reni

Why did it have to be you?

He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to force his body back to a state of unconsciousness. Still, he knew you would not let go so easily. Snake’s fists clenched weakly to quell whatever emotions you stirred within him by caring so persistently.

It wasn’t like he did not enjoy time spent with you. Quite the opposite was the case: It was around you that he felt more comfortable, more at ease than he’d ever thought to be possible for an exiled criminal like himself. The sense of normalcy that settled in the atmosphere whenever you so much as existed beside him Snake was so unfamiliar with yet in need of desperately.

His unease at this moment was not to blame on you.

This part of himself, heavy limbs that longed to be claimed by sleep once more, greasy, tangled hair and sweaty, unclean clothes he didn’t have the energy to change out of, he felt… embarrassed of. He couldn’t explain the cause for days like this, where the usually so capable and strong Snake disappeared, his body and mind rendered soft, couldn’t explain the weakness that claimed him. He hated every second of being awake through it.

“Roald?”

He clenched his teeth, a strangled sound leaving him.

Why did you have to make this more difficult by caring about him so foolishly?

“Hm,” he answered with a voice strained by dehydration. His mouth had not seen a drop of water for perhaps a day, if he had to guess.

Your brows furrowed in worry as not even the smell of your warm, freshly cooked stew would coax Snake out of bed. The air in his bedroom was used up, smelling of sweat and exhaustion. As you bit your lip, you contemplated how you could help Snake. Surely, anyone a little less sensitive would have dragged him up to stand. It was undoubtedly the fastest way to have him stand upright and join the others for much-needed help during harvesting season.

While your eyes traced his still body, you took note of his curled up position that seemed so unlike a man of his strength. It wouldn’t feel right to rip him so forcefully from his soft bed, the cushions that he gripped so tightly.

Taking a deep breath of the stale air and exhaling with a sigh, you set down the bowl of stew you’d been intending to wake him with.

“Roald…” you whispered his name carefully once more, hoping your tone would not reek of pity or disappointment and instead convey your sympathy.

He didn’t move when the bed creaked under your weight nor while you shifted to sit beside his head. He was quite glad you did not see his eyes, which were wide open and displaying the messy swirl of emotions that surged through his veins.

A few moments, neither of you cared how many, passed in mildly tense silence before your hand carefully moved to caress his black locks. He tensed up slightly in surprise before melting under your touch. You didn’t care for the mess he was, the grease that had built up on his head and the strands starting to form mats, didn’t care that your clean, soft hands were touching it. You wanted him to feel good, and knowing this made his heart ache with delight and guilt in a way only you could be the cause of. Your nails dragged along his scalp and hairline, your warm thigh touched the back of his head as Snake started to close his eyes again. Though he’d done nothing but sleep for hours, the man had not truly rested until you entered.

“I’ll stay here until you feel better. If you’re hungry then, I’ve made stew.”

Anyone else would have dragged his drained body to its feet, maybe scold him for sleeping through the day as others were out on the fields, working hard for a plentiful harvest. You’d be right to. After all, what was he without his sense of duty, his strength?

He’d never felt more useless, and yet, he’d also never felt as loved.

It would be easier to endure reprimands than your kindness, your understanding.

Guess I’ll have no choice but to repay you.

.

.

.

not that I mind.

Canute

tags: arranged marriage ig, sleep deprivation, internally struggling Canute, sleeping reader

The moon’s thin crescent shape stood high up in the sky, weakly illuminating the Danish country. Rays of light distributed themselves over the land equally, none differing from the other.

Though the sight of the night sky should make any man tired and wish for nothing but sleep, Canute had not yet warmed up to the idea of a shared bed, finding himself unable to succumb to slumber. He had not anticipated the lack of solitude to worsen his already horrendous sleeping schedule.

However, the king could not afford any rumors to spread as a consequence of sleeping in a different bed, let alone a different room than his spouse. The King knew that word spread fast, changing with each mouth that spoke of him to create far more scandalous rumors that were only loosely based on truth. Canute didn’t want people to snicker at his cowardice or shudder at his heartlessness towards his spouse.

He’d appear as the fearless king, nobody ever guessing he’d be afraid of anything, especially not what most would consider comforting.

Canute sighed inaudibly as he cast his gaze to you. His spouse. The sight reminded the king of another reason why he did not wish to sleep separately. A less rational reason than he’d like to admit.

You were tucked into the sheets up to your chin, your chest rising and sinking with every peaceful breath. A stray lock of hair fell across your face in an unruly fashion, complimenting the small drool stain you were leaving on the pillow.

You knew what kind of man Canute was. By no means was he the timid prince he had been before; He conquered English territory with little care for anyone who could not increase his power or prosperity, the goal of paradise seeming to slip further from his hands each day as the heavy crown corrupted him.

How could you sleep so carelessly, beautifully relaxed next to him?

Canute could not decide whether to scoff at the naivety or to reciprocate the trust you showed.

His icy eyes drifted toward the large window once more, the weight of dark circles and red, irritated eyes were no longer something the king could ignore. His stiff body refused the idea of falling asleep next to someone, paranoid his trust would be misplaced as that of his brother had been in him.

Paradoxically, his heart fluttered in adoration when his gaze drifted to your peaceful face, his eyes unsure whether to look at your eyes, lips, nose, cheeks, forehead or chin first. It always felt better to observe than to touch. Besides accidental brushes of skin and hand-holding when expected, Canute had never touched you in the months of being wed. If you were to never notice, if he had no duties to attend to, the king would spend hours upon hours observing you, your behaviour, expressions and hear your voice. He liked your laugh the best, but he’d be happier to see and hear you cry than to not see you at all.

Did this mean he liked you? The possibility of his stone heart to beat for something other than paradise on earth, the goal he pursued with tunnel vision each day, he had thought to be nonexistent. Yet it beat for you in the happiest rhythm he knew, and his hands were unable to reach out, his body refusing to unwind beside you. Was it fear of rejection? Lack of trust?

The blonde pinched the bridge of his nose in between index finger and thumb, unbothered by your quiet shuffling. He could hear the heavy breathing of his father emerge from the pregnant silence, the illusion of his severed head starting to materialize from thin air on the night stand. As King Sweyn cackled at his son, showing incomplete rows of teeth and chapped lips that strained to smile, Canute felt more hateful of his father than he ever had in these past years of being a ruler. Instead, the sense of justice, disbelief at the cruelty of the crown overcame who had now effectively become just as ruthless of a king as his father. He’d last felt such strong aversion before he had placed the golden crown atop his head.

Uncertainty weighed heavy upon his sternum as Canute frantically searched for the cause behind his cracking resolve, a gentle arm reached out to lay atop his chest, your fingers timidly grasping his white nightgown. In an instant, the severed head disappeared and so did his mocking laughter.

The blonde turned his head slowly. He felt warmth spread through his body from his chest, flowing upwards to his neck, shoulders, arms and face and downwards to his waist, legs and feet, relaxing muscles Canute had not even noticed were tense. Only then did he notice how cold and stiff he had been before.

His body sunk deeper into the mattress under the weight of your arm. How lonely it had been to sleep alone all this time, Canute recognised. Your very essence seemed to engulf him, and you were not even aware.

He chuckled, pondering what expression you would wear when you’d wake up in this unusual position, though with Canute’s acute lack of sleep, he would likely wake up after you and not be graced by your amusing reaction.

He’d just have to find other ways to fluster you then.

