weekly fandom rambles

Pink carnations along with white magnolias and yellow daffodils sat delicately on nearly orange hair. Sprigs of deep purple lilac and small green leaves sprung up, creating a pop of color to match the jade eyes sitting only inches away from the crown. 

The flowers told a somber story of trust, fear, and most importantly, unrelenting love; a delicate and sad tale to match the one wearing the macabre crown.

The story which belonged to Cater Diamond. 

The curse had been months in the making, and the man knew as much. He had been pining for years, but the heart works in mysterious ways. Sometimes, we don’t know our feelings until the world sends us a sign. And for some, it came in the form of magical growing flowers; flowers that could not be removed until a confession, or until one is grasped by the gentle arms of death. 

And sadly, Cater had resigned himself to the latter. He felt in his heart that he could not tell his beloved. His beloved who, in the red-heads mind, had so much to lose, and nothing to gain from being with him.

So instead of smiling brightly on the dance floor, dancing and singing to his heart’s content with his friends, he stood quietly on the balcony, smiling gently to the moon as he twirled the red rose that had sprung from his own palm. His mind, though it should have been on the dance, was on one specific person.

As the minutes ticked down to midnight, the man went through every smile, laugh, quiet night, any memory at all of his love. He ran through stories that he had been told, and that he had told in return. He knew he wasn’t going to do anything about his feelings, so he wanted to make sure his final thoughts were of his beloved. 

But gentle steps interrupted his musings.

“You know, the party’s inside. Even if it is magical out here, too.” A small smile crossed Cater’s lips as he closed his eyes. What bitter irony he had found himself in.

“Even the great Cay-Cay himself can only handle so much excitement.”

“Understandable.” The man walked to the railing and leaned on the golden bars. “So what’s got you thinking so intensely? I swear I could hear gears churning from the hall.” Cater laughed along with the man his heart wished was his. 

“Would it be #cringe if I said love?” All went silent with his words.

“Love, huh? Must be about someone pretty special if they’ve got you so smitten.”

“You have no idea.”

A gentle wind blew through the night, ruffling both of the men’s hair.

“Am I right to guess that they’re who the flower crown’s for?”

The question startled the red-haired man, and he quickly turned to his companion.

“Do they know? I mean, probably not with you still having the flowers.” The man was still staring out into the night.

Cater stammered. How was he supposed to handle this situation? While the man stayed lost in his head, he missed his fellow third-year's expression morphing into anger- 

“Unless, they do know. Then...”

-but he couldn’t exactly miss being grabbed so quickly.

“Did they reject you?! Because if that’s the case, Cater we need to get you to Professor Crewel, now! I mean, with how far this is,” he brushed one of the carnations, “You probably only have ‘til midnight.”

The red-head shook his head as he mournfully replied, “I don’t want to get rid of it.”

“Cater, you’ll die!”

“And if Crewel gets rid of the disease, I’ll forget everything.” He grabbed the other man’s hands. “That means the pain of unreturned love, sure. But every smile? Every inside joke? Every memory? I can’t lose those, too.”

“Cater!”

A stabbing pain exploded in Cater’s chest as he fell to his knees. Only a few more minutes, and the disease would win.

As he gathered himself, he never let go of the other’s hands. He paid attention to every scrape and cut and scar; years of hard work and dedication shown in every mark.

“You know, I’ve always admired you.You call yourself plain and simple, but you’ve always made your mark. Made a splash, even when you weren’t trying. You’re kind, talented, smart, brave;” he laughed, “everything I’m not.” Another pang. He could feel vines growing from his chest and small blooms from his palm. He retracted his hands to look at them, ignoring the stare of the other man; seeing the amber eyes would only make it hurt worse. “You have so many friends, even if you don’t think so. So many people that genuinely care about you. And those connections you make? They’re genuine. Real. Strong.

“I always thought when you wanted to be my friend, I was just another name to add to a list. But, Sevens, was I wrong. You don’t treat anyone like just another name. You care, and people care about you in return. And for years, I tried to stay away. Anytime you were near me, I got this… feeling. It felt angry, but not?  I thought I was jealous.”

“Why, in the name of Twisted Wonderland, would you be jealous of me?”

“I don’t think it was so much that I was jealous of you, and more jealous of everyone closer to you. Everyone who saw you smile first and laugh more, and who you could be more you around. People who you loved.”

A quiet gasp came from the other man.

“Cater, don’t tell me.”

“Somewhere along the way, admiration and jealousy became… so much more. And it took me too long to realize what they really were.” A green carnation, much like the ones from the baker’s birthday bouquet, grew from Cater’s left shoulder. Carefully, he grabbed the stem and pulled, wincing as it came free. As soon as it was released, another grew in its place. Carnations began to line his shoulders as small green clovers sprung into a trail towards the center of his chest. Red gladiolus flowers bloomed along this same path as Cater struggled to breath.

11:59.

“Trey-”

“Don’t say it. Do not tell me that you are about to die. Don’t- Don’t tell me it’s because of me. Don’t tell me-”

“I love you, Trey Clover. Always have.” Cater moved the carnation into Trey’s hands, encircling the man’s hands with his own one last time. “But the spell has to end.”

The bell at the center of campus rang through the air as Valentine’s day, and the disease in Cater Diamond came to an end. But life isn’t always a happy ending, and spells don’t always end in jubilant fanfare and bright light. As this particular spell ended, there was no sound aside from Trey’s own pleas, followed by the sound of rushing footstep. There was no bright light aside from a glowing bloom at the dead center of Cater’s chest. And there was no kiss to save the day. 

“Damn it! Why?! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” Riddle, followed by Ace and Deuce dashed onto the balcony. They could only stop and watch as Trey held the now lifeless body covered in sorrowful blooms. 

The Housewarden kneeled beside the distraught third year as the other two newcomers fell where they stood. “Trey-”

The hand reaching for his shoulder was slapped away with a resounding, “don’t!”

“Don’t touch me! Don’t tell me it’ll be okay! Don’t-”

The screams by this point had alerted everybody, and Crewel and Trein, followed by everyone in attendance, rushed to the scene. Trein stopped immediately upon seeing his grandson, but Crewel stopped for an entirely different reason.

“Don’t tell me I could have had a chance.” In comparison to the screams, the whispered admittance did much more damage.

But as Trey cried over Cater’s body, sobbing into the man’s hair, he didn’t see what shocked the rest of those around him. The flower on his chest, one unlike all the others on the man, had bloomed. Its long, spindly petals gently cascaded down to caress the suit jacket of Cater Diamond.

We can’t choose who we love. Our hearts make that decision without us most of the time. And to keep those feelings, even when we know it’s killing us, instead of trying to get rid of them, can be detrimental. It can be painful. It can drain us of everything we have. And it can be a suicide of the heart.

