#kitsu.writes

“I thought the little punk was getting better—so why the hell is this thing on me again!”  

Ace pushed past the hardly awake MC and flopped down on the dusty couch in the lounge. His long, heavy sigh shook his whole body; he launched into his complaint again, not noticing that MC had barely shuffled into the room behind him. 

“Who told him there was a rule for stepping into the room with your right foot first if it’s past 9 P.M. Who!? I get my head taken for something stupid like that!” 

“Was it that you stepped into the room with the wrong foot, or you argued with him?” 

“How could you accuse me of something like that!” 

MC rubbed their eyes, taking a long sigh before they spoke again. 

“What did you say to him?” 

“...I didn’t SAY anything.” 

“What did you do.” 

Ace’s lips twisted to the side with a huff as he refused to make eye contact with them. Boring a hole in the side of his head, MC sat and waited for him to paint the picture of his own demise.  

“I.... kmcked’m,” he mumbled. 

“You what?” 

“I kicked him!” Ace shouted, throwing his hands up in the air, letting them fall alongside the rest of his body, slouching further into the couch. “He turned around after yelling at me and I just, I kicked the back of his knee—I didn’t kick him that hard!” 

“Ace.” MC held their face in their hands, disappointment completely evident in their voice. 

“It wasn’t even genuinely a kick—it was more of a push!” 

“Ace.” They growled from behind their hands.  

“You know I love hearing my name and all--” 

“Stop talking.”  

The two of them sat in silence for a moment; Ace snuck a few looks over at MC, making sure to retract his gaze if they made a move to look back at him. As though it were their new catchphrase, MC sighed heavily once again and smacked their knees, pushing themselves up off the couch.  

“Well, you dug your own grave, Trappola. Sucks to be you.” 

“Aw, come on, Prefect!” 

“What do you mean ‘aw come on’? What do you expect me to do? You’re lucky there wasn’t a bigger consequence for you—like being kicked from school for violence.” 

“One little kick, really?” 

“You’re talking about Riddle. Yes, one little kick.”  

MC pushed Ace’s head playfully, moving him around on the couch a bit which was met with his protests. They ignored him as he called out to them by name, simply waving their hand to dismiss his words while climbing the stairs. Over their shoulder, they wished him sweet dreams and shut down whatever he was saying by suggesting he sleep by pointing out the extra blanket draped over the armchair in the living room. Ace sat back on the couch with his arms crossed, lips twisted to the side in a heavy pout as he watched them disappear up the stairs, his eyes lingering where they fell out of his sight for a few extra moments. 

The redheaded boy sighed, knowing that MC was probably right—not that he’d tell them, anyway. He made his bed and he had to lie in it—both figuratively and in actuality; dusting off the older couch, he laid on his back and wrapped himself in the blanket all after he had turned off the lights. He lay with his eyes closed, trying his hardest to get comfortable with the bulky collar around his neck. He twisted, turned, and sighed more times than he could count—counting it may have helped him to fall asleep at this point. Ace opened his eyes to stare at the crumbling ceiling above him, his eyes dragging over each piece of the spider's webs that decorated the place. The night would not take him. 

Nor would the shadows. Nor would his mind. Everything fought sleep as his brain constantly moved its gears, but no actual thoughts had come to his mind. Ace was missing something—longing for something. There was a reason Ace had run to the Ramshackle Dorm rather than simply retreating to his room—and that reason had moved to their own bed upstairs. An hour or two had passed since he first laid down, but he was getting too antsy now; he threw the blanket off him and jumped to his feet in a huff. 

Even if he tiptoed, the old wooden stairs creaked and moaned beneath his feet; each one made him wince, so he had given up. He was sure MC would have been up by now anyway with the sounds, so he rushed the rest of the way to their room, throwing open the door. 

A sliver of moonlight illuminated MC. Grim had curled up at the foot of the bed as their back had faced the door; they turned to look over their shoulder at Ace as he stood in the doorway. Their voice had matched their face—emotionless and stoic. 

“What.” 

“Prefect.” 

“Yes, Ace. What.” 

He hurried over to the bed, throwing himself onto his hands and knees on top of it to slightly hover over MC as they turned to their back to meet his eyes. 

“Let me move into your dorm.” 

“...Get out of my room.” 

“MC, please!” 

“No. Good night, Ace.” 

Ace bounced on the bed which was met with groans from both MC and Grim, who was doing his best to ignore Ace.  

“Seriously! Let me move in. I’ll transfer over to your dorm, and I’ll never have to deal with the little tyrant again!” 

“You can’t, Ace. Now go to sleep.” 

“Come on!” 

“No. Now, shut up.” 

“You’re being unreasonable!” Ace shook the bed once again, ignoring Grim’s shout at him to knock it off. 

“Good night, Ace.” 

MC turned to their side to face him and closed their eyes tight in hopes that their friend would take the hint and leave; they smiled slightly to themselves when they felt the weight of his body leave the bed but frowned deeply when they felt a gust of cold hit them. They opened their eyes to find his staring back at them, only a few spare inches between them.  

“Fine, if you won’t let me into your dorm, then let me into your bed!” 

They groaned when he wiggled an arm underneath them and pulled himself even closer; Ace held them close and with a devilish grin, nuzzled his nose against their cheek even as they tried to turn their face away. MC hissed each time the lock of his collar rammed into them. He could almost feel the heat of their blush traveling up their face as he continued getting as close as he could to them, keeping an arm around them to hold his position; they didn’t attempt to free themselves, just drew their eyebrows together and frowned even deeper. 

“You’re already in my bed!” They lightly kicked his shin. “Out.” 

“Okay, then let me into your bed every night.” 

MC was surely paying attention now as it was Ace’s turn to start trying to fight off a blush; unfortunately for him, the sliver of moonlight was showing all his cards. He turned his face away from them and tried his hardest to look annoyed, but it was difficult to turn away as the collar around his neck was pretty bulky.  

It was best to come clean, right? Ace battled with his pride, his confidence, and his now flustered and racing heart. He stammered a bit but tried his best to hold his head up high despite his limited movement and looked down his nose at MC, who was still only inches away from his own face. 

“Well, I mean—yeah. I said what I said. Maybe I want to crawl into your bed every night. It’d be a lot easier to do if you just let me move into your dorm.” 

“Ace--” 

“Look, I came to see you ‘cause I was upset, yeah—but I really like when you comfort me. You’re still so nice under that irritating dismissiveness, and you’re always ready to help me out but still put me in my place. I think you’re kind of dumb but, you know, in a cute way, and I just—arhg!”  

Ace wiped his face with his free hand as though he could wipe off his embarrassment or the crimson colour off of his skin; he felt like the shadows in the room were laughing at him. He opened his eyes back up to find MC’s staring back at him, an unreadable emotion pooling within them. 