—

Their socks now wet and cold, [REDACTED] wishes to get this over with quickly, no patience for hours-long, cruel torture. He's done it all before: pulling off nails one by one, then painfully breaking his victims' fingers. Already before he'd gotten far, they'd be begging for sweet release. Seconds would span over an infinity as he drained their life force bit by bit. It is amusing to watch them descend into the depths of insanity, a pit they will never be rescued from.

In a way, this one is lucky to catch [REDACTED] on a day that left him with little energy and motivation.

Panicked, the unfortunate individual struggles to escape the dark confines of the bag, kicking their legs and yelling, almost uncertain in their movements.

How unlike them, to sound so scared, unsure and panicked. Though his face does not betray any emotion, a feeling of sweet revenge is already spreading across [REDACTED]'s body, anticipating what is yet to come.

To witness their confident visage crumble is only part of the fun, however. Rather, he does not only do this for fun. No, not even the ruthless, mysterious serial killer would pick his victims at random, for he is not a madman. They are handpicked from the very most deserving of the whole bunch. Their actions towards the only person he sympathizes with, the only one he could ever care for, are utterly unforgivable.

This one in particular has found joy in poking fun at his Angel, not showing an ounce of regret even as they'd teared up, escaping to a more quiet spot to cry in peace. The tears they shed are now in the past, yet they can never leave his memories.

Of course, they'd been shadowing Angel, watching the tears fall and therefore sealing the bully's fate.

"Waking up, I see. Tsk, don't break the bag."

Swiftly, the thin yet sturdy barrier is cast aside, forcing them to look into his eyes.

The devilish, murderous gleam in his eyes makes them flinch, hurrying to get up. Cold and calculated, [REDACTED] strikes them down with a sledgehammer, breaking a few ribs in the process. Hearing their screams is delightful, an addictive, familiar sensation bubbles up inside their chest. Delight is not the right word, however, implying a certain luxury and privilege in fulfilling the action. No, [REDACTED] needs to feel this. He needs to liberate his soul from the constrictive, piercing grip that takes ahold of his body when knowing his Angel is being hurt.

Nothing compares to the feelings Angel's happiness and mere existence blesses him with, but the satisfaction of punishing those that wronged his dear stands proudly in second place.

Far away is the high pedestal, crowned on top sits his wish to be their number one priority. Though still in the distant future, the thought is ever present, determining all aspects of [REDACTED]'s life, who hopes to reach the highest level of fulfillment through this sole way.

And proud he is, standing tall above the cowering figure as they hold a hand to their aching side, weeping and whimpering in pain.

"Are you not going t' ask what you've done? Maybe I'll let you off the hook."

It is cruel, so, so cruel to make them believe in redemption when there is no way for them to crawl out from the grave they've dug for themselves. That is part of the fun.

Face stone cold, they watch and listen to pathetic begging, promises to do whatever he'd ask in exchange for their miserable, measly life.

"I'll make it up to you, I swear, just tell me what I-"

A piercing scream echoes through the empty woods, not a soul around to hear.

"You're so desperate, begging for me to spare your pathetic life. Can't stand your voice, but it's tolerable when you're the one who's scared for once."

A terrible pain is pulsing through their thigh, a knife ramming through flesh; muscle and fat tissue alike as if it's butter.

Their mouth is agape, panting like a dog in the summer heat.

It hurts, the unbearable sting of his ruthless blade, but no more than the hell they would have continued to put his Angel through if he let them live.

Human instinct is strange. His victims, without fail, are often frozen out of sheer shock, pain and fear. It would be in their best interest to run away, to fight back, yet none of them have ever tried - at least genuinely. It is mildly interesting to [REDACTED], and all the more amusing. Perhaps, though, this is just proof that anyone who would stoop so low as to hurt his perfect Angel is nothing but a slimy, disgusting coward.

[REDACTED] feels his hand twitch and takes it as a sign to twist the knife, causing a fiery pain to shoot through their body once again. Thick blood oozes out of their wound, tainting the cool grass beneath. If [REDACTED] were in the mood to stream today, he'd have been tempted to make them taste their own blood, which would surely make the chat go wild.

However, they are not in the mood for a long and slow, torturous murder. Although the bully surely deserves such an ending, [REDACTED] does not have the patience to watch them die slowly today.

Their voice cracks, weak and broken already, though he is sure it hasn't even been a minute. It is so pathetic he could almost feel bad.

"You have made a mistake that does not allow forgiveness. You hurt the only most important person in my life. I cannot allow dirt like you to live on the same earth as them."

Bitter realization washes over them like a bucket of ice water, realization that their days have been numbered. Useless wails and shaky attempts to push their attacker off fail miserably.

"P-please, no, I'll do anything!"

A scarily calm and unbothered expression is on his face, lifting the heavy sledgehammer to unceremoniously bash it into their skull.

Limp and lifeless, their body falls back onto the grass, causing it to rustle softly.

Finally.

Now, the forest can return to its natural state. Quiet. Undisturbed.

[REDACTED] does not understand the term 'eerie silence'. Nothing about the absence of noise, whether the noise in question would come from the awfully loud cars, bothersome neighbors or bullies whose necks he hasn't snapped yet, feels the least bit intimidating to him. Unless the silence is suspicious, the opportunity to roam through his mind without disturbance, to think about the things he loved most, is truly appreciated, at all times.

Now, in the quiet of the forest night, they focus on each of their senses, one at a time.

While the faint smell of green, damp grass mingles with the pungent smell of red blood, earthy notes compliment the mix. Still, their keen nose notes that the bloody smell left a thick coat over the others, yearning to stand in the spotlight much like the person who it belongs to. Peaceful thoughts are interrupted by the disgusting smell reaching [REDACTED]'s tongue, lying heavy on the sensitive taste buds.

Much to his relief, though, that sickening voice no longer interrupts the beautiful view of the silver moon, or his perception of the more subtle noises such as the soft wind combing lovingly through the trees above and their hair alike.

Quiet times are an ointment for his scarred, disturbed soul. Nothing that could truly heal him, but it numbed the pain for sure.

He has to laugh. If only Angel's mind were as depraved as his, they may have come along to appreciate the romantic scenery together. However, the pungent smell of blood, not to mention the presence of a corpse, would ruin whatever they likely thought of as 'romantic'. Besides, for a shot at going on a date, he'd have to be noticed first.

Lucifer

✿ He finds it adorable to see someone he cares about tie their shoes using the bunny-ear method.

✿ Something about this way of tying one's shoes reminds him of childhood; since this method is the easiest, you teach it to the children first.

✿ Childish. Lucifer struggles to remember what he was like in his young years, but he does remember seeing his little brothers grow up into adolescents. They were pure, with their large eyes and naive trust in him.

✿ Any memory of childhood tugs at his heartstrings, thinking back to how easy his brothers thought everything was, how optimistic they'd be.

✿ Tying your shoes with this method should not prompt him to get so sentimental, seeing as the action itself has little to do with childish innocence.

✿ Still, when you're done tying your shoes, you don't miss the way he holds you closer, as if warding off any evil that may corrupt you.

Straightening his back, Lucifer waited as you tied your shoes.

Most would assume his pose to mean that he was impatient or annoyed, but you knew better. Anytime his schedule (and sanity) allowed an outing like this, he felt almost giddy while his stress levels sunk to an all-time low.

There was no tight schedule, the reservation he'd made in the restaurant was in one hour. Enough time to watch idly as his darling tied their shoes...

"One bunny ear, and now make a second one."