And the singular white spider lily on Cater’s chest proved that

It was a Saturday, so the two were just walking and talking about anything and everything. They talked about Trey’s Vice Housewarden duties, the Freshman and how they were adjusting, their upcoming fourth years, new recipes Trey was wanting to try out, how the science club was doing, and the conversation the green-haired man had had with his family the previous night. 

But they weren’t talking about anything related to Cater. Everything was veered towards Trey’s wants and interests. Normally, this wouldn’t raise too many flags, but Trey knew that Cater had been feeling down for the past week. Trey knew the red-head was trying ways to make himself happier. And based on how “Cater” kept dodging all of his questions, Trey also knew it wasn’t working. 

But what put an awful feeling into Trey’s gut wasn’t the fact that he hadn’t noticed immediately. Cater had been training hard and had gotten amazing at creating his copies. So really, it wasn’t a surprise that the green-haired man didn’t guess immediately. But to not somehow realize that so many Cater mannerisms weren’t showing up at all throughout the entire day? That is what made the Club Soldier feel terrible.

And he wouldn’t have even realized it without the help of Magicam (which Trey realized he hadn’t seen this Cater look at all day).

Trey didn’t use his account much, nor did he follow many people. So when the first friend he had made at NRC asked him to follow him, he did and turned on the account’s notifications. Sure he could’ve turned them off, but seeing Cater’s smile reflected from his screen always made a strange sense of joy flutter its way into his stomach. So Trey was used to having his phone almost constantly buzzing within his pocket. With the flood of notifications from not only the app, but Riddle and his family as well, Trey learned to ignore his near constant buzzing phone.

Sometimes, he wished he hadn’t picked up that habit. And the current situation was one of those times.

Casually reaching into his pocket and opening Magicam, Trey looked at Cater’s profile. Staring back at him was over a dozen new posts within the span of a couple hours.

There was a photo of Cater with Azul and Idia playing some board game. There was a photo of Cater with Ace playing with the Hedgehogs, and a photo with the exact same time-stamp of Cater and Deuce with the flamingos. There was a photo of Cater with Riddle holding a strawberry tart (and with the knowledge that Cater hated sweets, this only set off more warning bells). Lilia and Kalim were in another picture with instruments in hand. Cater was in the Cafeteria with Yuu. He was teaching Malleus to use Magicam with Sebek yelling his praise. He was in the botanical garden pulling a prank on Leona with Ruggie. He was with Rook having tea.

He was everywhere. And yet, there were slight details about all of them that showed it wasn’t the real Cater: his hair style, his diamond, his outfit, his smile. Everything. So he stopped and put a hand on the, what he assumed, clone’s shoulder.

“Where’s the real Cater?”

“What are you talking about? I am the real me.” He almost would’ve believed him if he didn’t have photographic proof. He moved his phone to the man’s eyes and scrolled as he talked.

“So are these all fake? Are there really ten Cater clones running around campus right now?” He lowered his phone. “Or do you really make eleven?” The fact that the clone couldn’t maintain eye contact revealed the truth. Trey moved his other hand to rest on “Cater”’s other shoulder. “Where are you? The real you?”

A quiet, “Rose garden” was whispered, still without moving his eyes from the concrete.

“You know this is dangerous. Even with enhancing your magic, having four clones out still drains you within a couple hours. How are you not using way too much magic?”

Finally the clone looked into his eyes. His own were shining with tears.

“We are.”

Two words. Two words was all it took for the cold hands of fear and dread to grab ahold of Trey’s spine. Quickly letting go of the clone’s shoulders, Trey darted for the Heartslabyul Rose Garden. And as his back turned- his presence being the only thing keeping the clone standing- he missed Cater collapsing to the ground.

Trey’s feet pounded on the cobbled hallways as he raced for the chamber of mirrors. On his way, he passed several more Cater clones, though as he continued on, he noticed they were all progressively getting paler. Running out of color. Running low on magic.

Running low on life.

He passed their dorm mirror’s frame and ran to the hedges of the maze, a gray cloud seeming to hang over the pathways. The closer to the center he ran, the more copies he saw. He stopped counting once he reached a dozen. All were gray and adorned in suits of the Queen’s card soldiers.

Trey pushed on. His lungs were screaming, and his legs were burning, but he was spurred on by the idea that Cater was in pain. Or worse.

He stopped abruptly when he reached the center, however.

In the middle of the clearing, there stood a mirror. With a height of nearly ten feet, the onyx and gold framed mirror was an imposing sight. Cracked rose and diamond embellishments, lightly painted over in red, highlighted the outer-edge of its towering frame. Its face was shrouded in clouds and faint images of someone popping in and out of focus- almost as though the images were being sucked back into its depth. Two obsidian chains protruded from its sides, attaching themselves to the kneeling figure in front of him. 

A silver replica of the Queen of Hearts crown sat cracked and tarnished upon the orange locks of the figure. A black cape rested over one shoulder, its edges ripped and frayed. The man wore a black and gold vest, nearly covered by the black and white waistcoat he wore over top of it. The Heartslabyul sash fluttered gently across his chest, burned and ripped. Simple black dress pants were also nearly covered by his thigh-high boots- black leather accented by the blood red diamonds at their tops. As the boy looked up, a half mask of royalty diamond playing cards sat over the left side of his face. Trey could practically feel the pain and anger radiating from his jade eyes.

Trey had always found Cater to be beautiful, and he still believed it, even with his Overblotted friend staring right back at him.

It took a second for Cater to realize who had entered his area of the garden, but when he did, dozens of emotions flew across his features. And a handful of images flashed across the mirror’s surface.

First: Cater stood in his dorm uniform until he slowly distorted into Riddle. Riddle soon morphed into a card soldier, its diamond pattern slowly bleeding away from its face. Finally, a first year Cater, scared and crying, reached for Trey from within the glass, only to be pulled back by large white gloves.

Trey watched in horror as Cater thrashed around, trying to get out of his fellow third-year's sight, only to cry out as he realized the unbreakable chains held him in place. He slowly made his way to kneel in front of the broken boy.

“Cater, listen to me. You can break away from this. I know you can. You just gotta come back to me.”

Black tears slowly started sliding out from under his mask.

“But as who?”

“What do you mean as who? You. I want you to come back as you.”

“Nobody wants the real me. So tell me Trey,” the tears stopped as Cater’s voice hardened. “Who does everyone want?  Perhaps they want a new Queen. A Queen whose people deemed unworthy and threw aside in a matter of days.” Trey closed his eyes as his heart clenched at the memories of Cater trying so hard to prove himself for the entirety of their first year. There were so many sleepless nights reviewing rules and helping wherever he could. He was crowned the first day of their second year, but was overthrown as soon as Riddle had been given a chance. “A soldier, who does little to help his Queen. A soldier who is afraid; who’s a coward. Or perhaps they want a commoner. Someone who doesn’t make a splash. Someone who is easily forgotten. Someone who knows when to play a part and when to shut up. A nobody who knows how to be somebody.”

