It's nice to say "I love you" — Beelzebub likes to tell you that when the two of you are alone — but there's an even better phrase he likes to hear.
You said it to him one random night, very late into the night. He was watching a movie on TV that piqued your interest so you decided to stay. It was long, though. Demons have a different sense of time than humans do. Their movies can go on for hours and hours.
The film was interesting, no doubt about it, but your eyelids grew heavy and you began listing to the side. The spicy chips and savory snacks Beelzebub continued to offer did nothing to ward off exhaustion. His upper arm became your pillow as you sunk back into the couch cushions. At some point you even began snoring. It was hard to hear the movie.
The credits began rolling long past midnight.
Beelzebub whispered, "Hey."
He slightly wiggled his elbow until you raised your face, eyes half-closed. Your cheek was red from being pressed against his bicep, and his arm suddenly felt cold without you on it.
"Want me to carry you back to your room?" he offered. There was nobody with more experience carrying sleeping people than Beelzebub. He was proud of his skills.
Beelzebub did not want to leave you in the living room. You deserved privacy and a chance to sleep in. He moved his arm again when he felt you slide against him, slumping your shoulder into his side and nuzzling your face back into sleeping position.
Beelzebub made an executive decision. "I'll take you back, let's go."
Part of a chip rolled onto the floor when he stood up. You toppled over onto the open couch seat with a cranky groan but didn't put up a fight when he scooped you his arms.
"I wanna stay with you," you sighed, reluctant for your journey to the bedroom to end. Your legs dangled over his arm, occasionally bumping into each other. You grabbed the front of his shirt in a weak grip.
Beelzebub eyed you, tired and somewhat delirious in your current state. Defenseless.
"I don't think that's safe," he responded. Strong as you were, you were no match for him if you didn't have the mental clarity to wield your pact magic.
"But you make me feel safe," you replied, letting his shirt fabric fall through your fingers as you brought your hand down.
Beelzebub carried you down the hallway a little further and then slowed to a stop. A flush was spreading across his face. His stomach started doing flips and his muscles tensed.
Here was a demon, a fierce, malevolent entity with misdeeds so vile that history would only preserve them through terrified whispers. In his arms, a human. A being of skin and bones who was fated to last no more than a century. One wrong move in the Devildom and you were done for.
His heart felt like it was melting. The weight of your words was heavier than you were, weighing on his mind like a mountain of sand. Nobody had told him that in a very, very long time. Even for a demon. He made you feel safe. You made him feel a certain way, too. Though he couldn't put it into words as easily as you could.
Beelzebub brought you up higher and nestled you against his chest so he could rest his chin on your head. Your breathing was slow, so you must have dozed off again. Or maybe you were never fully awake to begin with.
He had to get you to bed, to tuck you in and make sure you fell asleep in the privacy of your own room. Beelzebub decided along the way that you might feel safer if he stayed with you. It would be cramped but you would feel warmer, and his body could shield you from nightmares, and he could tell you he loved you first thing in the morning when you woke up. That sounded nice.