Lucifer watched as Mammon used his small hands to clumsily form two differently-sized bunny ears with the laces of his white shoes.

"Good. Now, tie a knot with them."

In his concentrated state, his little brother stuck his tongue out, trying his very best to tie the ears together.

"I got it!"

Loud, innocent laughter rang through his ears, putting a smile on his usually stoic face.

"Good job, Mammon."

The knot was messy and would sure come undone in a few minutes. Still, the joy his brother felt made him forget all about that, simply happy for his proud sibling.

What was this feeling? Was it nostalgia? He'd experienced it countless times after all, yet the aftertaste was never so sweet. This slice of childhood hadn't been taken from him yet, but instead placed right in front of him.

The same sparkle he'd seen in his brother's eyes was now in yours as you stood up, although for a different reason it was no less magical in the way it made him feel.

"Shall we, then?"

Lucifer refrained from commenting on the way you tied your shoes, hoping that you'd hold onto this trait for the rest of your days. Selfishly, he wished to feel this way again, the way he felt all those years ago.

Ever so slightly, his grip on your arm tightened protectively.

Mammon

✿ He finds it adorable when MC asks for his help with something. It could be something big or something small, but especially big favors make him feel needed.

✿ He wants, no needs to be the one you go to for help before anyone else. He's your first, after all.

✿ He won't miss his chance to remind you that you now owe him, but he barely ever asks for anything in return- nothing more than a little affection or a night out. Feeling needed is already enough.

✿ Of course, though, his greed knows no bounds. He will be offering help anywhere he can. Not because he thinks you're incompetent, but rather he really wants to hear you thank him, maybe even with a kiss.

Thank you

✿ The words are very simple, but not something he hears come out of someone's mouth often, at least genuinely.

✿ It means the world to him, but don't think you'll ever hear that.

The Avatar of Greed had a thing for being praised, as you'd found during all the time you two had spent together.

A simple "that was so cool" or "woah, you're strong!" was enough to make his flush burn down to his neck, turning away as he pretended to be unaffected.

It was quite cute, how he had started doing you favors, claiming he didn't want you to do anything wrong. In truth, though, it became apparent that his persistence came from a place of longing, longing for your praise and affirmation.

Just to see that confident smile again, you decided to start asking him for favors more frequently. Oftentimes, they were small things like carrying something, helping you retrieve a lost item or get to a room in the school you weren't able to locate. The latter had only been attempted once, as Mammon's sense of direction did not extend to places he didn't enjoy, including the school. This meant that you'd made your History teacher wait for a solid 15 minutes as you and Mammon aimlessly wandered the vast halls of the academy.

A chuckle escaped you, watching as Mammon directed his face at the sky, eyes closed and enjoying the sensation of big snowflakes melting on his tan, warm skin.

"The human world can be pretty amazin'."

"You like the snow?"

"Mh."

Mammon inhaled deeply, caught up in the moment. It was unlike him to be so still, but you knew there was no need to worry.

You tugged on the sleeve of his jacket, which you were sure had not been paid for using his own money, wanting to get back to the mansion and warm up.

"Come on, I'm freezing over here!"

"Yeah, yeah. 'm coming."

Smirking mischievously, you snuck a hand up to his exposed neck, touching the warm vein with icy hands.

The second-born yelped and jerked away from your touch, looking almost offended.

"Akh! The hell's that for?"

You received a light shove from him when your response was heartfelt laughter.

"To remind you that my fingers are close to freezing off!"

Taking his arm, you made your way back to the mansion. After a few steps, you spotted a large puddle of melted snow and looked to the ground to avoid it.

As you did so, an undone shoelace on your boots came into view, making your movements halt.

"Wait a sec!"

Getting down on one knee, you were soon forced to realize that there was no point in trying to tie your shoelaces. With hands frozen into an almost-solid block, they were about as useful as your feet when it came to task that required precision.

With a slight flush that was not due to the cold but rather embarrassment, you stood back up, sheepishly looking at Mammon.

"Could you...tie my shoelaces? My hands are kinda useless right now."

As always, he was painfully easy to read. White eyebrows were raised slightly while his eyes widened, his expression akin to a puppy.

Very quickly though, the demon composed himself.

"Whatever, human. Can't do nothin' on yer own, huh?"

Before bending down, Mammon took a last look at your face, silently relieved to find that you didn't seem to be offended by his words, or rather fooled by what he said. You were already aware that the demon would rather not get sappy despite being a true romantic at heart.

His actions spoke loud and clear enough.

And so, Mammon got down on one knee to tie your shoe, making one bunny ear, then a second. Slender, elegant fingers adorned with the finest jewelry made quick work of your small problem, and they did so with pride.

He found pride in doing quite literally anything if it was for you, the strange human that had wormed itself into his heart. He did not mind making himself smaller than you like this, knowing you would never take advantage of him in his vulnerable moments. If not for the public space, he may have even been tempted to hug your legs and shut his eyes if you allowed him to. Any way of showing his love, although it would embarrass him to admit to his feelings directly, was alright with him if it allowed you to see even the tip of the iceberg that was his adoration for you.

"All done, treasure."

He rose back to his feet, and although his lips did not reveal it, Mammon's blue eyes shone with pride and affection for you.

"Let's go back," the demon added as he grabbed your hand, "Don't want ya to freeze."

Although you'd been exaggerating for dramatic effect, Mammon may have taken your words literally. And so, not wasting any time, you were dragged along to the comfort of what had been your second home for a long time now.

Leviathan

✿ While he cannot see his own ramblings as anything but annoying and pathetic, Levi could listen to MC ramble on about any topic forever.

✿ Aside from being a big fan of rambling himself, even more so with someone he trusts not to find this side of him weird, Levi is one of the most active listeners.

✿ He knows how it feels when someone is not willing to listen to his rants because they haven't played the game or watched the show he's talking about.

✿ So, because he wants to see that fiery glow in your eyes, and because he could not possibly get enough of your voice, Leviathan will lean his head on his hand, or preferably your shoulder, and allow you to guide all of his attention to whatever topic you're interested in sharing.

✿ He's a rather quiet listener, but that does not mean that he is uninterested. Rather, Levi feels that your voice casts a calming spell on his otherwise anxiously beating heart. He basks in your excitement, never wanting this moment to end.

The glass of Henry's fish tank was cool, making you jerk back after it came into contact with your bare skin.

Leviathan chuckled nervously at your reaction and used his scaly tail to pull your comforter over your shoulders.

"Thanks."

This time, you could comfortably lean back and close your eyes, hiding your excitement at the proposal of your first sleepover in years.

The Devildom, the seven brothers, a demonic king that was much nicer than you'd expect, everything was new to you.

You found comfort in the shreds of familiarity you found in what you knew from the human world, holding on tight for a sense of normalcy.

You turned to anime and video games, downloading them on your DDD. Most of the games were supposed to be played on a better device, as made evident by the choice you had to make between rendering quality and extreme lag, but they were better than nothing.

Any money you received, which was all a small sum of pocket money from Lucifer as you were too afraid to search for a job where you had to be on your own, surrounded by demons, was spent on DVDs from animes that looked promising.

Levi caught on after some time, figuring out that the reason you were so immersed with what was happening on your DDD had been a video game he frequently played on his PC.

It took a few weeks before Levi was able to muster up the courage to ask someone (who he had thought of as a normie, only for them to turn out to be a fan of anime and video games, just like him!) if they were interested in watching an anime with him.

