Why couldnât things ever go as planned...? The one time Kiwa had been allowed to walk home from R.A.D. alone, the one time everyone was busy... was the one time sheâd been so blissfully unaware of potential danger.
Everything was such a blur to her, one second sheâd been checking her D.D.D. to see if she had any new texts, and the next there were claws ripping through the sleeve of her uniform. So very luckily for her they didnât break the skinâ but it scared her beyond imaginable. Kiwa jumped, the device in her hand falling to the ground and cracking.
At least, with the obvious attempt at an attack, Kiwa had the common sense to run. Sheâd been harassed enough times during her idol days to know when to book it.
She had been in too much of a panic to even process if the demon who tried to scratch her followed, but apparently it worked out for the best considering Kiwa did return to the House of Lamentation without any actual injury. She knew some demons werenât a fan of the fact she was a human, especially not one as close to the brothers as she was. Especially one close with Mammon. All of the brothers had fangirls, she knew that... she was stupid to have gotten closer to him at school.
Kiwa hadnât exactly processed the whole situation until she was safely behind the closed door, eyes wide and out of breath. She looked down at the tear in her sleeve, the reality setting in. Damn, someone really just tried to hurt her... however that wasnât her main concern. She knew this uniform needed to be repaired... it wouldnât be good to let anyone see it.. theyâd just get all up in arms about how she was stupid for not waiting for someone to walk home with. Yeah, they were busy.. but waiting until someone showed up was always an option.
On shaky legs, she made her way to her room and removed the outer jacket of her uniform. She sat in silence as she tried to sew the claw marks shut... she really didnât want anyone to worry. However sheâd forgotten the broken D.D.D. in all of that panic, completely unaware of any texts that may have been sent to make sure she did get home safe. Typically she responded to texts very quickly... no response from her was more than a little odd.
The longer she sat, the shakier her hands got. Eventually she did have to set down the sewing needle, placing it into her pin cushion, and buried her face into the damaged jacket to try not to cry. She didnât like crying... as often as she did, she tried not to... it was embarrassing. It hurt, and it made things so much worse in her own head. Those soft sobs, shoulders shaking so pathetically.. she really needed a hug.
// SMALL ANGSTY THING FOR MAMMON,,,,, man imagine how freaked heâd get if the fastest replier he knew suddenly just isnât answering đ
Mammon had a habit of spam-texting when the urge hit him. Sometimes, he had a lot to say, and the only way he could say it was in small bursts. He was never one for paragraphs, his rapid-fire messages unintentionally giving people the chance to interject if they felt the need to. In Kiwaâs case, he hoped for it. He liked to see the cute emojis she sent, her sugar-sweet words boosting his mood and keeping boredom at bay.
   > Seriously, let me pick ya up after school.
   > We can go for a drive, go out to eat!
   > Or we can do somethinâ else. Whatever ya wanna do!
   > Babe
   > Baby
   > Kiwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
   > Kiwa
   > Baby, answer meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
He grumbled and sent two more texts before he rested his hands and the screen against his chest. Nervously, he let the tips of his painted nails drum against the back of his phone case. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.
Waiting wasnât a strength of his. He knew she was likely on her way home from school, but she never waited this long to text him back. She was quick as a whip, so why wasnât she answering?
   > Oi, did I do something?
   > Ya never ignore me!
   > If I fucked up, at least tell me so I can fix it!
   > This ainât fair!
And again, no answer for five minutes straight.
His irritation at being ignored began to wither away the longer time stretched on, and in its place a knot of growing anxiety began to form in his stomach. Sitting up, Mammon let loose a low groan and started up again, thumbs flying across the keyboard on his screen. If something had happened to her, it would be his fault. He was meant to be her protector, but he assumed that the two of them being attached at the hip would be a clear warning to other demons that she wasnât to be touched.
Had he assumed wrong? Were lesser demons getting more brazen?
   > Are ya okay?
   > Why ainât ya answer me?
   > Did something happen?
âEh, whatever. Iâm sure sheâs fine!â He tried to shove back the dread welling up in his chest, but no amount of stubborn repression could stop him from leaping from his bed and making a beeline for her room. He liked to play tough and pretend that he didnât care, but his every action spoke volumes. He darted to her room, hand immediately going for the handle â until he caught the sound of a stifled sob through the crack he had created.
Whatever the reason was, his human was crying.
Mammon slipped into the room and silently shut the door. He didnât toy with the lights or speak, but rather let his feet carefully carry him over to the curled up, trembling form of the woman he adored.
A single hand touched at her back, smoothing large circles along her shoulder blades as he settled down beside her. He couldnât begin to guess the reason why she felt so distraught, but it couldnât have been good if she felt the need to hole herself away.
âCan ya talk to me, precious?â