“I want the real you! The one everyone knows and loves-”

“Nobody knows the real me. Not even you.” A flood of Caters flashed across the screen, all characters he had played to please others, until once again, the first-year Cater was pulled back.

Trey didn’t want to admit how much that single comment hurt, but he had to push on. 

“Then let me find the real you. The Cater who loves to play any instrument he can get a hand on. The Cater who loves to hang out with first-years. The Cater who the world hasn’t seen in full.” Cater frantically pushed himself to stand. Trey quickly followed.

“The world can’t see the real me, Trey! No one will like it! They’ll hate it! They’ll hate me! Everyone will leave-”

“Do you really think any of your friends want you to be like this?” Using his unique magic, Trey turned a fallen rose into a hand-held mirror. Cater took the mirror and scowled at his reflection. “Do you think they don’t care? That they want to see you hurt and trapped in an image that isn’t you? You’re killing yourself right now, Cater. If you keep all of this up, you won’t be able to stop the Blot.”

Cater replied so quietly, Trey almost couldn’t hear him.

“Would that be so bad?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Would that be so bad? To let the Blot win. To let it take over and destroy this image of ‘Cater Diamond’ that no one would miss?”

“Please tell me you’re joking. There would be so many people that missed you-”

“No there wouldn’t be!” Cater threw the mirror to the ground and glass crunched under his boots as he moved a step closer to Trey. “No one would miss me.”

“Your family-”

“Hasn’t cared about me for years.”

“The first years-”

“Have each other.”

“Kalim and Lilia-”

“Have a million other things to care about.”

“Vil-” Cater laughed out loud at this.

“Please. Vil has been trying to find a way to get me off his back for the three years we’ve been here. He would be glad if I was dead.”

Trey looked away. Did Cater really think so little of himself?

“And what about me? Do you think that I wouldn’t miss you?”

Cater sounded close to tears as he answered with a simple, “You have Riddle.” Trey looked up. 

“But Riddle isn’t you. He’s not the boy who taught a hopeless me to draw my clover. He’s not who I made friends with for the first time completely by myself. He’s not the one who has seen me bawl over a failed assignment from Crewel. He’s not the one I’ve spent entire nights watching movies with and talking to about the randomest of things. He’s not the one I feel like I can tell anything to.” Trey put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “He’s not you, Cater. There’s only one person who can fill that role, and if you’d let me, I would love to get to know the real you.”

“No one’s ever wanted to know the real me.” The black tears were once again making their ways down Cater’s face, and Trey wiped them away.

“I do. I want to know the Cater who laughs at inappropriate times. I want to know the Cater that is amazing with the first years, because he is. I want to know the you that despises sweets. I want to know the you that has freckles. I want to know the you that no one else knows.”

“I’m afraid to let that happen, Trey-kun. What if you don’t like the real me?”

“Nothing in this world would make me not like you Cater.”

Cater’s tears started to flow more rapidly. In the mirror’s reflection, a young Cater held his hand to the glass making direct eye contact with Trey. The image looked at Cater, and mouthed one word:

‘Please.’

“Whenever you’re ready, and only then, show me your true self. If that never happens, then I will still be by your side. I won’t let you fall again.”

At this, Cater threw himself into Trey’s arms. The mirror shattered, and the chains on his wrists slowly melted away in blobs of ink. Trey lowered the two to the ground and tried to quiet the man’s sobs. As he realized the red-head’s outfit was going back to normal, he felt his breathing slow down. Cater had fallen unconscious. Trey picked up the boy into his arms, but before standing completely, a piece of glass caught his attention.

Looking up at him was an eighteen-year-old Cater. His diamond wasn’t painted on his face, and his hair wasn’t in his normal style. But he was smiling. It may have been small, but it was still a smile as he looked at his unconscious self. After a second, the reflection looked at Trey.

‘Thank you.’

And he walked into the mist of the mirror.

The feeling of magic - dark magic - hung around the boy like a stormy grey cloud, and by the age of seventeen it seemed as though he was almost always asleep. Falling asleep in classes from history to flight-, at meals, during combat training, you name it. The found family of fae grew more worried as time passed. Lilia believed it was only a matter of time until he no longer awoke from his sleep; though he would never announce these thoughts to the man in question. But Silver could see it within his father’s eyes. The older man may have been able to hide his emotions well, but only so much can be hidden from his child. Especially one trained to search for the smallest details. So Silver lived his life with the constant fear of never waking from his seemingly sporadic sleep schedule. But no one could have predicted for the final blow to be dealt by his fellow Guard.

Silver had wanted to die an honorable death. He’d been through so much during his life, and he didn’t want sleep to become his final battle. So years after he graduated, Silver approached Sebek and asked him a question that made even the loud half-fae quiet.

“If it comes down to it, would you be the one to strike be down?” 

Sebek was in shock. How could he ask such a thing? They were fellow soldiers, friends; they were brothers. But through his surprise and horror, it made sense to him. To die in battle was to be every guard’s end. To die any other way would show failure to protect the King. So Sebek silently nodded his agreement. When inevitably, Malleus's castle was attacked, Silver looked one last time at his beloved kingdom, fellow guards, and family; until he finally made eye contact with Sebek. A single nod of his head. Sebek walked up to Silver, and held out his hand. 

“Until we meet again.”

“Until then.” Their hands joined together, and Silver’s eyes fell shut. Sebek raised his sword and whispered, "Goodbye, dear friend." 

A sword pierced a heart.

Silver awaited the pain of death, but nothing. No pain, no flash of light, no bitter cold, no thud of him hitting the ground. 

What's happened? Why am I still standing?  

And then he heard it. A sputter, a cough, and a splash of blood hitting the ground. The thud he was waiting for. But not from him. In front of him. And Sebek’s hand slackened in his grip, until he let go entirely. 

He opened his eyes to see a head of green, laying still on the ground, surrounded by blood, and a soldier, wearing the cloak of the royal guard, with a sword drawn and covered in blood. This battle was started from the inside, this much the family knew. And here stood the culprit, standing over Sebek's now lifeless body. Had he have been thinking straight, Silver would have realized that it would take much more than a stab wound to kill a Crocodilian fae- especially one in Malleus's army- but he wasn't thinking straight. So he charged at the assassin. Slice after slice, stab after stab, and so on and so on, until Silver, alone, stood over two bodies. One of friend and one of foe.

Lilia rushed to the scene to see Silver kneeling over Sebek’s body. He looked up one last time at his father. 