And although the third born had been a stuttering mess, unable to remember the sentences he had rehearsed thoroughly, you agreed!

A few awkward get-togethers where the two of you watched animes or played fun games had led to an earnest friendship. The bond you two had developed over shared interests grew as the initial awkwardness faded.

It was you who initiated a sleepover, old memories of building blanket forts, laughing until your stomach hurt and watching movies until late at night had evoked a sense of nostalgia and longing.

With Leviathan so close, it was not only excitement running through your body, but nervousness, which you felt as a tingling sensation.

Only the two of you, sharing a massive blanket as you watched the credits roll, accompanied by one of Levi's favorite anime endings.

He cleared his throat as the laptop went dark.

"So, uh, what did you think?"

Just like that, Levi laid the foundation for a conversation that possibly lasted for hours, but you weren't sure how quickly or slowly time was running nor did you care to keep track. You discussed the best soundtracks the anime had to offer, then the best characters and voice acting.

"Speaking of," you added, "the male lead, he reminds me of this game I played back in the human world. He's one of my favorite characters."

Before you knew it, you were a good 10 minutes into a rant about the game you held so close to your heart, explaining all of the context, drifting off further and further.

"Ah, I've been talking so much!"

Embarrassed, you looked towards the demon. While you expected faint annoyance or boredom, nothing could have prepared you for the sight you were met with:

Leviathan's eyes glowed faintly, emitting a warm, orange light. His head rested on his knees, and his tail.... His tail had slowly wrapped around your wrist, caressing your smooth skin with its scaly surface.

He was invested, to say the least, but there was something else that you weren't quite able to put your finger on...

Before you could ponder the idea further, Leviathan moved his head and straightened up. Unbeknownst to you, he was thankful for the only source of light being a cool, turquoise color from the large fishtank. It hid his blush well.

"No, no. Keep talking. Please."

Satan

✿ Satan finds it adorable when MC is someone who cannot lie/ is very bad at it

✿ Much like Lucifer, he finds the purity of such a trait very endearing. What distinguishes him from Lucifer in that regard, however, is that he doesn't have any memories of a better time in the way any of his brothers do. Instead, seeing someone exhibit such 'innocent' behavior is rather new for him.

✿ Despite not being used to someone he's close to being quite literally unable to lie, Satan finds that he quite likes it. Something about how shy you get when you do not want to or cannot say the truth, your eyes wandering anywhere but his face as your cheeks are dusted pink, it makes his heart jump.

✿ The sight is enough to make him forgive you for anything you may have been trying to (unsuccessfully) hide from him.

No need to be shy. I can't be mad at you when you're so cute. I've never met someone who can't lie before.

✿ Knowing you can only be honest with him feels refreshing to know, remember that him chuckling is not meant to be received as mockery but rather his way of saying that you're the most adorable company he's had aside from stray cats.

✿ Sadly, though, he can't use you to prank Lucifer, seeing as his older brother would notice immediately.

Sharing a book with Satan feels more intimate than you would think.

Shoulder to shoulder and arm to arm, you peer down at the pages, absorbing their content with curiosity. Being a fast reader, Satan usually waits a few moments until he knows you are done reading to flip the page.

His glare felt piercing yet you cannot help but like the attention he pays to your concentrated form.

In your peripheral vision, Satan's eyes are focused on only you, your reactions to the words and their meaning. A smile graces his features whenever you connect the dots to a murder mystery or gasp at an exciting plot twist.

This evening, however, your eyes seem to show less interest than normal. Your lack of complaint convinces Satan that it may have had another cause, brushing the thought aside.

"It is getting rather late, let us stop at this chapter."

Careful and diligent, Satan placed the book onto a small stack, then asked:

"How did you like it? It's been one of my favourites lately."

"Uh, well..."

Your demeanor shifts, previously calm but now a hint of nervousness in your tone. You look away, shaking your head as you do.

"...No, not really."

To your surprise, laughter fills the room a moment later, and a hand pats your back. Satan can't help his amusement at your strangely honest nature. Even such a small thing is nothing you could manage to lie about.

His short laughter is not only prompted by amusement, however. Instead, there is a sense of relief and ease when around you. Truthfulness is rare goods in the Devildom. Demons use lies to twist the truth, to cause chaos and for their own selfish desires.

Around you, the wariness with which he approaches any conversation is unnecessary, to be tossed aside.

"Don't be embarrassed. It's a good thing you're so honest."

Asmodeus

✿ Asmo loves it when MC has a face that shows a lot of expression (idk how to word it)

✿ There's a beauty to not thinking about the expressions you're making, but rather to let feelings take over.

✿ Unlike Asmodeus', none of your expressions are perfectly calculated or meticulously studied in front of a mirror.

✿ A crooked smile, unflattering angle or strange-looking expression is none of your worries, and Asmodeus does not know whether to envy or adore this trait.

✿ Additionally, Asmodeus enjoys how earnest all the emotions on your face are. Your face does not reflect what others want it to, but is rather a view into your mind, how you feel and what you're thinking about.

✿ Asmodeus trusts you a lot for this reason, because your face never lies.

His eyelashes, perfectly curled and styled, fluttered up and down like a butterfly. Eyelids colorful and creatively blended, the bold swirls amazed you. His handiwork was clean and neat.

Naturally, your eyes were all over him, a smile graced your lips in admiration and enjoyment.

His grace, beauty and charm blended together nicely, reflected in his choice in clothing and makeup.

"Ah, you like it!"

With a laugh of his own, perfected in every way, whether it was pitch or duration, Asmodeus went in for a hug.

"Your face speaks a thousand words. It's adorable!"

His slender fingers, comfortingly warm, took ahold of your equally warm cheeks and squished them ever so slightly.

"You think so?"

Amazed, sparkling eyes gazed into his, a wide grin spread on your face. There was a certain shyness to your gaze, needing reassurance as you requested him to repeat those sweet words, amplified by your eyebrows, raised in confusion. This face is one that deserves to be immortalized in only the most exwuisite canvases, each stroke of the brush building up to the creation of a true masterpiece.

None of the expressions were planned or intentional, you let your feelings reign instead.

And to Asmodeus, you were the most utterly perfect being to ever be in his presence.

Beelzebub

✿ A ticklish MC may bring out his teasing side.

✿ He finds you too cute when you squeak or laugh at a simple touch.

✿ Beel would brush a hand against your neck or underarms, chuckling when you react with a giggle.

✿ Playful retorts from your end are met with him acting clueless, though a knowing smirk betrays the false innocence.

✿ Beelzebub knows to not take it too far, however. If you tell him to stop, he does so immediately. He wants you to trust him, and how will you do that if he crosses your boundaries?

You were close to drifting off, mouth slightly agape and eyes shut tightly.

Beel's embrace helped to increase your comfort, his strong arms both like a weighed and heated blanket.

He monitored you intently, a hand on your pulse point and his head on your chest. He felt your steady breathing and slowing heart rate, which did wonders for his own ability to sleep.

Suddenly, though, there was a sensation making you squirm and giggle. Your heart rate sped up, and so did your breathing. Your human body was so responsive to even the smallest sensations.

With his hands under your shirt, wanting to feel your body's warmth, their movement was tickling your sides.

"Beel, that tickles!"

His own head lifted from the pillow, Beel sheepishly smiled and apologized, ceasing any movement of his hands that made you giggle.

It was adorable, how you squirmed and laughed, cheeks flushed. However, your sleep was a priority. With a smirk, Beel decided he'd use this newfound knowledge the next day.