“So... how ‘bout now? Will you let me into your dorm?” 

The two of them sat in silence for a bit, the room heavy with emotion; Ace was just thankful Grim was asleep and missed his confession or he’d never hear the end of his embarrassment. He bit his tongue as MC blinked a few times, looking between his eyes and scanning his face for any hint of him messing with them—he knew that look anywhere. He stared at them a bit harder, trying to silently indicate the authenticity of his confession; his eyes started to wander down to their lips, however, and found himself swallowing hard before subconsciously leaning in slowly to bridge the small gap between the two of them. 

“No.” MC pushed his face away gently, playfully. 

Ace groaned and grabbed them by the wrist, moving their hand and returning his face to his previous spot. 

“What do you mean no--” 

“No, you can’t transfer to my dorm. It’s impossible.” 

“Oh, so the no wasn’t for the kiss?” His devilish grin was evident in his voice. His face was pushed away again after another attempt to lean in; he met this action with a repeat of his groan and moving MC’s hand. 

“What you can do, besides move into my dorm, is go apologize to Riddle tomorrow.” 

“Uhg.” 

“I’ll go with you, it’ll be fine.” 

MC brushed a rogue strand of hair out of Ace’s face, softly caressing his cheek a moment before intertwining their fingers with his and placing their hands in the space between their faces. 

“We can go on a date once you get that annoying collar off. Then, you can kiss me the right way.” 

Ace’s eyes went wide before growing hooded, a genuine, loving smile accompanying his gaze on the person in front of him. He knew it was the right choice to come seek comfort in their loving arms, and he was glad he had pushed himself to annoy them; the blanket downstairs wasn’t even a fraction as warm as he was enveloped in the feelings between the two of them, and the couch was certainly not as soft and inviting.  

So, he couldn’t move into their dorm, but he could move into their heart—as cliché as he was to admit it. Ace was thankful for a friend like the Prefect, and even more thankful for a lover like MC. His soft gaze turned back into the person in front of him, watching as they had slowly started to drift back to sleep; Ace knew he shouldn’t open his mouth, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “You never answered about that ‘in your bed every night’ thing. That still on?” 

“Jiro!”  

“(Y/n), shh!” 

“How did you--” 

“Shh!” Jiro frantically waved his hands in front of their face, trying to keep them quiet. “Please!”  

“Why did you--” 

“You two, stop talking.” 

“Yes teacher.” “Sorry...” 

(Y/n) faced forward, but continued to side-eye the ceiling above the boy who sat next to her. Stuck to the ceiling was a slice of cheese that he didn’t like on the sandwich he kept sneaking bites of. 

They had been watching him—taking glances, really—throughout class since he did an unusual amount of fidgeting today. They watched as he slowly but surely managed to unwrap a sandwich he must have bought from the convenience store on the way to school, and hastily take bites from behind his standing notebook or whenever the teacher turned their back. At first, (Y/n) thought they were seeing things until they did a double-take and realized that no, Yamada Jiro was in fact trying his hardest to eat a sandwich without being caught. They had to stifle a few laughs as he had to frantically chew a few bites to answer a question or chew very, very slowly as he leaned back in his chair to seem less suspicious. Once he finished the sandwich, (Y/n) thought he was home-free and silently cheered for him, getting oddly engrossed in the whole adventure without sharing a word with him—until he took out another one. 

(Y/n) looked at him incredulously. After fighting with the first one for a few hours, he was going to take out another one? They gripped the edge of their desk—just wait until lunch time! The second time, however, his first bite caused him to pale like a ghost; that really caught (Y/n)’s attention. Jiro looked like he was struggling to swallow a brick before he finally stuck his tongue out in disgust and opened his sandwich, taking out the culprit. (Y/n) only glanced at the moment, seeing that he must not have liked the cheese—either taste of texture wise, they didn’t know and didn’t care enough to ask—and returned their eyes to their book; it was the sudden, subtle slapping sound that caused them to freeze in place with a monotone look on their face. 

Slowly, almost robotically, they turned their head towards Jiro, and watched him happily take another bite of his sandwich. The wrapping had no discarded cheese on it. They continued staring at him hard, burning a hole in the side of his head until he slowly gave them a side-eye. He jumped a bit, turning to them with one cheek full like a hamster, quickly chewing now that he had gotten caught.  

“What was that?” They whispered. 

“What was what?” Jiro whispered back, nervously hiding his sandwich. 

“That sound.” They subtly gestured to his sandwich. “And where did your cheese go.” 

“My cheese--” His face lit up in embarrassment, “Have you watched me the entire time?” 

“No!” They quietly hissed. “Yes. Only glances here and there! Where did your cheese go!” 

“I got rid of it!”  

“It’s not in your wrapper!”  

“What kind of interrogation is this, I thought we were in math class!” 

“Where is the--”  

A small piece of cheese fell onto his desk. Very slowly, (Y/n) turned their head towards the ceiling as Jiro pleaded for them to just face forward and pretend they didn’t see anything. When their eyes landed on the seemingly nasty piece of cheese attached to the ceiling, their face twisted in both grim and disgust. That’s how they ended up here, now lunchtime, as (Y/n) stood next to Jiro's desk with one hand on top of the desk and the other on their hip.  

“Now will you tell me how you got that to stick to the ceiling?” 

“I just gave it a good throw,” he mumbled through the rest of his sandwich. “A little launch. That’s all.” 

“W--” They looked up at the cheese then back down to him. “Why are you saying that so casually? And what made you think you should throw it up there in the first place!” 

“It was gross, I didn’t like it.” 

“That’s when you put it in your wrapper to throw away later!” They gestured heavily to the ceiling. “Not just... toss it to the ceiling!” 

Jiro looked at them for a while, like he was trying to process their words, before just shrugging and taking the last bite of his sandwich. (Y/n) sighed and folded their body as emphasis on how exhausted they were trying to understand his logic. They’ve sat next to him for a fairly long time in their school career, they were well aware he wasn’t dumb, but this time... 

“Moving on,” he swallowed his food and leaned on his hand, stretching his body across his desk and looking up at them through his lashes with a smirk on his lips. “Are ya always starin’ at me?” 

(Y/n) scoffed and flicked him on the forehead. 

“Why in the world would I spend my time staring at you?” 

“’Cause I’m cute and you’ve had a crush on me for years and you just can’t take it anymore so you stare at me longingly, even while I eat, thinking, ‘oh, Jiro, if only I were that sandwich, how you would hold me and--’” 

“I’m going to stop you right there. What kind of manga are you reading now?”  