"The traitor is no more, father. But I'm sorry; I failed to protect him." With these final words, Silver's breathing slowed, and his eyes rolled back. From loss of blood and tainted weapon, Silver too falls in battle.

With tears in his eyes, Lilia whispered, “And I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

It was the first time anyone in the guard had seen Lilia Vanrouge cry.

Immediately, he was on high alert as the boy was gathered into his lap.

“Cater, what’s wrong?”

The only response he got was a louder sob from the boy. Knowing that Cater needed a second to gather his thoughts and calm down, he sat quietly, rocking back and forth as the boy caught his breath.

“Grandpa. Do you think I’m weird?” It was said so quietly, that he almost didn’t hear it. But he did. He always heard what Cater said. Even when the boy didn’t want him to.

He tried to hide how startled he was. So, trying to look into the boy's eyes, Train simply responded, “Now why would you think that?”

Cater simply turned his head and looked at Lucifer. He didn’t want to answer his grandfather. He didn’t want to appear weak. But with a gentle tap from Lucifer’s paw, he quietly answered.

“My sisters seem to think so. They think it’s weird that I like coming here, and that I don’t want to play dress-up, and that I don’t like playing with dolls and- and-“ he broke down again.

Trein knew there had to be more to this. Cater was a strong boy; he didn’t let much get to him. So it was surprising seeing him react this way.

“Is that the only thing they said to you?” A shake of his head. “Can you tell me what all they said?” A faster shake of his head. “Alright.” He knew pushing the boy further would only end in more crying. 

The two sat in near silence aside from the occasional sniffle and the purring coming from Lucifer. Finally, Train broke the silence with his next words.

“You know, I can’t see why anyone would want to not be weird.”

The young boy looked up with confusion on his face. And a smile crossed Trein’s own as he continued. 

“I mean, how would anyone know who anyone else was? Besides, everyone needs to be a little weird sometimes. Our weirdness makes us who we are.”

“What do you mean?”

A pause. Then an answer.

“It’s just like a deck of cards. Sure, there are 52 perfectly good numbered cards. Everyone wants to obtain the highest cards they can; the ace, the King, so forth, and so on. But the one card that is so weird and special that it can’t even be included in the suits. It’s the one who everyone wants the most.”

Cater responded with an excited shout. “You’re talking about the Joker!”

“Precisely. The Joker. The Wild card. You can do anything and everything with it. It doesn’t fit into one category, and that’s what makes it perfect. It can’t be changed, because it doesn’t need to be changed. Some may call it weird, but everyone knows of its greatness.”

Cater, by this point, was watching in awe as his grandfather spun this idea of perfection into a simple card. But Train tucked him close to his chest as he told him this: “You may be weird to some, but to me, you are perfect, my little Joker.”

Cater didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. His slight pause then tighter hug was enough to know the boy understood. 

And if that nickname followed him into his later life, who was anyone to judge?

After a good amount of time, it continued until Epel was afraid of eating in front of anyone. For all he knew, Vil was watching. Someone from his dorm would relay to the Dorm Head, and Vil would know. He only really felt comfortable eating in front of his fellow First Year friends, but that was because they'd been through a lot together, and he knew they wouldn’t judge nor tell on him; but even then, it was always a much smaller portion than they were used to seeing Epel have. Rook took notice of this pretty early on, but he didn’t say anything, as he felt he would probably anger the lilac haired boy. After all, he’d been one of the main helpers in Vil’s techniques. So he thought Epel would work through it on his own, or with the help of his friends. At least that was his hope. And it did, eventually, get better, but not until winter break. 

Epel went home, and his family noticed his plates were much smaller than normal. After a talk with his grandmother, he eventually told them what had been going on, and slowly, with the help of his family, he started eating at least a little bit more. Until he goes back to NRC. He'd been eating semi-normal portions with his family, and he thinks of Pomefiore as another family, so at their back-to-school meal, he made his plate like he would back home.

But Vil didn't accept that. Epel was publicly reprimanded and it all started again; but worse this time. Because of the worsened state, Rook does go to Vil, but the dorm leader, occupied with several other things, said Epel would work through it himself, and he would be fine. He was busy doing other things (the demands of a dorm leader and working celebrity are endless), so he didn’t actually pick up on and hear the full extent of the issue. 

But Epel couldn’t get past this fear of Vil watching and criticizing him. So Rook ended up talking to him one-on-one, and Epel begged Rook not to say anything to Vil. And while yes, Rook would do anything for Vil, the fear and pain in Epel's eyes was too much to say no, and he kept the talk a secret.

Days turned into weeks, and eventually, the VDC passed. Vil Overblotted and it had lasting effects; specifically on the dorm leader and first year. Vil saw himself as a kind of monster and he hated himself for it. Anytime he would see his reflection, he would see a mess of ink in its place. He strived harder for perfection, and pushed the Pomefiore students harder in their pursuits, because maybe they could be what he couldn’t.

Vil’s Overblot and his further push of the dorm showed Epel just how important beauty and perfection was to Vil. These factors sadly progressed his, at this point, disorder. Rook sat in concern every night for the small 1st year, but Vil still didn’t notice. Vil’s thoughts ate away at both his waking and unconscious mind. Not to mention, he was watching the entire dorm. So Vil missed the minute things going on. He missed that Epel never had much on his plate in the first place, and so didn’t notice when it went untouched. But Rook did.

So Rook began to attentively watch over Epel. He followed him to class, and to hangouts and wherever, just to make sure he was safe. And this is how things continued. Until right at the end of the year, when Epel fainted. 

Epel was in flying class with Vargas, and Rook was watching him from a distance as he shakily flew into the air. Epel had ate with his friends before, but Rook was worried that it hadn’t been enough to be healthy. That Epel hadn’t had enough to keep him coherent. To keep him awake. And boy did the huntsman hate when he was right sometimes. Before anyone could blink, Epel’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he fell off his broom, plummeting head-first to the ground. Rook sprinted out of the bush to catch him before he made contact. And as he held the unconscious first year, Rook nearly sobbed as he felt just how light Epel was. The small firecracker of a boy he saw at orientation was now smoldering ashes at best. Rook ran Epel to the infirmary and waited for the nurse to say he was stable before storming to Vil's room.

"Ah Rook, what brings you here?"

"It's Epel."

"And what has he done now" It's said with a tone of slight anger or irritation and it made Rook sick. 

"He's fainted." Vil caught onto the cold tone and the lack of a nickname for the fellow student. Rook was serious, and Vil knew this. Without saying a word, Vil stood from his vanity and rushed, with Rook at his heels, to Epel's bedside in the infirmary. The Nurse told the two it was caused by a lack of nutrition. He hadn't been eating properly, and that was why he fell. His body had been running on empty for too long. 

