, but their hand landed on top of his head instead. Their voice was quiet and filled with honey, each word dripping with sincerity.  

“I dunno. I think you’re pretty neat. I like hanging out with you, as you are.”

It was Diavolo’s turn to look dazed with wide eyes and a blush across his face. He quickly composed himself with a tender smile and a whimsical laugh; there were quite a few things running through his mind that he wished he could say to MC, but nothing would come out clear enough. Instead, the two of them resided in a peaceful silence, his smile and relaxed shoulders showed how thankful he was to hear that from them. They had gotten lost in the peace, petting the kitten and playing around with the spunky little thing, they hadn’t heard anything come up behind them, nor had they felt the frightful aura shift in the area.

The way their hands fit in his was like a dream.

His was much larger than theirs, but it fit perfectly so that he could wrap his around in a protective manner. Theirs was always so soft while his was rough. His warmed their cold ones each and every time. He’d rub his thumb over their knuckles, they’d draw circles on the back of his. His hands felt empty if theirs weren’t there too. They held his hand each time they slept near one another, walked next to each other, or any time he didn’t need both hands to snack or otherwise, really. It was as though they were meant to be together. Their hands were pairs, please do not separate. He learned that meme from MC, too.

Beelzebub never thought much about it—it was simply something they did. It was a comfort, to him at least, and he hoped they felt the same way about it. It became natural, to constantly find his hand occupied; he was so used to it, he would fumble if he were to use two hands for something.  

One thing MC did not anticipate, however, was how dependent they would become on the presence of their hand. Would they always get this cold before? How about this lonely? The idea of “empty” was something Beel could not wrap his head around, but MC felt what they could only describe as such a hurtful feeling whenever the spaces between their fingers were bare. It was a slow realization; feelings crept up from corners of shadows inch by inch and met their eyes before they could even think about it. If he didn’t see the same level of intimacy within their hand-holding anymore, how were they supposed to face him?

Their hands started to get clammy a lot more often, having the need to excessively apologize and break away to wipe it off on their shirt. They grew nervous with each questioning glance, and brushed it off as they were just stressed about something else, or it was simply just too hot in there. They’d hesitate to offer their hand, take far too long to grab onto his in public, and “pretend” to already be asleep if they were napping together to avoid holding his hand. They felt horrible as they started to notice the flicker of sadness pass through his eyes before they gave in each time, but couldn’t bring themselves to bring up the topic. What if they caught feelings for him, but he didn’t feel the same way back? What if they ruin the relationship the two of them have because of it? What if it ruins the idea of holding hands for Beel forever? What if—their hands were sweaty again.

Beel wouldn’t stay quiet forever. He’d take notice of their behaviour and start to wonder—did he do something wrong? Maybe they didn’t like holding his hand anymore? No, that didn’t seem to be it, because they still would if he offered it. Did he make them feel uncomfortable? That seemed more plausible, but why? What did he do? He’d intertwine his fingers with theirs, only to notice they not-so-subtly refused to let their palm rest against his.  

“MC, you know, we always hold hands.” He let go and turned to look them in the eyes, determined to fix whatever he had done, “Why are you acting weird?”

Their eyes grew wide and they blubbered like a fish, opening and closing their mouth as they struggled to come up with an answer only to stutter what half-baked excuses they could think of.  

“Was it... something I did?” he looked like a kicked puppy, eyes almost brimming with tears though it were obvious he was holding them back. “What can I do to fix it?”

“No!” their shout startled him, so they sheepishly recoiled and rubbed the back of their neck. “I mean, no, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s... it’s stupid; it’s a problem with me. I mean, it’s a problem I’m dealing with. It has nothing to do with you. I mean, it does—not in a bad way, I mean--”

They continued rambling, noticeably getting more and more bothered by whatever was on their mind as well as how terribly they kept eating their words trying to explain themselves. Beel thought long and hard about their actions and facial expressions rather than focusing on the words coming out of their mouth. The flushed look to their skin, the way their eyes seemed to focus on anything but him all while seemingly longing for something they wouldn’t speak about. He paused a moment as the shock set in, and simply gave a gentle smile before grabbing their hand once again, tighter than he normally did, and made sure they held his back and simply turned and continued walking, tugging them along despite their cries.