(Y/n) smacked him on the arm—soft enough to know they were playing around, but hard enough to ease the fact they were embarrassed they had been read like a book—even if it was accidental on his part. He just laughed in response and continued smirking at them, doing his best to flirt with them since he never gets the chance; he’s always too nervous to ask them to hang out or have actual conversations with them—he was going to seize the moment. 

“You can borrow it if you want. Or... you can come by my place and we could watch the anime together sometime?” 

“Is that so?” 

“Just admit you’re in love with me, god, (Y/n).” 

It was (Y/n)’s turn to laugh, taking the opportunity to beat him at his own game and lean in close to him, a devilish smile playing in their favour. 

“If I admit it, then it’d be no fun.” 

Jiro’s eyes widened, watching as (Y/n) straightened up and turned to leave, heading towards the cafeteria to grab their own lunch. He stuttered a bit, no real words coming out; when they finally did, his voice cracked. 

“Wait, really?” He sat up in his chair, “So... does that mean you’ll actually go on a date with me if I ask?” 

“Who knows?” (Y/n) threw over their shoulder, rounding the corner and leaving the room. 

What (Y/n) unfortunately missed was how Jiro leaned onto his desk again, sighing longingly only to shout once the slimy cheese had fallen from the ceiling onto his face. They heard him shout from the hall, however, and couldn’t stop themselves from laughing—they had noticed it start to fall a while back and had to leave before it fell on them instead. 

Mundane; when something is lacking in excitement. 

Shane’s daily life surely fit the bill. Wake up hungover, take the same path to his shitty job, go to the bar for some drinks once he’s off, stumble on home to sleep, repeat. Rarely did he switch up this routine, and rarely did he enjoy doing so. 

He’s used to keeping his eyes on the ground as he walks, an attempt to block the rest of the world around him out of his senses so he can try to desperately find that little moment of peace. Lately, however, he’s been interrupted time and time again. 

Today, once again, there is the same voice calling out to him far too early in the morning for his tastes. A face only beginning to be familiar to him makes its way into his view; he instantly found his own face falling further into a scowl.  

“Hi there! Good morning, Shane!” 

“We are not friends. Stop calling out to me.” He huffed, shoving his hands further into his pockets and he picked up the pace, walking around them. “Leave me alone.” 

This became the ritual, their own little song and dance. The farmer would stand there in front of Pierre’s in the morning, call out a greeting, sometimes get in his way, and try to make friends. Shane would walk a little faster, try to side-step them, and ignore to the best of his abilities. It was irritating, and if he were honest... confusing. 

Why do they keep bothering him? Especially when he answers with his own spewed venom. Yet, day after day, he finds them in the same spot, smile brighter than the sun—blinding him with the light. It quickly fell into his routine, and he no longer bothered to overly react. 

“Good morning, Shane! Nice to see you!” 

“Yeah, whatever... mornin’.” He’d give a quick flick of his wrist in place of a wave to get them off his back. 

The days started to warm up, as did the feeling in his chest whenever he could just feel their presence coming up in his pathway. The melting of the ice around his heart wasn’t... unwelcome, just, new. Weird. Scary. 

Routine becomes comfortable, especially to a man who believes there’s no future on the horizon. His emotions were in turmoil, his thoughts just as muddled, but there was a bit of peace in the repetitive nature of it all; the empty, anxiety inducing fact that comes with change is heavy on him, however, once he gets comfortable. 

One morning, there is nothing but silence in front of the general store as he passes by; no need to side-step, no need to mind his pleasantries, no need to take his eyes off the ground. There is no comfort to be found bursting through the doors of Joja Mart during his shift, there is no comfort to be found stumbling through the doors of The Stardrop Saloon, and there is certainly no comfort to be found within the confines of his own bed sheets.  

He watches the dancing of branches shadows on his ceiling, trying to rid himself of this new feeling of emptiness in his chest. The void finds home within himself often, but something about this felt off. 

The next day, same song and dance; and the next, and the next. 

Like the coming of rain, Shane’s world returned to grey, a darker shadow cast across him than he was used to. The drops of water pelted against his skin, making him curl into himself; he could hardly see in front of him as he walked and splashed through the puddles with each step, the water never leaving his reach. Taking shelter never worked as the rain seemed to follow him indoors.  

Further and further he’d sink, melting into the puddles as they reached out to grab at his ankles and pull him in. The sky grew darker with each passing day, almost feeling as though it was night. Why did his world feel like this? What need did the void have in presenting itself as the storm above his head? What brought its presence in the first place? His chest twisted, his stomach flipped, his head would pound if he got too close to the right answer. 

Today, once again, there is the same sweet voice calling out to him at just the right time to make his morning. A smile as bright as the sun makes its way into his view; the clouds in the sky finally parting to house the life that was being breathed into him.  

This became the ritual, their own little song and dance. The farmer would bring the sun and place it straight into his chest, sing his name in a way no one else could, and bring the two of them closer and closer, fingertips brushing with one another. Shane would walk a little faster to catch up to them, try his hardest not to step on their toes as they swayed to the same song, and offer a smile that shined more like a star when rivaled to theirs. It was beautiful, and if he were honest... confusing. 

Thankfully, they kept bothering him. Choking on his own venom, he slowly tries his hand at words with honey. Luckily, day after day, he finds them in the same spot, smile brighter than the sun—gracing him with the light. It quickly fell into his routine, and he no longer wanted a single thing to change. 

“Good morning, Shane! Nice to see you!” 

“Yeah, good morning... Sweetheart.”  

He hadn’t realized it, but March grew fairly used to seeing that new farmer pass by the forge day after day. It became almost... routine, to see them from his peripheral and feel the twitch of his brow, ignoring the sudden increase of heat against his face that was surely from the forge he busied himself with.  

Some days they’d stop to annoy him, while he’d spare a few words out of the kindness of his heart, other days they’d simply throw him a smile and a wave, continuing their walk to wherever it was they’d decide to go that time. There were days they even ignored his presence and hurried on by—those were the days March liked the most, he was unbothered and uninterrupted—coincidentally, they were also the days he had the most trouble trying to fall asleep. Whatever. 

It was a constant, something expected, he would see them walk by his forge at least once a day. They’d dance along the path—hopping, skipping—frolicking through flower petals that danced in the wind alongside them in the crisp, spring air. They’d have days where they would practically sprint by and rush their hellos to make it to the beach, and others where they’d drag their feet and loudly bark up the wrong tree about the heat in the harsh summer sun. Fallen leaves would make constant crunching sounds as they’d make sure to find and step on every damn one just to get on March’s nerves with a giant smile on their face when autumn would roll around. He did get a laugh or two in when hidden ice had made them fall as they goofed around during the winter—he'd be oh-so-kind and let them warm up by the forge for a minute before they went about their day.  

