Chapter Text
Mephistophilis hadn't expected any changes in Faustus after a year or so since the doctor had signed the Deed, because the devil had seen numbers of men perish for nothing and do the same boring things until they were dead and gone. Humans are quick to reach every milestone on the sinner's path.
But Faustus… It looked like he discovered something new – and new about himself, which is unusual for an adult with a thing for researching the hell out of everything.
And funnily enough, Mephistophilis felt a tingle of something new in his own chest as well.
He appeared before Faustus at noon, because he couldn't stand even an hour more of watching the scholar burying himself under the books and papers he most likely was "flipping through" yesterday, but this time corporeal.
"Sweet Faustus," the devil made a curt bow, and Faustus looked at him with tired eyes.
"I'm sorry," he muttered and shifted a couple of paper sheets and licked his burned fingers. "The Bible."
"You were reading the Bible?"
"Just a few verses, to freshen my memory."
Mephistophilis sat in his chair by the other side of the table and asked, confused again, "What exactly, may I know? I'm not sure if I remember every detail of human history, as I wasn't precisely invested. But something I can recognise."
"It's… the first kings of Israel."
“Ah, that crowd of incarnate sinners that went to Heaven because their employer said so,” the devil winced. “The only decent person was… what’s his name…”
“Jonathan,” Faustus said, staring at the papers. Mephistophilis knew, however, that he was only avoiding his eyes.
“Yes, him!” the devil paused. “I heard this name just yesterday,” he hesitated. “You are very involved in this King Edward’s story. Why?”
Faustus shifted his eyes to the ceiling. His position in the chair seemed extremely uncomfortable.
“You like calling me a scholar, and I used to consider myself a scientist too,” he sighed. “But in reality I’m very, very stupid.”
“I won’t argue with that,” the devil huffed, “but only out of respect to you as my master.”
“I’m not joking, Mephistophilis. I’m anecdotally slow.”
“Sometimes we know something but refuse to accept it. Especially obvious things. Personal things.”
Faustus fidgeted in his chair.
“Can you read thoughts?”
“Even if I could, I would respect your boundaries, my sweet Faustus.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Old habit,” Mephistophilis shrugged. “And this particular of your thoughts is written all over your face. I am sorry.”
“Any advice then?”
“You are damned anyway, so a kiss will do,” the devil extended his hand – shaking, ever so slightly – and the doctor accepted the invitation. “And, oh. Anything my Faustus shall desire, I will perform.”