Rook internally berated himself for not stepping in again sooner. He knew what was happening. He was Epel’s senior.  Why didn’t he try to help him further?

And Vil? Vil was crushed by the realization that this was his fault. Beauty shouldn't be everything if it meant one of his little spudlings- no. When Epel- lies thin and cold in a hospital bed. Beauty should never come before health. But apparently, he made the little apple believe it should.

Satan bit his lip, slowly making his way toward them with no plan on how to comfort them.

Did MC even need or want his comfort?

The doubt clouded his mind as he found himself standing next to the piano.

“MC?”

His voice surprised them, sending wide, wet eyes toward his stature.

MC scrunched their face, sending torrents of tears down their cheeks, as they turned their back on him.

Satan let out a gentle sigh and sat down on the bench beside them.

At least they hadn’t run away or asked him to leave.

He placed a hand gently on their back, rubbing gentle circles.

“You don’t have to, but I’ll lend you my shoulder if you want.”

MC turned back to him once more, searching his emerald eyes for any sort of trick.

When none was found, they slowly moved to press their face into his half embrace, arms loosely circling his torso.

The quiet sob from earlier evolved into full-blown cries, their grip on him tightening.

But despite their state, MC tried to choke out words for him.

“I *hic* I-I’m just-just so *hic* pathetic!”

Satan’s hand on their back moved to cradle their head.

“Everyone is-is so *hic* special and-and I’m not! I’m-I’m no diff-*hic* different than o-other humans, b-but I’m worse than-than everyone here! S-Simeon, Sol-*hic* Soloman, you S-Satan, Everyone!”

Their cries echoed through the chamber.

Satan, softly petting their head, could empathize with their pain.

He knew what it was like to feel lesser.

To only be compared to those who are greater.

To feel in another’s shadow.

But it was MC who had helped him step into the light.

It was only fair to return that gesture in their time of need.

He delicately removed their hand from his body so he could rub circles with his thumb.

When his simple comforting touches lessened their cries, he began confidently.

“MC, you are not pathetic. You never could be.”

With only their ragged breaths, MC shifted to rest the side of their head on top of Satan’s shoulder.

“You are unique and powerful in the way you smile. The way you show compassion, even to demons. It’s truly remarkable. It might be hard to see it that way now, but maybe I can help you see how remarkable you are.”

MC grasped at his hand and sighed.

“Thank you, Satan.”

And there the two of them sat in contented silence, with each simply listening to the other breathing beside them.

Satan relishing that he could be a source of stability for them.

“Could you play something?”

“For you, anything.”

Asmodeus

MC had never been the most social of butterflies.

Even after the fear of the first few weeks passed, they never sought out more connections than were required for their stay.

Not that any of the other exchange students or brothers cared.

As long as MC was safe and happy, that was all that mattered for the exchange program.

And one of the duties Asmodeus took upon himself to make sure they were happy was to treat them to a spa day every once in a while.

And it just so happened that he wanted to make tonight’s pamper session a surprise.

Having gathered all the necessary supplies, Asmo made his way toward their room.

Oh, he couldn’t wait to see the look on their face when he brought out their favorite face mask and did their nails up all fancy.

Just before he knocked on their door, he stopped.

The lights were off but the door wasn’t closed all the way, which was uncharacteristic for MC.

Something in his gut told him to approach the situation delicately, and with good reason too.

Upon opening the door, he saw the heartwrenching scene.

MC, sitting in the middle of their bed, was desperately buried into one of their pillows as muffled sobs filled the room.

Asmo bites his lip, resisting the urge to immediately hug and calm them.

He doesn’t know what is making them cry like this, so he sets his spa items on the floor and closes the door behind him.

He slowly approaches, trying to discern what is happening.

In the brief moments they pull away for air, he can see how disheveled they are.

Eyes, puffy and red. Face streaked with tears. Hair, a jumbled mess.

How long had they been crying? Would they have even told anybody?

His resolve began to crumble as he sat behind their curled form.

MC stiffened at the new weight on their mattress, but he quietly reassured them.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s just me.”

With his words, a new wave of sadness seemed to wash over them, causing them to cry into their pillow once again.

He placed a hand on their heaving back, thumb rubbing back and forth on their shoulder.

He wanted to do so much more for them at that moment.

He wanted to wrap them up, shush them, and dispel all of their sadness, but he didn’t.

This wasn’t his moment, it was theirs.

After their cries quelled to wet sniffles, he finally broke his silence.

“MC, what’s making you cry this way? It pains me to see your beauty tarnished with tears.”

Their voice was quiet but laden with their still raw emotions, scratchy from their earlier cries.

“I just… I want to be liked. To be…loved in some meaningful way… but I don’t… I can’t bring myself to be open, to… be vulnerable. Because I know it’s not real.”

Asmo’s breath caught in his chest.

“When the exchange program is done, everyone will forget about me… won’t have to care about me… and I wouldn’t be able to take it if… if I got attached. If my heart got discarded.”

With the shaky sigh ending their confession, the dam in Asmos’ heart burst.

He knew all too well about craving sincerity, needing it.

About the desire for connections other than surface-level attraction.

Of how underneath his sin, he just needed an excuse- any excuse to be worthy of another being’s love.

Tears flowed freely down his face as his arms wrapped around their shoulders, burying his face in their hair.

“MC how could you say that? How could you think anyone wouldn’t want you? That I wouldn’t want you?”

He squeezed a bit tighter, pulling their back flush against his chest.

“Me and my brothers owe everything to you! We all love you and could never ever forget you!”

MC placed a hand on his encircling arm.

“Asmo, I’m sorry I-”

“No, I’m sorry. Sorry I let you think that I didn’t care. That I don’t cherish and value everything you have to give. That-”

“Okay, okay. I forgive you Asmo.”

He relaxed as their small chuckle filled the space.

He hadn’t meant to make it about himself, but he did end up banishing their sad thoughts away.

The small victory was enjoyed as he simply held them for a moment more.

Then his eyes trailed back to the supplies by the door.

Why not show them how much they mean in an immediate way?

Beelzebub

It had been a rough week in the House of Lamentation.

Mammon was failing most of his classes, leaving everyone to deal with that mess.

Satan and Belphegor had been unsuccessfully pranking Lucifer, leaving everyone in the fallout.

Beelzebub had eaten through the entire kitchen five times, leaving everyone hungry and annoyed in general.

Overall, moods had been sour.

So nobody was surprised when MC excused themself after dinner for some alone time, their meal barely touched

Beel took concern about this.

He was partially responsible for the distress MC was feeling, and he couldn’t stand the thought of them being hungry because of him.

So, with arms filled with snacks, the demon set about looking for MC.

When they weren’t in their room, the library, or the planetarium, Beel started to become worried. Where could they be?