Even through the seasons, this daily greeting was a constant. March hadn’t realized just how much of an impact this would have on his day-to-day schedule—or maybe he had and pushed away the thought—regardless of the true reasoning, it only donned on him when he found himself fidgeting and attempting to keep busy one day, to stay outside just a bit longer to catch sight of them, only to be graced by the lonely presence of the moon instead. 

Where were they today? Not that it mattered to him. They were probably out doing God knows what, making everyone in the town love them even more. Gross. March shook his head, trying to dispel the images of the farmer that continued to pop up in his mind. He didn’t want to see them. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t come by to annoy him. It didn’t bother him. 

But where in the world were they? He stepped onto the road, looking as far along the horizon as he could every which way. Had he just missed them? Maybe they snuck by him earlier, deciding that they’d leave him alone—maybe he’d just gotten so good at tuning them out that he never noticed them go by. Did they make it home alright? Whatever, it wasn’t his problem. He’d go inside and wash the day from him, relax, have a nice dinner with his brother, and get some sleep. 

He thought it’d be so simple. March felt as though his night passed him by—like he was looking at it through a stack of different paintings rather than living it first-hand. He couldn’t get that damn newcomer out of his head! Every waking thought was either accompanied by their face, their voice, or events including them replaying in his head. Now he lay in bed, looking up at his ceiling as the moonlight poured through the window, unable to get his mind to stay still. 

Did they go to the mines today? If they did, were they alright? Did something happen? Were they hurt? Had they exhausted themselves and passed out somewhere? Were they home? Had they eaten, washed up, tucked themselves into bed? March held his head in his hands, hoping if he squeezed it hard enough, he’d shut off his brain. It was driving him crazy! Why was he even thinking any of this—he didn’t care about them, he didn’t like them one bit! They were an annoyance, a pain in his ass, some... outsider! Why couldn’t he just go to sleep!  

The break of dawn welcomed him far too quickly, dragging him out of bed without a wink of sleep. Fine, whatever. He’d see them come by today and he’d just ask what their problem was. Maybe they were just home sick yesterday; sucks for them—maybe they should get better. No, not in a caring way! March rubbed at his face, smacking his cheeks lightly to snap himself out of it. He had things to do, he was going to do them. He was going to set his mind straight, focus, and go about his own day. 

Why weren’t they walking by! March held the hammer in his hand so tightly he started to shake, his teeth would shatter if he kept grinding them as hard as he was. The sun was setting and he still hadn’t seen them—not even a glimpse! He only got a fraction of his tasks done today; constantly looking over his shoulder to check if they had gone by, or standing out in the middle of the road to stare in all directions for a while to see if he could catch them coming. That makes two days now, don’t they know they were ruining his schedule? He found himself tossing and turning again that night, hardly getting any sleep as worry started to creep into his chest. 

Another day, then another, and another after that. Each day that had gone by without so much as a glimpse of them had now made his chest heavy—he didn’t like it. He didn’t know why it was bothering him so much. He entertained the thought of going to their home once or twice just to check in on them—yell at them for ruining his work—but something gnawed at him each time. What if they were avoiding him?  

Yeah, he wasn’t the nicest to them. He didn’t care that he wasn’t. Maybe they DID start avoiding him—that was their choice. It’d be good for him, after all! He wouldn’t have to deal with them distracting him, or... trying to be his friend. Maybe it did bother him that he wasn’t very nice to them. Maybe he did care, just a little bit. 

When Friday rolled around, he ended up at the tavern early, and drinking heavy. He just wanted to rid himself of these feelings, these thoughts. If he couldn’t work as a distraction or sleep them away, maybe drinking them away would work instead. It usually didn’t take much for his head to get lighter, to shed all his worries and let himself be all smiles and laughter, but he was desperate to keep his thoughts at bay. What if they were avoiding him so much that they’d even stop showing up to tavern nights? He knocked back another drink and laid his head on the bar’s counter. 

“You doing alright there, March?”  

March turned so he could face the voice, closing his eyes once his cheek touched the cool counter. 

“I’m FINE, Hemlock...” Was that voice coming from him? Which way was the room spinning? “Just fine...” 

“I’m thinking you’ve had enough for tonight,” Hemlock shook his head and tried taking March’s half-empty glass, “but you can talk about what’s wrong if you want. No pressure.” 

“Nooo,” March drew out his protest, not bothering to raise his head as he grabbed onto his glass, “don’t take that.” 

“Fine, alright. It’s the last one though, alright?” 

Hemlock leaned against the counter in front of him, staring at the young disheveled boy in front of him. He cocked an eyebrow, thinking for a moment before his eyes lit up in realization. Mischievously, he leaned even closer to the faux red-head and called out just loud enough for him to hear, while keeping his plan believable. 

“Oh, hey (Y/n)!” 

“WHERE?” 

March sat straight up, unsure if the deep red creeping over his features was from being drunk, thinking about seeing them, or if all the blood rushed to his head at once from how quickly he moved. He did not last very long before laying his head back on the counter, a fist crashing down beside it. 

“Spinning, spinning, should NOT have done that...” 

“Ah, I had a feeling that was the root of your little problem.” Hemlock teased, once he caught his breath after laughing at the poor boy’s expense. “What issue do you have with them now?” 

“No... no issue,” March had to calm his breathing. Was he flustered? Oh, no, just trying not to throw up. Wait, was he sure? “Maybe an issue. I don’t know. Why are they avoiding me?” 

“Could be because you aren’t very nice to them.” 

“I’m sooo super nice to them.” 

“Uh-huh...” Hemlock pushed a glass of water onto the counter, trying to slowly switch out March’s two drinks. “Have you tried going to see them?” 

“...I don’t want to find out it’s because they hate me.” 

“Oh, so that’s the real reason.” 

March lifted his head enough to peek up at the older man before turning his gaze to the hand beside him, now dragging his finger along the counter in circles to distract him. 

“I don’t get it. Why haven’t they been by all week? Why... does it bother me so much in the first place?” March closed his eyes again, trying to steady the room. “I like to come here and have some fun; why am I still all upset?” 

Hemlock pushed the water glass further towards March, slowly bringing his glass of beer closer to the back of the bar counter, stopping whenever March stirred slightly. It was a pity, really; Hemlock was well aware of what (Y/n) had been up to—if they were purposefully avoiding March, then they certainly never expressed it. If he remembered correctly, he questioned why they were walking so painfully slow from the tavern the other night, almost comically dragging out each step as they looked up the road behind them. 

‘Should I book you for your new comedy routine?’ 

‘I’m just... takin’ my time, Hemlock! Nothing odd about it.’ 

He remembered watching as they drug their shoe against the road to make their next step, slow as a snail. 

‘Uh... yup, nothing odd about it all right. Everything alright, (Y/n)?’ 