Leviathan didn’t enjoy socializing.  

He actively avoided leaving his room, and didn’t waste his time with trying to get close to the “normies” who surrounded him in the universe. He was alone and didn’t mind it so long as he had his passions to keep him company—and Henry. He liked Henry’s presence.  

The tug on his finger was annoying, and at times he would find himself enraged by the fact it caused him such an inconvenience. Rhythm games were almost impossible to do and if he dared to knock over any of his figurines again, he just might call upon Lotan to punish him for his own crimes. Levi would trip over nothing, run into door frames, and worst of all, there were times this stupid string of his would pull so suddenly he’d fly out of his chair. It had him enraged, and he was ready for it to be gone. The taut string was infuriating and limited his movements far more than he liked, but no matter what he attempted to do to cut it some slack, it never seemed to work. Scissors would break under the sheer pressure he put them other, and magic simply backfired if he used it on the red line between him and whoever else.  

He was told it was supposedly attached to his “soulmate”, or whatever. He was well aware of the trope—he's seen enough anime to get the gist—but he didn’t care to find out who was on the other end. Sure, the idea of a soulmate was enticing; someone who was perfectly crafted to be your match while you were crafted the same way? The two of you meant to be together in some way, shape, or form, enriching each other's lives and making each day worth living—he wasn’t interested. All he cared about was what surrounded him and made him happy in his present state.

Levi had gotten used to the limitation on his movements; he could reach the corner of his room if he stretched as far as possible and duck underneath his desk to plug something in so long as he stuck his other hand out from underneath it. Lately, however, he found it severely odd that he was able to move a bit more freely. He was able to do whatever he wanted; spin in his chair, go wherever he pleased (his idol meet-ups were the only places he died to go, however), and found that he could even pull on this annoying little string of his. He’d yank on the cord sincerely hard at all hours of the day, hoping to inflict some sweet revenge on whoever had caused him to struggle for so long. Every time he watched the string drop a bit more, indicating the person on the other end may have fallen on their face, he couldn’t help but let out a hearty laugh. Levi would admit it did make him feel a bit frightened to know it insinuated that the person on the other end could potentially be much closer to him than they were before.

No, he didn’t care about soulmates. His soulmate was the very love he had for his anime, his games, his idols—for Ruri-chan! Levi couldn’t care less about the person on the other end. They were probably some normie anyway, and he had no time for that. Late at night, however, while he looked at his reflection in the loading screen, he wondered just what they might have been like. It didn’t mean he would seek them out, just... curious. Months had passed; he no longer paid attention to how the string seemed to neither pull at him nor wiggle about.  

Dammit, he needed his money back from Mammon. Luckily, he could hear his older brother’s annoying voice ring out from downstairs so he reluctantly made a move to meet him there, moaning and groaning about how disgusting he thought Mammon’s greedy actions were. Orange eyes were trained on his feet as he walked, his thoughts wandering between the idea of forcing the money he needed right then out of his brother, or demanding everything that was owed to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the stupid string around his finger once again and sighed, playing around with it a bit; what he realized made him stop in his tracks, however.

He could see the string. Well, he could always see the piece around his finger, and every so often a glimpse of a piece just a bit away from him—but never so much of it at one time. It didn’t give any sort of strain nor slack either. An overwhelming sense of panic took over his body, and he decided to give it a bit of a test; as he had done several times before, he grabbed a hold of the red cord and pulled it back, hard. Below him, he heard a loud thud as someone had fallen to the floor and Mammon call out to whoever it had been. Quickly, his heartbeat was the only thing he could hear pounding in his ears as each step he took towards the two bodies downstairs were so shaky he wondered if he could even do it without falling down.

The person on the other end was there? In the hallway? In his house? In Devildom? It was a fact he just couldn’t fathom. He didn’t care—he had been saying it for what felt like forever-- but why did the pit of his stomach feel so jittery that it hurt? He felt like he was waiting in line at a handshake event with his favourite idol; his hands were shaking and sweaty and he couldn’t quit fidgeting. It was as though he could feel every cell in his body at once and they were all shouting to the point his body felt like old TV static. He didn’t care. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t care. With each step closer to the mystery person, the louder the ringing in his ear seemed to get.