The last of the normal places he checked was the common room, where he found Belphie sleeping.

“Hey Belphie, have you seen MC?”

“Mmmh… They texted our chat… they wanted to be alone in the attic…zzz”

Oh, Beel hadn’t realized that he left his D.D.D. in the kitchen, but that was okay.

Even if they didn’t want him there, he would at least leave them some food.

Climbing the stairs, he could hear MC mumbling to themselves.

Only, when he reached the door did he realize it wasn’t talking.

They were crying.

They sat at the foot of the bed, elbows on their knees.

Their hands held a white-knuckle grip on their hair as the tears fell down their face.

All the snacks were forgotten as Beel rushed to kneel in front of them.

He gently grasped at their wrists, hoping they hadn’t hurt themself pulling it.

MC looked up in shock before their wet eyes honed in on his purple ones.

He offered a half-hearted smile before sadness overtook their features once again.

He released their wrists only to have them thrust around his neck, MC burying their face in his neck.

He gently sat their two bodies onto the floor, letting MC be comfortable in their moment of vulnerability.

Their cries seemed to reverberate through their body as tears soaked into his shirt.

His hands rested along their back, hoping to offer a sense of security as they appeared more fragile in their saddened state.

When their cries began to slow they pushed themself out of his embrace, sitting in front of him.

“I’m *hic* I’m sorry Beel. I-I just f-feel like a *hic* a burden. I can’t h-help a lot with the p-problems in the house and *hic* and ev-even make more trouble. I-I-I suck!”

Their cries returned in full force as they struggled to push away their neverending tears.

Beel could understand where your sadness came from because he too felt that way about himself.

There were too many times to count where his sin caused problems for everyone.

And even with his self-imposed role of family protector, he wasn’t the one to come to when it came to solving issues.

Look, even now he couldn’t do much to help MC stop crying.

But he could still try, even if he wasn’t great with words.

“MC.”

They paused to look up at the demon before them.

“You don’t suck. You’re actually really awesome.”

His hand reached out and gently rubbed the top of their head.

“You are not a burden. You will never be a burden to us. You do so much for us, and I’ll never be able to say it all, but don’t think that way. Please.”

Silent tears continued to fall down their face, but MC gave a faint smile beneath them.

Beel mirrored that same smile back at them, as they futilely pushed at their tears once again.

At least Beel had MC, and they had him, to face any trouble that came their way.

Belphegor

Everyone sat in silence during dinner, quietly minding their own plates.

Everyone, that is, except for MC and Satan.

They all knew why, considering the event that had taken place just two hours or so before.

The event was particularly vivid for Belphegor, seeing as he was right next to MC when the outburst took place.

Everyone had been relaxing in the common room in some fashion or other, with Belphie resting on MC’s shoulder while they chatted with Satan.

They were talking about books or movies or something when Belphie heard them raising their voices.

It wasn’t until MC abruptly stood up and stalked to the fireplace that he truly tuned in to the argument.

“Dammit Satan, you just have to be right about everything! You can’t stand being wrong about anything!”

Lucifer and Asmo had started talking to MC, trying to get them to calm down.

With the yell of “Just shut up,” the two were silenced by their pacts.

Everything had frozen, except for the roar of the fire and the growl coming from Satan’s throat.

Then MC turned back with a furious expression.

“Wait, no, your right about one thing! You’re nothing like Lucifer! You’re worse! Sometimes I DO wonder who’s worse with their pride!”

All eyes were on the fourth as his careful facade broke, shifting demonic.

Even as his horns came out and his eyes glowed with the fire of his unyielding wrath, he stayed seated on the couch.

“MC, get the fuck out of here!”

“Gladly!”

After MC slammed the door on their way out, it took several moments for Satan to compose himself and return to his human form.

His restraint for MC was evident when he finally unclenched his fists, showing deep wounds where his nails pierced the flesh of his hand.

“Don’t expect me for dinner.”

The echo of the front door still rung hollow in Belphie’s ears.

Satan wasn’t his favorite brother, but he still worried about him.

And MC…

How were they doing after this altercation?

The youngest was the first to shatter the stillness of the dining room.

“I’m going to bring MC some food.”

There was a noncommittal hum from some of the others as Belphie took a plate of lukewarm food to MC’s room.

He was about to knock until he noticed that the door hadn’t been shut all the way.

Whether on purpose or accident didn’t matter as he pushed into the room to find MC curled in on themself.

Sitting on the floor beside their bed, they had hugged their knees to their chest and hidden their face in their arms.

Belphie set the food on the table before kneeling in front of MC.

He placed a hand on top of theirs, causing MC to look up at him, eyes filled with tears.

“Belphie?”

After a small nod on his end, MC wrapped their arms around his neck.

“Oh, Belphie! I fucked up! I fucked up big time!”

They sobbed into his shoulder as his hands found their way to MC’s back.

“I-I said all those *hic* awful things to-to Satan.”

Their squeeze on his neck tightened.

“He hates me now. I-I just know it. And how wo-wouldn’t he? I-I-I…”

They broke down and all Belphie could do was rub circles on their back.

“I know he… That he hates Lucifer. And I crossed the line.”

MC pulled away as they hid their face in their hands.

“Of course he hates me. I hate me too.”

Belphegor was stuck in place as he stared at MC’s whimpering form.

To him, MC seemed to be a reflection of himself, not too long ago.

The him that he still has to battle in his nightmares.

The part of himself that he hasn’t forgiven for killing MC.

But somehow, despite that hatred for himself, they forgave him for it.

Belphie knew that he had to save them this time.

He gently pealed MC’s hands away from their face and clasped them within his own.

“MC, please look at me.”

Once their eyes locked with his purple ones, he continued.

“There’s no way that Satan hates you. Sure you pissed him off but he could never hate you.”

He smiled when he drew a chuckle from beneath their sobs.

“If I were Mammon, I’d bet that Satan feels the same way you do. If you apologize, I’m sure he will do the same. Just have your sob story ready for when he’s cooled off.”

They beamed at the youngest from beneath their flowing tears.

“Now, can we move to your bed? I’m sure it’s much comfier than the floor.”

They nodded and let Belphie lead them into the plush blankets and the warmth of his embrace.

He knew it would be a while for Satan to return, so why shouldn’t he let MC have some good dreams in the meantime?

Their labored breath caught in their throat, stifling quiet sobs, as tears fell onto the scattered papers beneath them.

Lucifer quietly made his way beside them, neither hiding nor announcing his presence.

MC seemed smaller and more vulnerable than he had ever seen them, their hunched shoulders shaking with the emotions that racked their body.

He scanned the area to see the source of their distress.

Opened textbooks and nearly finished assignments littered the surface.

And glowing above it all was their opened D.D.D., displaying a text exchange between MC, Mammon, and Asmodeus.