They had given him a sigh then, their body almost melting to the ground as they voiced their woes—too busy to make it anywhere but their farm and the tavern for some dinner at the end of the day, something about cleaning up the old place. It was almost killing them having to stay there instead of running off—or rather, running by the blacksmith. 

‘Isn’t March always giving you a hard time, anyway?’ He remembered asking, putting the back of his hand on his hip and smiling—he already knew the answer. 

‘That won’t stop me!’ They stood triumphantly then, stomping their foot on the ground. ‘I WILL get that boy to be my friend, whether he likes it or not!’ 

Hemlock remembered the shy heat that crept up their neck, touching their ears first before it reached their smile and they had to turn away from him before getting embarrassed further. 

‘Besides...’ their voice was soft, he thought, ‘when you get into a routine, the withdrawals... suck.’ 

Hemlock was brought back to the present by March blindly dragging his drink back to him, reversing all of his hard, secret work. He sighed, a smile on his face as he gave up and picked up an empty glass to start washing it. 

“Well,” he put on his wise father voice, “’when you get into a routine, the withdrawals... suck.’” 

Silent hung above both men a moment before March lifted his head with a confused glare. 

“Huh?” 

“Huh. I thought that would’ve been much cooler than it was. Context was probably better, in hindsight.” 

Both turned their attention to the opening tavern doors, a familiar figure now gracing the open room. A few others called out to them first, receiving a smile, a wave, and a short conversation in return. March sat up straight, ignoring how light headed it made him feel this time. 

“(Y/N)! Heyyy!" He practically drawled out his greetings. “C’mere, c’mere!” 

The heat from his blush was intermingling with the heat from being drunker than Hell, so he no longer paid it any attention. March eagerly patted the counter next to him, practically begging for them to come sit with him. If he were a dog, his tail would have wagged so intensely as the wide smile on his face mirrored theirs as they made their way over. 

“Uh, hi there March! Had enough to drink already?” 

“You’re here!” March let a genuine, heartfelt giggle bubble up from his chest at how light their presence alone made him feel. 

“I am—oh! Okay--” 

March practically threw himself against them, his head against their shoulder while they tried to hold onto the drink Hemlock has just offered them. His bottom lip jutted out, a very prominent pout, as he started to drag his finger along their extended arm now, drawing little shapes like he had done previously to the counter. 

“...Where were you?” His voice grew oddly quiet. “You haven’t been by in days.” 

“Well, I--” (Y/n) tried to explain. A heavy wave of guilt washed over them, a huge pang of pain shooting through their heart at how March looked up at them—sad, puppy dog eyes, his metaphorical ears and tail drooping as though he were sopping wet from the rain. They had to grip at their heart, almost comically, dramatically, throwing their head back in despair at just how evil they had been! 

“I’m sorry! I had a lot of work on the farm, you know? There’s a lot of cleaning up to do there before I can think about maybe expanding my crops, or working on a barn, you know?” They stuck their lips out into a pout of their own, gently patting March’s exposed cheek with their other hand. “Didn’t mean to make you worry.” 

March looked back down at their arm again, now dragging his finger up and down it, quietly mumbling, hoping that they wouldn’t be able to hear. 

“Wasn’t worried...” he started, mumbling even softer, “Just... missed you.” 

Though he thought it were quiet enough, a drunk person’s reality never seems to match; (Y/n) stared down at him, almost dumbstruck at how loudly he had professed his feelings—they weren’t much, but those words alone proved to (Y/n) that there really WAS some sort of fire in that frozen heart of his! Their gaze softened as they slowly turned their arm over, opening and closing their palm a few times to signal an offer. 

March almost immediately, willingly, took their hand and interlaced their fingers. He kept his eyes trained on their hands, studying the way their fingers seemed to fit perfectly between his. After they gently leaned their head against his, he spoke again—a little more clearly this time. 

“So... you don’t hate me?” It sounded pained. 

“No, I don’t hate you in the slightest, March.” 

“...You weren’t avoiding me?” 

“Not at all.” They gave his hand a little squeeze. “Is that what you thought this whole time? Is that why you’re so clingy tonight?” 

“...No.” March huffed, closing his eyes and turning his face away, though he doesn’t dare take his head off of their shoulder. Their soft laugh surrounded him like a soft melody, and he relished in it a moment before speaking up again. “Don’t ruin my daily schedule. Come by at least once a day.” 

“Alright,” they laughed again, “Demanding, much?” 

“You’re making it difficult to get my work done. To sleep. Just—come by at least once so I can see you and have a good day.” 

(Y/n) nuzzled against the top of his head slightly, a smile hidden from his view as they agreed, choosing to ignore the nervous way March started to fidget, and ignoring the way butterflies flew rampantly in their stomach. With their free hand, they brought the glass of water Hemlock had been trying to push on him all night up to his lips, encouraging him to drink at least a bit. 

At least for the night, tension between them had settled—whatever tension they chose to believe there was. March’s chest felt lighter, a weight lifted off his shoulders, as he basked in their glow rather than the cold, lonely moon’s, just for tonight. A goofy, genuine smile made its way up to his eyes, watching as he messed with (Y/n)’s hand and easily accepted any time they gave him water. 

“You’ll forget all this tomorrow, huh?” 

“Yup.” He smiled, giving their hand a squeeze and slightly cuddling further into their shoulder. 

“You’ll go back to hating me tomorrow too, then?” 

“Ow!” 

“If you sat still darling, it wouldn’t hurt.” Asmodeus leaned forward close to their ear, the mixture of his smile and his breath tickled their skin. “Would you like me to kiss you better?” 

“Don’t you mean kiss IT better?” 

“I know what I said.” 

Asmo fixed his posture, his delicate hands deftly working, weaving, one bundle of hair over the other into a tight, intricate design. He hummed to himself, a smile on his face, while he ignored their outbursts every now and again that he had pulled their hair a bit too much. It was a calming action, sitting in (mostly) silence with them sitting between his legs; they spent their time scrolling through their D.D.D., stopping now and again to show Asmo some post on Devilgram that caused him to rant and rave about whatever the picture was of. 

It was fun to play with MC, dressing them up as though they were his own personal doll—but this was different, this was something much more... intimate, than that. It was easy being with them, no need to push to be center of attention because MC’s eyes were always only on him. In his room, in relative peacefulness, he can rest easy knowing their energy, time, and anything in between were all for him; their smiles, their touches, all of it was his and it made him feel as though he were the only one in the world. He wanted to be the only one in their world. 

“Asmo, stop—ow!” 

“I warned you to quit moving!”  

Their hair was so fun to play with; it was calming, really. The pattern of the movements he had to make to braid along with the fun of running his fingers through their hair made him feel like he could close his eyes and do it all day long. One strand here, another there, a quick tie off then he gets to go in for another few strands—the mundane actions that normally would frustrate him brought him a lot of joy so long as they were involved.  