When you awoke, Beel was already up and about, slipping into his well-worn uniform.

"Ah, morning. Sleep well?"

Nodding your tired head, you stretched groggily, mentally preparing to get out of bed.

You were willing to stand up and prepare for a new school day, but your body simply didn't cooperate.

"Mh. Five more minutes."

Cuddling into the cushions, you overestimated the safety you were in.

"Need help getting up?"

With a disgruntled noise, you, once again, buried your body deeper into the blankets.

Out of the blue, two strong hands slipped beneath the blanket, grabbing your sides.

"Beel, wait-"

Loud laughter filled the room, the melodious sound brought a smile to the demon's face. You squirmed to no avail as a flush colored your face.

Beel continued for a few seconds, burning the image into the depths of his mind, then ceased his onslaught.

This moment was beautiful, your heaving chest, the shine in your eyes, a hint of rebellion seeping through.

"Thats was mean!"

"Awake now?"

Belphegor

✿ Belphegor has a soft spot for a selfless MC.

✿ At first, he would see your selflessness as a weakness, one that he could exploit beautifully.

✿ As you grew closer, however, the demon could not forget about what he had done. Your unwavering selflessness puzzled him to no end, especially when directed at him.

✿ If you manage to convince him that there is truly nothing you wish for in return, he will start to be less tense and instead grow to appreciate and adore your behaviour.

✿ You remind him of his brother in this regard, pure and innocent despite the horrors you had witnessed.

✿ Anytime you offer your kindness to someone while he's around, trust him to personally judge whether or not they're worthy of it. If he senses that they're taking advantage of you, he will make sure they will never be stupid enough to try again.

✿ oftentimes, you're met with a "you're too kind", laced with sarcasm, if you do something nice for anyone out of kindness. He doesn't just say this, but he genuinely means it. He doesn't see why you do kind things without anything in return.

✿ although he finds you strange, don't expect him to protest when you're so nice to him. He'll gladly accept if you make his bed, hand him gifts or take over his kitchen duties when he's drifted off to sleep, much to Lucifer's dismay.

Hair disheveled, eyes sleepy and almost closed, Belphegor slowly makes his way to your room. Of course, his constant companion, the cow-print pillow, is loosely gripped in his arms.

He can sleep anywhere, but there are places he prefers to rest. And the ever so selfless exchange student would never have the heart to turn him down.

He'd feel bad for using their kindness, but he's not asking for a lot, is he?

With a yawn that many would consider rude, Belphegor enters your room.

"Can I-"

The demon's eyes widen, taking in the state of your room. Schoolwork strewn all over the desk, Belphegor doesn't recognize all of the classes to be yours.

Annoyance floods through him immediately, yet he holds back his wave of emotions.

Your little head rests on the many papers, deep circles under your eyes. Stained with ink, your hands support your head as you slumber, providing little comfort in the less-than ideal position. Like this, you remind him of Lucifer in his office, with his seemingly neverending stacks of documents. You, however, are a much more fragile being than the Demon Lord, a delicate body and sensitive psyche. You aren't able to endure such hard, endless work for more than a few days at most.

Scowling as he steps closer, Belphegor sees the names of others in your handwriting. The papers he can see include potions class, history and many more buried underneath.

If not for the cause of your small nap, Belphegor might have been enamored, tempted, even. Tempted to delve deep into your dreamscapes and appear in it himself. To have the most beautiful adventures during a time of rest.

Stirring, you are close to awakening, having sensed the door being opened and closed. Uncharacteristically fast, Belphegor is by your side, a clawed hand on your head pulls you back into a deep slumber. Strong yet lazy, he lifts your body only to release his hold once you're on your bed.

"I've told you so many times. They don't deserve your kindness."

Disgust floods through his veins at his own mention of those lesser demons, hairs on his neck moving to stand up as he sneers.

A satisfied sigh rips Belphegor out of his trance. It worked. You're sound asleep and dreaming well, in the comfort of your bed.

"Always time for them later."

Another loud yawn reminds him of the reason he sought you out in the first place, and promptly, he snuggles under the covers with you.

Although he hates how easy it is to exploit you, there's a hint of sweetness in this bitter trait, showing that you're simply not made for such a depraved society.

The math teacher is blabbering on about some test Hobie couldn't care less about. The only thing actually keeping him here is the person sitting next to him. His gaze falls on them, he takes in the concentrated look on their face as they note down the topics of said upcoming test. Their hair falls perfectly onto their adorable face and the afternoon sun shining through the windows perfectly accentuates their features. He frowns a little when he realizes that he is not the only one enjoying this view; the boy on their other side is gazing at them, too. Hobie can't tell if the look in the boy's eyes is admiration or love, but either way, he doesn't like it.

Hobie's thoughts are interrupted by the bell ringing. He looks away but doesn't move from his place, calmly watching all the students hurry out of the classroom. All of them except for two. Him and them. They have already packed their things and seem to be waiting for him. He looks away, feeling the aftermath of the one-nighter he spent thinking about his life, capitalism, but most of all them in his bones.

"Hey, Hobie!"

Their voice is sweeter than honey, even when they aren't trying to sound sweet.

"Hm?"

"Class is over, come on!"

Hobie watches as they go over to his desk and start picking up his things and packing them into his bag.

What have I done to deserve such a nice friend?

And yet, he still wants more, though he is already getting more than he should.

He thinks if he wasn't looking at them, he would've probably already rested his tired eyes, but they literally and figuratively are a sight for sore eyes. But it's not just that. He has no idea what it is, but something about them is different. They're like a person with all the qualities Hobie could ever want in a partner.

A partner.

A partner?

Hobie never really likes to think in labels like that, but labelling them as a partner, or somebody he is in a relationship with somehow just sounds... right to him.

"Come on, now."

Their voice makes Hobie snap out of his thoughts again and take the hand that they are offering him. They pull him up and let go way too quickly for Hobie's liking. Sometimes, he can't help but be selfish when it comes to their attention. He slings his bag over his shoulder. They usher him out of the classroom.

The halls are busy as a bee hive, but not nearly as organized as one. Hobie drowns out the noise, focusing all his attention on them. He thinks about what it would be like if they held hands.

He knows that he would love to.

But would they?

The two exit the school, walking back home together. Hobie notices that their steps are light and their pace is quicker than his. They seem to have something on their mind.

Are they excited for the weekend?

Why?

Whenever he doesn't have music, there's nothing but the thought of them to distract him from less pleasant aspects of his life. Lost in his thoughts, he recalls the first time he walked home with them. He still remembers it as clear as day:

It was a rainy afternoon. Hobie was taking rather slow steps, letting the cold rain drops sink into his clothes. His shoes made strange squeaky noises and Hobie could only hope that the rain wouldn't severely damage the leather on both his shoes and jacket. The make-up he had put on was only semi-waterproof and starting to smudge. He looked over to his side when he heard quick steps catch up to him. He recognized their face: the person who was sat next to him in math class! They were looking away and Hobie was about to ask what they wanted of him when they held their umbrella over his head. He smiled nonchalantly at the considerate gesture.

"Sorry if this is awkward, I just thought- We know each other from our math class, right? I didn't want you to freeze out in the rain."

Hobie nodded, sensing the nervousness in their tone.

Their cheeks were flushed from the cold and so was their nose. Hobie thought it was cute.

Hobie looks beside him. Right now, they are seemingly still thinking about something.

Almost automatically, Hobie asks, much like every Friday: "So, can I stay at yours for the weekend?"