“MC, ya hardly hang out with me anymore. Cant ya go out with me n Asmo tonight?”

“Yeah MC. This party is supposed to be fabulous. You shouldn’t miss out!”

“Sorry guys. I don’t want to fall behind in my school work.”

“OK, but dont be complainin when we have all the fun.”

“You should ask Satan to help you next time. It’s more fun when you're there. *blowing kiss*”

Though the messages were time-stamped for hours ago, it was clear that this was somehow the source of their current sadness.

Making his move, Lucifer gently placed his hand on their shoulder.

They froze at his touch but slowly turned to look at him, wiping at their flow of tears.

Without a word, he drew them into an embrace and their sobs resumed once more.

They clung onto him like a frightened child and let their tears soak his shirt.

Lucifer knew they needed this.

Needed to purge their raw emotions before they could explain or work through anything.

So he simply held MC as they cried until their tears were spent.

When their crying began to subside, he lifted them away from their workspace and positioned the two to sit on the edge of their bed.

“MC, please let me know what is wrong. What has you so sad? I’ll do anything in my power to fix it.”

“I-it’s nothing. It’s my p-problem”

Their voice wavered and they looked away from the demon before them.

“I just can’t. I can’t do everything! I want to do so-so much but-but I can’t do it all! I-I want to be - to be perfect, but I can’t! I hate it!”

New tears washed their face as they sobbed their confession.

On some level, he knew.

Lucifer knew exactly what you meant.

He knew because deep down, he had that same fear.

He wanted to be reliable and dependable for Diavolo while being connected to his brothers in so many ways that he was not.

The line between responsible and available was tough, and Lucifer failed to walk it more times than he could count.

Once again he gently pulled them into a hug.

“MC…”

He gently pet their hair as they practically curled into his lap.

“Nobody here expects you to be perfect. And as much as you may want it, you can’t be. That’s something that makes you human. But being human is all that we ask of you.”

Lucifer tried his best to remain calm and comforting.

“We don’t expect you to excel at your studies, just that you put in an honest effort. But your studies aren’t the only aspect of the exchange program.”

They looked with red, watery eyes up to his own steady, ruby irises.

“You should also engage with our culture and enjoy everything it has to offer. It’s okay to go out and socialize and have fun sometimes.”

He squeezed them just a bit tighter.

“It would pain me if your stay was only filled with stress and sadness.”

They nodded into his chest.

At some point during his comfort, MC’s sobs had turned into steady silent tears.

But he continued to hold them all the same.

He only let go after they had finally exhausted themself and had fallen asleep in his arms.

Mammon

Mammon walked through the halls of RAD toward the classroom he knew MC was in.

He had asked them to wait for him to finish the student council meeting so they could walk home together.

He was tired from all the talking they had done, so when he opened the door it took him a moment to register that MC wasn’t there.

At least, not immediately.

Their school bag and supplies were still scattered across one of the desks, so they would be sure to come back soon.

Amongst the rif-raf was an overturned packet of paper.

Seeing as he had some time to kill, Mammon didn’t see anything wrong with looking at what was out in the open.

He turned it over to see the test that had been handed back that day in Devildom History.

He knew that MC had studied all last week in preparation, so he was shocked to see the grade circled in red at the top.

13/100

And in the professor’s scrawl beneath it said “See me after class.”

Whatever thoughts were starting to form in his mind were interrupted when MC walked back into the classroom.

Even from the distance where he was, Mamms could see the redness in their eyes.

The confused look on his face paired with him holding their test was all it took for tears to overtake MC’s features.

“MC, what’s wrong?”

They didn’t answer him, instead opting to hide from his gaze by hiding behind the instructor’s desk.

Mammon stumbled out of his seat and raced to the other side to see MC kneeling on the floor.

Their arms wrapped around their torso as their shoulders shook with silent sobs.

“MC, stand up. Talk to me.”

He tried his best to hide the panic that was creeping through his system.

Their tear-coated face looked up to the hand Mammon extended to them.

With their hand placed in his, Mammon pulled them swiftly into him, cradling them against his frame.

“Well, you don’t have to talk right now. It’s okay if you need to cry. I’ve got you.”

And seemingly at his words, MC became jelly in his hands, bawling into his chest as he held the back of their head.

He didn’t care how long he had to stand there, for Mammon would be there for all of eternity to show MC that they were safe with him.

MC gently pushed away as their tears began to slow.

“Thank you, Mammon. I just… I… I tried. I tried my hardest and I still failed. I’m a failure. Just a disappointment.”

The hands that pushed him away moments ago gripped fiercely onto his shirt.

“I can’t keep up with Lucifer’s, or Diavolo’s, or anyone’s expectations. I’m just… useless.”

With those words, Mammon’s heart shattered.

How could these poisonous words come from his favorite human?

The words that echoed in his own head more times than he could count finally, truly wounded him when they were directed back at MC.

His hands cupped their face and made them look into his golden-blue eyes, even as tears began to fall on his face.

“Don’t. Just…how… how could you think that? You are… You…”

He pulled MC back into him, resting his head on their shoulder.

“If you did your best, that’s all you can do. That’s more than most people can say.”

His own tears stained MC’s shirt.

“You aren’t useless, or a disappointment, or a failure. You are so precious. To Luci, and Diavolo, and Me. We could never be disappointed in you.”

Whether he was telling these words for them or himself, it didn’t matter as the grip each had on the other tightened until they were both a ball of heartfelt sobs.

When the two finally cried themselves out, Mamms helped them gather their things to walk back home.

Leviathan

Leviathan knocked softly on MC’s door.

He wanted to invite them to his room to watch season one of the anime The Fairytail Pretty Boy is Actually a Secret Villain who Rules the School!!! in preparation for the second season that premiered tomorrow.

When he didn’t get a response he poked his head in through the cracked door to see if they were busy or wearing headphones.

Levi didn’t see MC, but he heard the sink running in their bathroom suite.

He made himself comfortable on their bed and waited for them to finish whatever they were doing in there.

He pulled out his D.D.D. to grind a round or two of the current raid event in Mononoke Land.

It wasn’t until Levi realized that he had been waiting for well over 10 minutes that a pit of worry grew in his stomach.

What if MC left the tap running, or they got injured, or worse.

Despite all of his otaku instincts telling him it was a bad idea, he once again knocked to see if MC was there.

After a moment without response, he announced his entrance into the bathroom.

Opening the door, he was greeted with the scared expression of MC sitting in the empty bathtub.

They were wearing the headphones he had gifted them, but their clothes and face were splashed with water.

No. Not water.

Tears.

MC had been blocking out everything around them and was crying.

After the realization dawned on him, Leviathan closed the door behind him and went to turn off the faucet.

He then slumped against the outside of the bathtub, not looking at MC.