He looked over their shoulder at their phone once more, seeing a text from one of his brothers, asking MC for their time. He pouted, hoping to keep them around for the rest of the night. He tugged a bit on their hair again. 

“Okay-- ouch! Asmo!” they waved his hands away from their hair, leaning their head back so that they could look up at him. “No more, we’re done for the night.” 

“Aw, but my love--” 

“Nope. You’re going to yank my hair out at this rate. We can call it a night—Satan wants to watch this show--” 

Asmo jutted his bottom lip out, gently holding the sides of MC’s face before they moved to leave. Looking down at them, upside down, it was hard to read their face but Asmo didn’t mind. He wanted them to stay and that’s what mattered to him. A soft kiss to the tip of their nose, one to their forehead, and a few to their eyelids that fluttered shut as he leaned in; his voice came out like honey, the hushed tone tickling their face. 

“Can’t Satan record it? I was really hoping that you’d stay.” 

“Well--” 

A few more kisses to their face; the apples of their cheeks, underneath their eyes, barely ghosting their lips. He pulled back a bit to look into their eyes, his face screamed pleading more than it did pout anymore. 

“Please?”  

They looked lovestruck; he could feel the heat in their face, their half-lidded eyes drunk with love that screamed ‘kiss me’ focused only on his lips, their teeth just slightly tugging on their own bottom lip. The very look caused Asmo’s heart to race, his pulse growing rapid—he was sure MC would feel it as their hands wrapped around his wrists. The smile on his face grew devilish as they gave a slow, slight, drunken nod.  

“Yeah... okay. I’ll stay.” 

He smirked against their lips, his hands now moving down a bit to ghost over their neck, feeling them shiver a bit as they let themselves relax completely in his lap. He kissed them gently—to tease—and let his fingertips dance just underneath the edge of their shirt. Asmo giggled before kissing them over and over again, speaking softly in between. 

“Woo-hoo! Another series: done. Hurry up MC, I’m gonna start the next one!” 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” MC called, rushing over to plop onto the floor-bound makeshift blanket fort with an arm full of snacks to restock their supply. “Don’t hit play yet!” 

“Too late! No time! Gotta play it now!”  

“Levi!” They whined, pushing him over and rewinding the previous 10 seconds they missed just to prove a point while he laughed. 

He bounced back up, pretending to have done it too hard and bumped into their side, causing them to fall over a bit as well. The two of them fought back and forth for a short while, laughing comfortably with each other until their new show’s opening ended—that was when they settled down. MC leaned their head against his shoulder, and Levi suddenly realized the position he was in and stiffened up; he started to get nervous and shy despite being in the same situation time and time again.  

Once the show actually started, it was easy for him to get lost in it and forget the warmth of MC cuddling up beside him, wrapping their arms around his waist and mindlessly feeding him snacks as time went on. As the episode came to an end, however, the cursed black loading screen reminded him once more of his (epic!) predicament. MC nuzzled against him for a bit before sitting up, noticing his nerves plain as day on his face in the very same reflection. 

“I think this one’s going to be good; what did you think about it?” 

“The premise is good but the executions a little slow. If they had used proper elements of a magical girl anime instead of trying to fake it and make their own, it would hold more attention of the viewers but instead they made it seem more like an off-brand mecha and that--” 

He continued on his rant relentlessly, MC wasn’t sure he ever took a breath within it. He spouted off a lot of explanations, most of which they picked up a few words from, but mostly just nodded in silence with a smile on their face. They looked content, happy to listen to him and pretty interested in what he had to say—whenever it was cohesive, at least. Their gentle smile is what caused Levi to pause and stare at them. 

“You know,” he started, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m pretty happy that you’re willing to do this with me.” His face started to heat up, and his face contorted to a pained look as though he were battling with himself to get words out. “I mean, I have no one else to do this with. I’m just--” 

“Aw, Levi,” they teased, a small smirk growing on their lips, “are you trying to compliment me?” 

“No!” A lie. “Let me talk!” 

MC threw their hands up in defense, nonchalantly twisting their lips to the side and eyes following suit as they pretended not to care. Levi took a deep breath before launching back into his speech. 

“I’m just, glad that you like me—and that you like me enough to sit here and do all that gross couple stuff with me, and that you listen to me even if you’re a bit of a normie and don’t understand the golden depth of my reviews, and--” he quickly started to spiral into a nervous, embarrassed fit and fidgeted with his hands, “and you know I just, I... I lo- lov- I lo-” 

The more Levi stuttered, the worse he felt. As his heart started to leap out of his throat, he could feel it breaking into pieces; this wasn’t how he wanted to do it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Now he looks like a complete fool—MC wouldn’t like him back after this! Even if they were already dating—they'd definitely want to leave after this, he certainly did. His eyes shot up from his hands to their own eyes as their hands covered his. Their smile was so gentle, he almost shattered into pieces under the sheer intense pressure he found himself under. 

“Hey,” their teasing tone replaced with something he’d describe as angelic, “if you can’t say it out loud, go ahead and use this.” 

It was only then that he realized they dropped his phone in his hands. They tilted their head and smiled even brighter, knowing just what would make him feel better. His hands shook as he typed out a text message to them at lightning speed, thumb now hovering over the send button; he closed his eyes shut tight as he hit send and groaned, throwing himself backwards and laying on the floor. He complained to MC that they insist on making his life difficult, when all he wanted to do was watch anime.  

‘I love you. I wanted to say it without stuttering, or in some cool like, shojo-style way since it was the first time, but I ruined it.’ 

Levi was almost too afraid to look at his phone whenever it went off. 

‘Sit up.’ 

Reluctantly, he did as he was told and had already opened his mouth to complain, apologize, deflect, anything he had to do to save face but instead of needing to save it, MC held it instead. 

Gently, they cupped their hands around his face and leaned in slowly, only kissing the tip of his nose. The small kiss was so full of affection, Levi wondered if he was going to cry; his body relaxed a bit, his face melting into their hold as he looked at them through his lashes and a pout on his lips to offset the look of love in his eyes and blush on his face.  

Words didn’t need to be said. He didn’t need to say it again, they didn’t need to say it to him. He didn’t need to ask them to kiss him again, they leaned in again and gave him a deep, loving kiss. When they pulled away, he stared at their lips until they leaned in again and again. His heart was racing and he felt as though he were on Cloud 9; he didn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he thanked whatever god may have had a hand in it. 

“So you see, this time we’re going to fill out all of the tax forms THREE times, so there’s three copies, right?” 

“Mmmhm...” 

“Sooo... one gets sent to the Capitol, and another goes to our records. That means there’s one just to practice on! Isn’t that fun?” 