Levi couldn’t bring himself to lift his eyes for a moment when he heard Mammon call out to him; instead of looking towards the person with him, he trained his gaze onto the white-haired male and put all of his focus into blocking out his peripheral vision. As his brother spoke, his mind easily snapped back to the task at hand—chewing him out for his money back. He hounded him, threatening him as he normally did, only to be blown off as he attempted to inch his way down the hall; calling after him was useless, Mammon had taken off running, leaving Levi with the so-called “soulmate”. Their presence behind him was heavy, and he faced away from them as long as possible. Maybe they wouldn’t notice it was him? Maybe they wouldn’t realize and rather fear him, knowing he was a demon? Maybe they didn’t care—he sure didn’t. Not at all.  

“Um, excuse me...” their voice was heavenly. Levi could feel his ears turn red and a shiver crawl painfully slow up his spine. “Leviathan... right? Your brothers mentioned you--”

Their voice wavered, the words dying in their throat. Were they nervous? He wasn’t. He wiped his hands on his pants before turning to look at their feet. Orange eyes dragged up their frame to meet theirs that looked like they gleamed like the stars were supposed to. He didn’t care.  

“I’m MC,” they played with the perfect little bow wrapped around their finger. He watched them bite their lip ever so slightly and subconsciously mirrored their movements. He didn’t care.

He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care. They could be the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, as though they fell from heaven alongside him, so terrifyingly perfect he couldn’t even wrap his head around it and he wouldn’t bat an eye. His throat was dry—he was gaming all night beforehand, that was why. It was hot in the house, that’s why his hands were sweaty; no, it was cold in there, that’s why he was shaking.  

Deflecting their question, he put a bit of disgust behind his voice as he spoke to them, telling them to make a pact with Mammon. He didn’t care if they did, he just wanted his money. He didn’t care if they got close to his brother. Levi ignored the pain in his chest as he thought about it. He ignored the confused, and somewhat sad, look to their face as he kept talking.

He doesn’t care about meeting some stupid normie that would be his “soulmate”. He didn’t care at all. He just wanted to go back to his room and watch the new episode he’d been waiting for, maybe get some food since his stomach had been churning the entire time he stood there. He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t--

Ghosts roam these halls, though they all look like her.

His eyes still haven’t adjusted; shadows creep away to hide

but for some reason, they all seem to look

like either of them. Perhaps they were? Were they the scorched

remains of their passion that illuminated against the walls?

His feet were heavy, dragging along the floor

the panels of wood creaking like the post to that

old bed of his. He was pride embodied,

chest puffed and chin up, a lazy smile across his lips;

he was graced by the goddess herself,

allowing him a sinful dance with the devil

for the night as the moonlight made her look

so beautiful. As warm as their bodies had been

together, his body felt so cold now that the sunlight has

touched his skin, and her hands were no longer there

to provide the burns. Her ghost was the only thing left

The room lit up only by the small lights of their ignored phone screens. MC sat on their bed, wiping tears off their face with the backs of their hands constantly. Belphegor couldn’t understand how they’d gotten to this point.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, reaching to pull their arms away as he had tried earlier. “I don’t understand--”

“There was never a chance, was there?”

Their voice was strained, mumbling and broken with scattered sobs. The sight of their pent-up pain and sorrow made Belphie feel guilty, hurt as well, and certainly confused.

“A chance? What are you talking about?”

“I should have known there was no chance. After everything—of course not.”

“MC. What are you talking about.”

“Me!” they shouted now, “there was no chance for me, was there? I try and try for you to just... love me! Why don’t you?”

Belphie stared at them now, his face void of all emotion. Where did they get this idea from?

He thought back to the moment he met them-- stuck in that damn attic with hatred in his heart and manipulation skills at his fingertips. He talked them into helping him, using them from the start with overwhelming intent to dispose of them once he was done. Belphie remembered the look in their eyes, the way their face contorted in pain, the betrayal deep in their features. He remembered seeing the life leave their body, how they’d gone limp—he remembered how he felt seeing such a sight. It felt...