He waits patiently for a response, but gets none. He looks over to them, slightly irritated. They are still thinking about something, staring into nothingness with a small smile on their face. This isn't exactly an unusual occurrence; Hobie often catches them in the middle of a daydream.

"Hey, you listening?", Hobie asks as he waves his hand in front of their face.

They blink and shake their head, getting back to the current situation, away from their thoughts of whatever made them so happy.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I asked if I could stay at yours for the weekend."

"Yeah. Haven't asked my parents, but I'm sure they're ok with it."

Hobie nods, internally grateful that they don't ask why or what is going on in his home. It is a sensitive topic for him and they understand. He appreciates how considerate they are.

Hobie is glad that he doesn't have to get anything from his place since a lot of his stuff is already in their closet or bathroom.

His mind wanders and he thinks about what they would look like in his clothes.

Do they ever think of trying them on?

He wouldn't stop them.

Upon entering your place, Hobie takes his shoes off and neatly puts them aside. The first few steps without the extra three inches feel a little weird, but he manages.

When he hears their mother mention that she has already cooked for one extra person, his chest grows warmer, knowing that your family cares about him, almost as if he were a member of it.

Hobie gobbles the food down, thankful for every last spoonful. He isn't quite sure if he offers to wash the dishes to show his gratitude or out of politeness. Maybe he just wanted to have fun with his best friend. That he did, because once the dishes are done, the two of them run up the stairs in wet, soapy clothes, giggling and playfully fighting. He opens his eyes, which are teary from laughing, and wishes he could remember this moment forever. They look so beautiful, despite disheveled hair and wet clothes. There's a fuzzy feeling in his stomach and although he wishes it were from his body still getting used to the new, radioactive blood that is running through his veins, he knows better.

The both of them change in the same room, not caring for privacy when half of their days are spent around one another anyway.

Hobie, who is done changing before them, catches himself admiring their body. He wants to slap himself for it, but he can't resist the eye candy in front of him. Once the T-shirt is over their head, he quickly looks away and they flop down onto the bed.

He does the same thing, lying down beside them. Hobie's eyes are close to fluttering shut and he knows that he needs to occupy his mind with something to not fall asleep.

"Got any ideas?" Hobie asks, turning his head to look at them.

When they do the same thing, his breath hitches slightly and his stomach does a cartwheel. Their face is so close to his. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss them.

"Uhh, not really. Study maybe?"

That's right, he asked them a question. Hobie groans in embarrassment, rolling over so his back is turned to them. His mind wanders so easily when he is around them. It is almost scary how captivating love could be.

"So that's a no?"

Not really, anything could be fun if he did it with them.

"Hm."

"You know we have to."

"We don't have to."

He rolls back onto his other side, now facing them again. He had underestimated how close his face would be to theirs and he is sure he can feel his pupils dilating. They think for a minute, practically scanning his smug face with their eyes. Instead of an answer, Hobie only gets a shake of the head before they look back at the ceiling way too soon for his liking. They are often the one to pull away sooner than Hobie wants them to - perhaps they are uncomfortable with the thought of being so close to someone they consider a friend. That's why Hobie always lets them, afraid of losing the person that means the most to him.

They grin as their gaze stays glued to the ceiling.

Why can't they look at him? He's far cooler than the ceiling.

He shifts to lie on his stomach, afraid that he will fall asleep if he doesn't move around a bit. That would be embarrassing. Controlled by the need for them to pay attention to him, he starts poking their arm. He knows exactly how to annoy them just enough so that they give in without getting too mad or annoyed. It works right now, just like every time, but not in the way he expected.

"If you're that bored, then studying would be an efficient way to spend your time, no?"

Hobie stops poking them. This is not what he was expecting. He was expecting something like doing each other's manicure or makeup.

They get up, searching for their math book with a slouched posture. They want to do this just as little as he does. Well, them being his teacher does make this better, though.

Hobie rolls and closes his eyes. Their body dips into the soft mattress of the bed. They don't open the book, though. Hobie opens his eyes, asking himself what they are doing. They're looking at him.

"Did you pay attention in class at all or should I explain it to you?"

Say something funny, something snarky.

"Enlighten me."

A snort escapes them and Hobie's lips curl into a small grin. They liked the joke, good. While they explain, Hobie's gaze always darts back to their lips, no matter how many times he tries to look away. They might think he's just watching them talk, but he's not even registering half of their words. Hobie hears their voice, but he doesn't pay attention to the boring math they are explaining to him. He thinks of telling them how he feels, of kissing those soft lips right in front of him, but he quickly pushes those fantasies away. Those things are never going to happen. Not in this universe, certainly not. The memory of the boy next to them come back. Hobie suppresses a scowl at the thought, deciding to actually listen to them, now. He already knows all of this, though. Despite seemingly never listening, he can concentrate on what the teacher is saying while looking at them or thinking of lyrics for new songs. Lately, all of those have been sappy love songs. His bandmates have noticed and teased him for it. They don't understand, they haven't seen or talked to them.

They close the book and look into his eyes.

"Do you understand now?"

He already knew before they explained, but he still enjoyed listening to them talk. He wants to compliment them, make them smile and feel good about themselves. While he was actually listening, Hobie noticed that their sentences were coherent and easy to follow.

"Yeah. You're good at explaining things, you know that?"

They smile at the compliment. Their smile is so beautiful.

"Oh, really?"

"Of course, I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true, would I?"

Hobie smirks, stating the obvious. He's never really been a people pleaser, telling people what they want to hear. Instead, he often speaks his mind - as long as he knows it's safe to.

"You're right. Think you'll ace the test now?"

"If I'm even showing up, yes."

Of course he's showing up. He wouldn't miss an opportunity to be next to them. The test won't change that. He's definitely coming.

"You can't just leave me hanging like that! I'm not going to survive a lesson of maths without some company."

They dramatically let themselves fall back into the mattress, a little sigh escaping them.

"I'll think about it."

Hobie smiles, already having made up his mind. Of course he's coming. If he said that, it wouldn't seem cool, though, right? He keeps up his nonchalant exterior and pours his feelings into song lyrics instead of telling them. He never thought of himself as a coward, but he is, in a way. He doesn't think he could bare to lose them, so he pretends to be content just being their friend. Their best friend, actually.

While Hobie thinks about his feelings, he subconsciously starts playing with his lip piercing. He needs a distraction from these thoughts.

"I'm bored."

"Then think of something we could do."

We could kiss.

They sigh, probably out of boredom. Now, without distractions, Hobie's thoughts drift back to the guy from maths. He was a normal, regular dude. Much more normal than Hobie. He wonders, do they like more 'normal' guys?

"You know that guy that sits next to you in maths?"

"You mean yourself?"

Hobie shakes his head. "No, no. Your other side."

"What about him?"

Is that a blush on their face? Hobie hopes it isn't at the mention of him.

"I think he likes you."

"What? Why?"

"He's always ogling you. You've never noticed?"

They huff. "Well, I am busy listening to the teacher most of the lesson."

"Hm. You'll have to pay attention to him next time."

"Pff. I Don't think I've ever really interacted with him. I think he'll get over it. Besides, I have my heart set on someone else already."

Oh.

Ouch.

For a moment, Hobie's heart stops. He wants to be happy for them, but it's hard. Normally, he's pretty good at concealing his feelings but his tired mind isn't helping. Hobie forces a smirk and shifts to sit up. He leans over them. Might as well find out who stole their heart before he could.