“You’ve got an interesting understanding of ‘fun’, Adeline, but I’m excited for you.” 

“You should be excited too! See, if we fill these ones out...” 

Their best friends excited voice started to mix into the background as (Y/n) started to zone out a bit, their chin landing in their hand as they tried to look as though they were keeping up with her excitement over tax forms, a content smile lingering on their lips. Truly, they loved Adeline and her enthusiasm, but filling out paperwork that specifically required math just wasn’t high on their list of things they’d call “fun”; but for her, they’d sit and listen—they'd fill out however many papers she’d hand them—if it meant she was happy. However, something just seemed to be nagging at them today, something sitting heavy on their mind. 

Their eyes started to wander alongside their thoughts—and through the crack in Adeline’s office door, they found exactly what had been pulling them away from their best friend’s speech; across the hall, a certain pink-haired man was fumbling with various scrolls of different sizes, trying to keep them tucked under his arms as he struggled to pull his office door closed behind him. (Y/n)’s eyes seemed to widen involuntarily as they locked onto him and every little movement he had made—their stare surely held some weight as he seemed to look up and lock eyes with them for a moment. Eiland had given a soft smile, one that seemed to only barely reach his eyes—one that seemed a bit more sheepish about being caught fumbling around rather than just genuine happiness—and an attempt at a small wave the best that he could manage without dropping anything. As quickly as they had seen him, he had disappeared out of their line of sight—assumingly out the front door of the manor and off to the museum, if they had to take a guess. 

(Y/n) took a heavy breath, trying to fill their lungs back with the air they had lost holding their breath at the mere sight of him; it may not have been wrong to harbour a bit of feelings for him per say, but it certainly didn’t feel right to have them. Eiland: the brother of their best friend, Eiland: one of the children to the Baron and Baroness, Eiland: the man that unfortunately took residence in most of (Y/n)’s thoughts. Just when did they start feeling like this? The fluttering of their heart, the rising of heat on their skin, the involuntary way the corners of their lips dragged up into a love-struck smile whenever he was simply in their line of sight? The way their body seems to go numb and move in the most embarrassing of ways like stumbling over their own feet or dropping things out of their hands? How about when they find that their mind has gone completely blank, with no capability to string words together and leave their lips—even if they could, they certainly would not make sense. Eiland? Their best friend’s brother. Ridiculous. 

When did it start? Their thoughts turn to a memory, such as when they had visited the beach together last summer; Adeline sat opposite of (Y/n), the both of them excitedly chattering away as they soaked up all the sun had to offer them, letting the light spray of crashing waves fend off the heat for them. (Y/n) couldn’t recall what they had talked about then, but they certainly couldn’t forget looking past their friend to see another head of pink hair pop out from the water a little further away; if they had stopped to think about it, surely they would have just realized he had been scolding one of the other boys for pushing him in, but perhaps the sun had just gotten to (Y/n) that day, clouding their reasoning—for all they could focus on was the seemingly slow-motion raining of sun-kissed water droplets, the halo behind Eiland’s head as he ran his hands through his hair to remove it from his face, and just how stunning he had to have been to rival the clear water surrounding him. It felt as though it were something from a cliche story—maybe even one that Elsie would have recounted to them—but just how did (Y/n) seem to see Eiland like that? How had they been unaware of how quickly their heart had started to beat, or how hot their face had gotten? Their memory had ended with them feeling faint, and something about Adeline reprimanding them for apparently getting too much sun—how could they look her in her eyes and tell her that they’ve looked straight into something brighter than the sun—her very own flesh and blood? 

It isn’t right—the way he looks as though there’s sunshine and flowers floating around him in response to his excitement. It isn’t right—the way (Y/n) wanted to reach out from behind Adeline and caress her brother’s cheek and direct those starstruck eyes in their direction instead. It isn’t right—the way (Y/n) found Eiland so insufferably attractive as he rambles on ecstatically about some relic he had dug up and started explaining the history to his sister when she and (Y/n) had simply come by to ask about some document he had been neglecting. Life simply wasn’t fair—the way their brain had completely shut down and their body had wanted to move on its own to bring him closer, to relish in that smile that lit up his face, to kiss every inch of his face to soak up how adorable he was. It certainly wasn’t fair to Adeline, who had brought (Y/n) along to help back her up and enforce the need to finish his paperwork, only to find that they had clammed up and couldn’t bring themselves to look either of them in the eyes, stuttering through any response they gave as meekly as possible, solely because the sun himself had smiled their way and fried their brain. How were they supposed to tell her that their body had plans of its own the moment their eyes landed on her brother? They wouldn’t-- they waved it away as not wanting to crush his excitement—a half-truth.  

What excuses could (Y/n) possibly give? They hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol that night in the inn—this, they remember very clearly—yet their eyes sat lidded, their gaze far away and glazed over, their head resting in their hand; for what reason? They vaguely remembered what Adeline had been talking to them about, and for this they were truly remorseful—for what good was a friend who sat so close yet so far away in spirit, drunk on their own feelings for a pink-haired boy sitting at the end of a different table across the room? Not that Adeline had known, however, that there was no alcohol in their cup—just eyes full of a man so animated, taking his title of “Drama Maker” to heart. They had been so drunk on every elegant movement, every fluid motion, every ounce of aura he had given off. It was embarrassing, really, when (Y/n) thought back to how hard they had to fight to keep their heart beating within their chest. It was embarrassing, truly, when (Y/n) had to remember how to string together words and peel their eyes away from Eiland whenever Adeline would call for their attention. It was downright pathetic how desperately they wanted to be over there, at his table, with those shining eyes trained on them. They couldn’t tell her that—no no, definitely not—they had lied and said they’ve just had a bit too much, they were starting to get tired. They prayed she wouldn’t question the lack of alcohol on their breath. 

They wanted this man so embarrassingly bad—but God, just how wrong was it of them? The thought of him—their feelings for him, rather—started to make them feel... dirty. Filthy. Not that they were having wicked thoughts of the sinful nature—no no, not to that extent... yet. How long until they’re so far gone that they’re beyond saving? Was that not a level of betrayal to their best friend on par with the layers of the Underworld? They’ve known Adeline long enough, and definitely know her well enough—surely she wouldn’t be irate with them, right? What of the sense of betrayal, though? The level of trust? Would it all diminish in the matter of seconds, if she were to notice the way (Y/n) looked at her brother? Adeline was a very smart woman—maybe she’d already realized by now and simply left things be; would that make things easier, or worse? 

What sense was there in worrying about this here and now? (Y/n) mentally sighed, what good would it do in the end? A problem for tomorrow—or perhaps even the next day, or even three months from now—but certainly not a problem for today. Adeline tapped lightly on (Y/n)’s forehead, snapping them clear out of their head as they looked at her bewildered, eyes wide and on par with that of a frightened owl. 