Memories shifted; scenes of friendship and intimacy flew by. Belphie recalled how they helped him bridge the gaps between him and his brothers, the secret naps with one another, holding them close and going as far as to propose a bond between the two of them—a pact—that can be such a special thing to give to such a human. He remembered the laughs, the smiles, the late nights and the long talks. He remembered how he felt through all of those, too.

Belphie reached for them now, pulling them to cry against his chest and run his hands through their hair while whispering soft words of comfort to calm them down. What was he supposed to say? What were the right words? How was he supposed to explain how he felt?

“You stood a chance,” he started, swallowing hard, “I’m taking the chance right now.”

It took hours for MC to quiet down and fall asleep in his arms, and now he’s left to his thoughts. He looked at them the best he could, running his fingertips along their body to try and truly feel them.

He knew himself—he liked to think well—and knew his chances in life. He knew how often he felt lost, angry, pathetic—he knew how often he fell flat on his face when taking a chance on anything he thought would make him feel like himself again. He wished he knew the right words to say to MC, then, the words to express the pain that accompanied his own fear. They stood a chance—he wanted to take this chance—but how was he supposed to comfort them when he was afraid of his own failure?

A heavy sigh accompanied sad eyes as he couldn’t bear to look at them anymore, whispering to the empty air.

★・・・★ MAMMON★・・・★

“Whatcha getting'?” Mammon peeked over MC’s shoulder and eyed the neatly displayed pastries. “Oh oh, that one! Get me that one.”

“I’m not getting you anything!” They thanked the demon behind the counter and pushed Mammon out of their way, “these aren’t for you, so don’t go trying for any!”

“Come on!”

He whined, knowing MC wouldn’t budge, even when he used his Mammon-Grade puppy dog pout—which he liked to think got to them. MC couldn’t bring themselves to tell him otherwise.

“Who are ya getting treats for, then? I’m your number one demon, ain’t I?”

“Never said they were for a demon.”

Mammon paused for a moment, hustling to catch up to the one who continued walking.

“Who else would ya give ‘em to?”

“None ya.”

Much to his dismay, MC ignored his pleading and repeated questions, only to smile and wave off his more ridiculous theories. He couldn’t even get a hint to where they were going! Not that a hint would have helped anyway, he was too focused on finding out just who had MC’s attention enough for a sweet treat. Not... that he was jealous—or even cared at all!

“Purgatory Hall?” Mammon glared at the building, “they better not be for that damn human!”

“Or what? You’ll fight him?”

“Yeah! Well--”

Another dismissive smile before they kept walking; the words Mammon spoke fell on deaf ears as MC continued to ignore him. Knocking on an unfamiliar door, Mammon braced himself for... whatever—not that he was scared. He hadn’t expected a dog to answer the door.

“The chihuahua?” he scoffed, “that’s who these are for?”

“Maybe I like spoiling a little angel every now and again.”

MC ruffled Luke’s hair as he cried for them to stop, swatting at their hand as they only laughed. The scene before him made Mammon’s brain spin; the way MC doted on the small blonde, teased, and interacted seemed... sweet, familial. Why the hell is he getting all that sweet attention?

“MC!” Mammon pushed Luke out of their way and crouched so their hand would land on the top of his head instead with a blush and a pout. “What about me, huh?”

★・・・★ BEELZEBUB★・・・★

Beelzebub doesn’t notice much when he’s munching, but something across the room caught his eye—the lively way MC laughed.  

They seemed so happy—something in their conversation with Luke apparently made them shine so bright. The angel looked flustered, signaling for MC to stop whatever teasing they had been putting him through. The way they smiled at him was endearing—it made Beel’s stomach flip, in a good way.

After pouting, Luke’s expression changed. The both of them seemed happy—it was cute. The aura around was relaxed, gentle, sweet; if an aura had a taste, Beel’d assume this one tasted like vanilla.

The way the two interacted was familiar to him; it was a feeling he remembered having long ago that was almost nostalgic now. The kindness in MC’s eyes to tag along with the mischievous smile, Luke’s whining tone to his angry cries towards their prodding—it was family. Beel wished he’d feel something similar again soon. For now, though, he’s content knowing the two across from him had such a bond, and that he’s able to witness it.