"Who? Do I know them?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, then tell me. Come on!"

"Oh, I'm starting to notice I shouldn't have told you."

They cover their face with their hands, embarrassed. Hobie takes their hands away, gentle but firm.

"Exactly. Tell me!"

The least you could do is tell me. Please.

"Well, he's, uh, tall, handsome and very cool."

"Cooler than me?" Hobie jokes. He chuckles, but it's very clear that he doesn't feel like it. He's always been the type to joke in serious conversations.

"Nah, that's impossible."

If that guy isn't cooler than him, then why is he better?

"And what's his name?"

"That's not important."

What?

"Hm? If it's not important, you could just tell me, no?"

"I- I don't know his name."

They look away and it's clear that they're lying. Hobie squints his eyes, expressing his suspicion. Could it be? No, they can't possibly be talking about him - right? Hobie smirks. Why would they hide it from him if the person they liked wasn't him? His heart beats faster in his chest, blood rushing to his cheeks.

"You're lying." Hobie smirks, still not completely sure if they like him.

They sigh, furrowing their brows. He hopes they don't notice the rather desperate look on his face. He chews on his lip.

"Yeah, I am."

"Why?"

The silence says more than a thousand words. Hobie can clearly see the frustration in their features; their furrowed brows and clenched jaw, just like their nails digging into their thighs subconsciously. It's very obvious now why they were lying. All Hobie wants to do is to tell them that he loves them more than words could ever describe. He wants to show them all of the songs he wrote in math class, an attempt to do just that: put his love into words. He would probably be embarrassed, but maybe they would smile at the lyrics and give him a kiss and would make it worth his embarrassment. Maybe. But what if he's all wrong? What if there was another reason for them to lie?

Please, say something. Even if the truth hurts, I want to know it. I can't take this.

...

"I like you, okay? I didn't want you to know because I know that you see us as friends."

Really? He's not dreaming? He didn't fall asleep while listening to the new math topic?

He bites his lip a little harder than earlier, feeling a small sting. He is not dreaming. Quick, answer them!

Before he can answer, they scowl, quickly sitting up. Hobie has to move away, as he was still leaning over them. They look away.

"That's not true."

They look back at him. Their eyes are glossy, like they're about to cry.

Don't cry.

There's not a lot of things that can make Hobie genuinely upset, but seeing them cry? He doesn't think he'd be able to hold his own tears back.

"What's not true?" Their tone is laced with confusion and hurt. Hobie doesn't often get sentimental, talking about his feelings. Doing just that is the best thing he can do for them -and himself- right now, though.

"I... I don't just see us two as friends. I know I know I always say that I hate labels, but it's different when it comes to us two. I don't know why, but I wouldn't mind labelling myself as something like your partner or boyfriend or whatever, I don't care about these words, but what I know is that I wanna be with you."

It's easier for him to admit this while staring down at his lap, clasping his clammy hands together. After he's done, he searches their eyes, waiting for a reaction. They stay quiet, processing his response. His heart is beating quickly again, hammering against his chest. The sound rings in his ears and he's convinced they can hear it too. He doesn't even know why he's so nervous. They confessed first, of course they like him. But what will they do? Is it just one of those crushes where you can't even imagine yourself really being with the person?

Hobie is surprised when they pull him by his big T-shirt to hug him closely. He reciprocates their affection, resting his head on their shoulder. Hobie can hear them suppress a sneeze when they rest their head on his shoulder. His hair is probably tickling their nose. Cute.

He wishes he had hugged them like this before, he really didn't know what he was missing out on. Their body is soft in his hands, just like he had imagined those nights that he just couldn't manage to fall asleep. Both of their hearts beat against each other. It feels very good be so close to someone -scratch that, close to them, Hobie didn't know he needed this until now. He can't make himself let go, only loosening his grip when they do. Just like always, they pull back first. But this time, not too soon for Hobie's liking. Even after the hug, they are still so close to him. Their face is dangerously close to his, too. Hobie takes in the sight of their face. There was never a reason to be jealous of the guy in maths class. He might get to see them concentrated on solving equations or raising their hand eagerly, but he will never get to see their face like this, flushed after hugging him, eyes yearning for more. While Hobie admires them, they take their hands off of his back, instead cupping his cheeks. Without even having to think, he leans in. They nod, closing their eyes just like him. The kiss is slow and sensual. Hobie enjoys every moment; the warmth of their lips, the feel of their skin and the amount of love they put into each of their movements. Hobie smirks, slowly pushing his tongue into their mouth to show them his rather freshly pieced tongue. He's lucky it's healed already, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to feel this sensation. When the both of them pull away, Hobie feels that the cheeks in his hands are hotter than before. His are, too.

Nothing could hold back the smile tugging at his lips. Hobie hadn't thought they would like someone like him. He can't put into words how happy he is about having been wrong.

Just after the math teacher announced a test for next Monday, the bell rings, excusing all students from the lesson.

Some have already packed their things and are walking straight out the door while others are hastily stuffing books and pencil cases into their bags before leaving as well.

Bag on your back and ready to leave, you stand up before your gaze falls on Hobie, your friend, who is sat next to you in maths.

He is slumped over his desk and staring into nothingness, perhaps contemplating how to miss as much school as possible without serious consequences.

"Hey, Hobie!"

"Hm?"

"Class is over, come on!"

You go over to his desk and start picking up his things and packing them into his bag, which is plastered with accessories and pins. He doesn't move, only following your movements with his eyes.

"Come on, now."

You offer him your hand, which he takes and lets you pull him up from his seat. When you release his ring-clad hand from your grip, he reluctantly does the same thing. He slings the bag over his right shoulder lazily. Because the math teacher is waiting for the two of you to leave to close the door, you usher Hobie out of the classroom.

You make your way out of the school, pushing past the many other students who are rushing to get their buses.

It has become a habit for you and Hobie to walk back home together.

You sigh, recalling the moment the two of you became friends.

It was a rainy afternoon. You were taking quick steps that could almost be defined as running when you saw a tall, lanky boy in front of you. The accessories on his jacket, the spikes and his unique hair reminded you of the boy who sat next to you in maths, but you couldn't be one hundred percent sure. Unlike you, he didn't have an umbrella with him. Instead, he was letting the rain sink into his clothes. He was walking quickly, too, or maybe his legs were just longer than yours, but you quickened your pace to get a better look at him; the piercings, the rings, yes it was definitely Hobie!

When you were right next to him, he looked down at you, confused, yet seemingly recognizing you. Not quite sure what to say, you held your umbrella over him and yourself and stayed silent for a while. When you looked over at him, he was smiling.

"Sorry if this is awkward, I just thought- We know each other from our math class, right? I didn't want you to freeze out in the rain."

You cringed at your explanation.

Hobie simply nodded.

Ever since that afternoon, the two of you had walked home together and started meeting outside of school.

"Hey, you listening?", Hobie asks as he waves his hand in front of your face.

You blink and shake your head, getting back to the current situation.

"Sorry, what were you saying?"

"I asked if I could stay at yours for the weekend."

Yes, that had become a habit of yours too. Almost every weekend (and also during the week sometimes), Hobie would stay at yours. The situation in his home wasn't too great. That is all he had told you, and you didn't want to invade his privacy by asking questions, figuring that he would tell you more once he was comfortable.

"Yeah. Haven't asked my parents, but I'm sure they're ok with it."

Hobie nods and keeps walking with his hands behind his neck, looking up into the sky.

The two of you walk the short distance to your house and enter.