“You’ve been sighing for a while, are you alright?” 

“Huh?... What...?” (Y/n) blinked rapidly, shaking their head a bit and laughed to themselves, “I just... couldn’t wrap my head around what you were saying, sorry.” 

“Oh, I know, right?!” Adeline seemed to go back to her previous level of excitement. “Isn’t it crazy what they’re asking for this year regarding the paperwork? We’ll have to work even harder! Isn’t it great?!” 

(Y/n) smiled to themselves, a sense of relief that their best friend had misinterpreted their confession. Their chin returned to their hand, a slight nod prompting the pink-haired woman to continue with her explanation. (Y/n) kept their eyes on her, watching every excited movement of her hands and how wide and bright her smile had been; once she turned around to find another stack of papers, (Y/n)’s eyes travelled to the crack in the door once more, staring at the closed door opposite of them. Almost longingly, a faint smile graced their lips as they studied the tall piece of wood. 

“Calm down, calm down—we have enough photos for everybody!”  

“Mammon, we’ve got another one asking if we have any of ‘Lucifer sneezing’. Why are they so specific?” 

“It’s funny, and he’s vulnerable; the perfect photo!” 

“Do you... have one?” 

“Nope! Tell ‘em to think bigger!” 

Mammon lost MC in the crowd again as succubus and demon both surrounded him, looking to get their hands on exclusive photos of his brothers. He was all smiles, laying his charm on thick to get as much money as he could out of all the suckers—30,000 grimm for a photo of Satan asleep on a garden bench? 500,000 grimm for a photo of Asmo in a face mask? These people were fools and he was ready for the bountiful gold harvest. 

Luckily, MC agreed to help him. They said they were only in it so long as they got a cut of the profits, but Mammon knew better; they were always the person he turned to for shenanigans because they were the only one willing to jump head-first into anything with him. He scanned the crowd for them again, his smile growing even wider when he caught sight of them smiling with another demon, a devilish glint in their eyes as they exchanged a photo for cash.  

All was going well—they were almost out of photos and they had made an absolute killing; Mammon even had a card reader for his D.D.D. where that direct deposit tasted so sweet. Even better—not a brother of his in sight! No Lucifer, not even a Diavolo! He looked over at MC who gave him a knowing smirk and a thumbs up. Mammon felt as though he were surrounded by the sun, the comfort of finally winning wrapping around him like a blanket—it didn’t last long. 

With a crowd this big, it was sure to draw attention sometime; despite its size and the large amount of people pushing and shoving to get to the center, Mammon could still pick out the ever-authoritative Lucifer among them all. His fever dream snapped and started crumbling within seconds; he called out to MC. 

“Shops closed! Thanks fer comin’! Time to book it, MC!” 

Hopping off of his makeshift pedestal, MC met up with him; he grabbed their wrist and started to hightail it out of the crowd, pushing, shoving, squeezing through people as he told them off when they complained. He could hear people behind the two of them complain more about being shoved and others squealing over the appearance of Lucifer. For a split second, Mammon considered staying within the confines of the crowd, just running in circles between people to keep the distance between the two of them and the ball of fury that was on his way—it was a short-lived plan as he realized Lucifer was starting to disperse the crowd; what was he supposed to do? What was he going to do? He nervously called out to MC. 

“Hey uh, got any ideas?” 

They clicked their tongue and flipped the script, grabbing onto his wrist and pulling him along instead. 

“Follow me and keep your head down!”  

They lead him in a zig-zag motion through the people before bursting out of the crowd straight into an alleyway where they ran as fast as they could. They made their way through various streets, alleys, anywhere they thought they could get away from Lucifer; whenever they thought they were far enough, they ducked into one last alleyway and hid behind some stray boxes and trash cans. They both collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily and lounging as though they were about to fall over completely and pass out at any moment. Once they both caught most of their breath, they finally looked at one another and started in a fit of giggles, steadily growing to a stomach-aching laughter. MC started to settle down first, wiping away a few stray tears while Mammon worked on slowing down back to giggles. 

“You know,” MC started, pausing to take a few breaths, “Lucifer’s going to make us give all that money back.” 

“Yeah,” Mammon could hardly get out through his laughter. 

“We’ll probably be punished severely.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll just blame it on you.” 

“Hey!” Mammon pointed an accusatory finger in their direction. “You were in on it too! Don’t leave me hangin’ like that!” 

“Every person for themselves,” they stuck their tongue out and bit it, a smirk on their lips. 

Mammon glared at them, though it wouldn’t be for long since their smile turned to a shit-eating grin and he couldn’t help but reciprocate. They moved closer to him, tapping his chest with a fire in their eyes. 

“Besides, he won’t know about the money on Goldie if we don’t tell him!” 

Mammon’s smile grew from ear to ear, a warmth growing in his chest like a ripple with each tap of their finger. He didn’t realize they had moved so close, but he felt so warm and comfortable, he couldn’t help but look at them with a soft, loving look in his eyes. He spoke before he could think. 

“See? This is why I fell in love with ya, MC.” 

Their widened eyes staring back at him snapped him out of his love drunk gaze. He could feel his face heat up along with his chest this time, his eyebrows drawing together in false anger in an attempt to backtrack what he had said. His eyes darted around, looking everywhere except into MC’s, biting his tongue a lot as he tried to stammer through a few words, a few excuses, none of which were successful. He kept trying to turn his face away from them, but they simply followed his gaze, an evil smirk following his eyes around. 

“Quit it, will ya?” He closed his eyes and turned his face away again, “Forget it.” 

“Oh, come on Mammon, tell me what you said.” 

“I said nothin’!” 

“Something about falling in love with me?” 

“No!”  

Mammon stopped his back and forth arguing with them after they put a hand over his, leaning in dangerously close to his face. MC pushed his sunglasses up, taking a good look at him; he swallowed hard and found it almost impossible to look into their eyes, but pushed himself to do so anyways, even when they leaned all the way in and gave his lips a gentle kiss. 

Starstruck, lovestruck, whatever kind of struck he was, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t close his eyes, he couldn’t kiss back, he just sat there with wide eyes and his face as dark as it could go. MC didn’t stay long, pulling away with an innocent smile this time, reaching up to grab his chin gently and shake his face back and forth. 

“Well, you’ll have to love me later. Right now, I think we gotta get going.” 

They stood quickly and pulled him to his feet, taking off without him, laughing at him whenever he called out for them to wait. He sighed, both exasperated and in longing, and watched them as they went; maybe he’d take this money of his and take them out to a nice dinner for once. 

“Mammon...” A booming voice came from right behind him.