Beel must have been lost in thought without realizing it, as MC and Luke now stood in front of him.

“Oh?”

“Got something to say, Beel?” MC asked, obviously teasing.

“Why are you just staring!” Luke huffed, “if it’s for my treats, you can just forget it!”

Beel laughed, a deep, genuine one rumbled against his ribs. The blushes across MC and Luke’s faces reflected vastly different emotions, Beel liked seeing both. Leaning over the table a moment, he engulfed them in a crushing hug, earning a cry from both parties.  

As he sat back down, his smile never wavered while they pulled up seats next to him. Feeling the familial love was far different than seeing it, and he was the luckiest guy in the world to be in the middle, no matter how short of a time it may be.

MC leaned across him to grab one of the boxed sweets they had given the small angel earlier, much to the blonde’s dismay. Ignoring his shouts, they stuck their tongue out as a taunt, and fed Beel the snack instead.

Beauty lies within the eye of the beholder, and Asmodeus surely was the best. The best looking, best judge of beauty, and well, just the best overall. He was the best, he knew he was the best, he never expected someone like MC could make him feel so small.

‘Someone like MC’, who was he trying to kid? A human; delectable as could be with the ability to make him feel as though he were running a marathon only to win second place. The one person he felt could truly rival him, were he to look into his heart deep enough. ‘Someone like MC’, he was a fool to think in such a way.

Asmo was Asmo—the very pillar of lust, he liked to believe. All loved him and if they held any doubt, he’d help them come to their senses with a little boost from his charm magic. No fake love—just helping realize their deep love hidden away all along, he liked to say.

He liked fun. He liked others. He liked fun with others. It was very cut and dry; he was who he showed others; he wished that were true.  

Hanging off of MC wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The way he loved to flirt, pamper them, or caress them in any way possible made him ecstatic. Of course, Asmo could have anyone he wanted—he didn’t need to settle or commit to just one; how is it that MC made him feel the latter?

Commitment, fear, insecure—he remembers a very vague scene of his drunken rambles where he spilled his hearts shadows to MC themselves; his fear of loving someone more than himself—he knew MC heard those three little words loud and clear. Why didn’t they say it back?

Not hearing those words always weighs on the back of his mind, but he doesn’t let it show on his features. They haunted him. There are times he drowns these thoughts out with senseless fun, others, he tries to still his overworking heart with the over-stimulation his senses get when they’re around.

Why is it that their smile never reaches their eyes? Why is there never heat on their cheeks when he leans in close or shivers down their spine when he brushes along their skin? Why do they never share the most intimate of words when they pass his lips first?

It irritates him. It’s confusing—worse, it’s painful. Asmo tries and tries again, no longer silently begging for even the slightest bit of their attention. He craves it, he needs it; its heavenly burn spreads through every inch of his being as though it were a wild fire. The ache he feels for them is haunting. Words, gifts, touches, seductions—nothing gets those beautiful eyes to look back at him with the same level of love.

One night in particular hands heavy in his thoughts; makes his heart hurt, his hands shale, his soul shatter. He can hear them clear as day, their beautiful lips moving to say such hurtful words. Asmo responds with a half-hearted smile, a dismissive tone to hide the hurt in his eyes.

“Why not me?” He asked. “Am I not good enough?”

“I’m sorry,” their words stung, “there’s someone back home.”

Back home? Back... home? Reality has never hit Asmo as hard as it had hearing those words.

He constantly smiles, playing and continuing on as though his confession were simply just a child's game in which MC lost the prize.

Those words haunt everything he does. Seeing them haunted him. Yet, he could never get enough of the pain—the idea of life without them hurt much more than his reality.

Asmo watched them from across the room; their eyes shined from the level of love so abundant for whoever waited for them back home as they recited some story he wished he couldn’t hear. He was used to spirits—drinks, passion, or wanderlust souls—but this was one he couldn’t drown himself in no matter how hard he wished for it.

The sight of the back of the first-place winner never sat right with him, but being out of the race was worse.