Because he often leaves his toothbrush, pyjamas and hoodies at your place anyway, he doesn't need to get anything from his house.

The both of you take your shoes off and you have to suppress a giggle upon seeing Hobie shrink by at least 3 inches after taking off his platform boots.

After asking your mother if Hobie could stay the weekend, she only nods, having already prepared more lunch than usual because she has been expecting Hobie.

As always, Hobie devours the food in front of him like a starving animal, yet he is still well-mannered; after lunch, he politely offers to wash the dishes together with you, which your mother appreciates.

You are a bit annoyed that he included you in his offer, but still clean the dishes with him.

Dishwashing with Hobie, of course, includes a change of clothes at the end because your current ones are wet and soapy.

After changing your clothes, you let yourself fall back into the bed, staring at the ceiling with nothing to do. Hobie copies you.

"Got any ideas?", Hobie asks, turning his head to look at you. You do the same thing, staring into his beautiful eyes, which was something you could do all day and not get tired-

"Uhh, not really. Study maybe?"

Hobie groans, rolling over so his back is turned to you.

"So that's a no?"

"Hm."

"You know we have to."

"We don't have to."

He rolls to his other side, now facing you again with a grin on his face. There are only two inches between your lips and his and you can't help but stare at his pierced lip, wondering what it would feel like to kiss him. Does he have his tongue pierced, too?

You swallow, not knowing what to say. You want to give a snarky reply, but your head is filled only with him. His voice, his pierced face and ears, his hands and smooth, dark skin. The way he plays his guitar, the way he speaks and the way he dresses.

You simply shake your head and look back at the ceiling, hoping he hasn't noticed the nervousness behind the grin on your face.

If he has, he isn't showing it. He flips onto his stomach and starts poking your arm. He is always a little annoying when he gets bored. He gets bored quickly.

"If you're that bored, then studying would be an efficient way to spend your time, no?"

The poking stops. You get up and search for your math book. You can almost feel him roll his eyes once you turn your back to him. Hobie closes his eyes before he feels you sit down on the bed.

"Did you pay attention in class at all or should I explain it to you?"

"Enlighten me."

A snort escapes you before you open the book and start 'enlightening him'. You know he is smart, just not very willing to listen to some stuck-up, old teacher who will get mad at people not even half his age for not understanding a topic that he has studied for years.

While you explain, he is lying on his stomach, face supported by his hands and you wonder if his neck is going to be sore- if it will be, you'll gladly give him a massage. His eyes stay glued to your lips. Occasionally, he nods, looking up into your eyes before his gaze darts back to your lips.

The only thing that is missing for him to look like some fangirl watching a video of her favourite singer is him kicking his legs in the air.

A small smile creeps onto your face at the thought, but you keep explaining. When you are done, you ask:

"Do you understand now?"

It is an unnecessary question. Hobie is smart as fuck, he probably doesn't even need anyone to explain it to him, but you want to hear his answer.

"Yeah. You're good at explaining things, you know that?"

"Oh, really?"

Hobie doesn't hand out compliments often, so you appreciate his words.

"Of course, I wouldn't say it if it wasn't true, would I?"

He smirks. He is right. He never minces his words, always saying exactly what is on his mind, even if it isn't what people want to hear. You admire that about him.

"You're right. Think you'll ace the test now?"

"If I'm even showing up, yes."

"You can't just leave me hanging like that! I'm not going to survive a math lesson without some company." Your company.

You dramatically let yourself fall onto your back into the soft mattress of your bed.

"I'll think about it."

You don't know whether his smile means that he has already decided for or against showing up on Monday, but you hope for the former.

Hobie starts playing with his lip piercing, a sign that he is, yet again, bored.

"I'm bored", He states flatly.

"Then think of something we could do."

We could kiss.

The thought came to your mind too quickly and you know you are down bad. You can't help the questions that follow:

Is he a good kisser?

Maybe.

Has he kissed someone before?

Probably.

Would he even want to kiss me?

Probably not.

You sigh. He is so cool, way out of your league. Hobie doesn't seem like the type to want a romantic relationship, anyway. He has talked about how much he dislikes labels.

"You know that guy that sits next to you in maths?" Hobie asks out of nowhere.

"You mean yourself?"

Hobie shakes his head. "No, no. Your other side."

"What about him?"

"I think he likes you."

"What? Why?"

"He's always ogling you. You've never noticed?"

You huff. "Well, I am busy listening to the teacher most of the lesson." And if not, I'm looking at you, Hobie, not some other guy.

"Hm. You'll have to pay attention to him next time."

"Pff. I Don't think I've ever really interacted with him. I think he'll get over it pretty quickly. Besides, I have my heart set on someone else already."

Shouldn't have said that around him.

Hobie grins before sitting up. You notice that he furrowed his brows, which makes his grin seem fake. He leans over you, still smirking weirdly.

"Who? Do I know them?"

It's you.

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, then tell me. Come on!"

"Oh, I'm starting to notice I shouldn't have told you."

"Exactly. Tell me!"

He seems less energetic than usual. Did he not sleep well?

"Well, he's, uh, tall, handsome and very cool." You make a point by drawing out the vocals of the word 'very'.

"Cooler than me?" Hobie jokes. You can sense that something is off.

"Nah, that's impossible."

"And what's his name?"

"That's not important."

Shit, now he's suspicious.

"Hm? If it's not important, you could just tell me, no?"

"I- I don't know his name."

You break eye contact, looking at the math book that you had laid on the pillow.

Hobie squints his eyes before smirking. He has always been good at reading people, but especially you.

"You're lying."

You sigh in defeat, knowing he probably already has you figured out. You are too occupied with your own embarrassment to notice that Hobie is just as nervous as you.

"Yeah, I am."

"Why?"

Because it's you I like. Only you.

...

"I like you, okay? I didn't want you to know because I know that you see us as friends."

Angry at yourself, but also at him for making you admit your crush, you sit up, almost bumping heads with him if not for him pulling away.

"That's not true."

You look back at him, confused.

"What's not true?"

"I... I don't just see us two as friends. I know I've said that I hate labels, but it's different when it comes to us two. I don't know why, but I wouldn't mind labelling myself as something like your partner or boyfriend or whatever, I don't care about these words, but what I know is that I wanna be with you."

During his confession, he can't make himself look you in the eyes, instead looking down at his lap. Now, his eyes are nervously searching for yours to watch your reaction.

You think for a while.

Fuck it.

You pull Hobie towards you by his wide band T-shirt, which makes him look like he is drowning in it and hug him tightly. He happily reciprocates the hug, leaning down to nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck. You copy him. His hair tickles your nose, but you don't care, hugging him even more tightly.

After what feels like an eternity, you pull back. He reluctantly does the same thing, gazing into your eyes with a sappy look on his face. You take your hands from his back and cup his cheeks instead. He starts to lean in, looking into your eyes for permission. You nod and he closes his beautiful eyes, leaning in to kiss you. Now, you have an answer to two of four questions: he is, indeed, a good kisser and he does, indeed, want to kiss you. You don't care if he's kissed a thousand or no people before because right now all of his attention is on you. The pressure of his piercing feels a little weird, but you don't mind. He slowly pushes his tongue into your mouth and you find out that, yes, his tongue is pierced as well. When the two of you pull away, you feel that the cheeks in your hands are warmer than before. Yours are, too.

Hobie is smiling, and you think it's the first time that you have seen him smiling genuinely instead of a cocky grin or smirk on his face. It suits him.