There was a shuffle and sniffle behind him.

“Levi I-”

“It’s okay MC. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. Just… don’t send me away.”

He wouldn’t say it, but he was worried about them.

Really worried about them.

What would make them want to hole themself away from the world like…

…like him.

There was another shift in the tub and Levi felt MC put their head against his, sitting practically back to back.

“Levi… I-I just needed to get away from it. From the exchange program… The Devildom… Everything.”

He could feel their breath hitch behind him.

“I-I don’t belong here. I’m *hic* I’m too different. From everyone. I don’t fit in here.”

They drew away from him, likely curling into themself.

The thought chilled Leviathan.

He knew the feeling.

He had felt like that so many times before.

Of being other to those who were around.

The feeling that no one understood him, even if they tried.

The only reason he hadn’t felt that way recently was because of MC.

Because MC didn’t try to fully understand him; they just accepted him as he was.

Now was the time he had to return that kindness.

He moved from his slouched position to lean his side against the bath, draping his arm along the edge and staring at MC’s huddled, shaking body.

“I… I know I’m not good at saying it, but, MC, you do belong here.”

Levi closed his eyes.

“You bring so much joy to our lives… to my life… you listen to me when I rant about my anime a-and you talk to me about your passions too. That’s why we’re best friends. Why you’re my Henry. So, you can’t be all that different from us, right?”

It wasn’t until he felt a grip on his hand that he opened his eyes and looked at them.

Beneath their tears and the free hand that struggled to push them away, MC gave a small smile.

“Thanks, Levi. My Lord of Shadows a-always knows how to cheer me up.”

It was then, with that heartfelt line, that his otaku meter finally bust.

Levi could feel the raging blush spread across his face and he wanted to curl up and hide.

However, the soft hold of MC’s hand was enough to keep him there, just to comfort them.

Their friends let out disappointed sighs as they sat frozen looking at their tiny slip of paper condemning their fate. “Taz, what’s up?” “No way! Taz got one of the winnin’ tickets!” Their friends began to cheer for them while Tazak just wished that they could disappear altogether. Practically pushed from their seat, they slowly made their way up to the host table. They handed their ticket in exchange for a myriad of furry accessories. Their hands were shaking so much that one of the non-serving staff helped them don the ears, cuffs, and tail of the fox costume.

“We know how nerve-racking it can be to meet celebrities, but just relax and enjoy the event. You’ll be a wonderful little fox.” Though the staff’s words and gentle smile did calm them some, the intention was misguided. Taz wasn’t nervous because the demon lords were some of the most famous beings in the realm. Oh, no. They were nervous because their survival instincts were screaming at them to run away as fast as they could. They made their way back to the table, met with praise and teasing jeers. “Oh, Diavolo, Taz! You look so cute!” “Tazak. You’re so lucky.” They sighed and looked at their feet. “I can’t do this.” “Sure ya can.” “Yeah, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You can’t just let it pass by.” “B-b-but I really can’t. Like, I don’t even know who to choose and-” “Psh. It doesn’t matter who ya pick. Getting a hug from any of them would be a dream come true.” “Yeah, Taz, it doesn’t matter. Just pick whoever you can catch.” With a small push, their wobbly legs brought them to the center of the room.

Still staring at their feet, Tazak resolved themself. They would get the closest bunny, get a quick hug, and be done with it. Yes, that was a great plan. But even so, their head remained down and their legs refused to move. No, it was hopeless. How would they even manage to catch one of them? There was nobody near them. Or at least, there wasn’t. Not until a steady tap of shoes passed to their right and up to a table ahead of them. Barely scanning, Taz’s eyes saw black dress shoes, sharp black slacks, and a white puffy tail poking through black coattails. It was now or never. They willed themself to walk up behind the server and pinch at one of the long flaps of their vest. "u-um. I. I-I caught you."

Taz looked back down and closed their eyes tight. They couldn’t tell if it was the music or the pounding of their heart that was thrumming in their ears. They prepared themself for the worst. However, the thing they hadn’t prepared for was the silky fabric between their fingers slipping away with a small pull. Time seemed to slow. In opening their eyes, they saw the shoes slowly walking away from them. They hadn’t realized the tiny bit of hope that had welled up in their chest until it shattered in an instant. The breath, caught in their throat, seemed like it would suffocate them. But then the shoes stopped and pointed back at Taz. Their eyes trailed up the tall demon’s form until they locked with his ruby-red. All the color drained from their face as they realized who they had caught. Lucifer, Avatar of Pride and most powerful of the seven lords.

He closed the open pocket watch in his hand and returned it to his vest. His neutral expression shifted to a small cordial smile. “Ah, I apologize for my rudeness. I hadn’t noticed that a lovely little fox had caught me.” Lucifer gave a small bow before he stepped closer into Tazak’s personal space. “Now, would you like to claim your prize?” They shrunk away. "S-sorry never mind. You don't have to." Taz turned to run but was stopped by a gentle yet strong grip on their wrist. They quickly looked back to the bunny butler with fear painted on their face. Though he smiled softly, something in his eyes felt sinister. Or was it amused? Taz couldn’t tell as they felt paralyzed under his gaze.

Just as quickly as it came, the hand on their wrist was gone. “My dear, you have caught yourself a bunny butler. That is no easy feat. Surely you wouldn’t deny yourself a prize you have so rightfully earned.” He stared at them earnestly, but Taz had to look away. They weren’t sure if they were scared or embarrassed at the attention Lucifer was giving them. They tried to slowly breathe, but their breath was shaky. They looked back up at the being before them. He gave a small smile and closed his eyes, trying to appear non-threatening. Something inside them finally budged and they gave a small nod. “Mmhm.” Lucifer looked back at them and gave a small chuckle. “What was that, my friendly fox? I do need you to be clear with me.” Tazak balled up their shaking hands. “Y-y-yes. I-I’ll take… the hug.”

Just as soon as the words left their mouth, a warm feeling enveloped them. His hands gently planted on the center and small of their back. They stopped breathing when they realized that their face was laid softly against his chest. His face found a place next to theirs, warm breath against their ear as he spoke to them. “Your fear may be strong, but let your confidence be stronger. It’s a virtue that might serve you well if you let it.” Lucifer pulled away from the embrace, beaming at them with an expression of pride. He gave their shoulder a small squeeze before taking a step away from them. A smirk passed his lips as he gave them a small bow. “May you enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Tazak simply stood there as he left them to return to work. Their face was flushed; whether from embarrassment or relife or being a bit tipsy. Their friends quickly crowded them, having watched the whole scene from their table. Being shaken in excitement, Taz was simply dumbstruck at everything that had just happened. The scene replaying in their mind again and again. Maybe Lucifer wasn’t as bad as he was made out to be.