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It’s a simple text from one of his dads that kick-starts the whole thing.
‘Hey son!! Heard it’s that good ole time of year for Monster Prom again!!! You got a date yet?? Would love to meet them!!!! Xoxo!!”
The sheer amount of punctuation is usually enough to stir up the beginning of a headache for Damien, but the excitement behind the text is enough to give him a migraine so strong that he wants to wreck something.
His dads had always taken an extreme interest in his love life. It made sense, nothing new had happened in their marriage in centuries. Sure, they had their sickeningly sweet moments and their couples spats, but they still craved the drama that only a high school romance could bring. And they looked towards their appropriately aged son to give that to them.
The thing was, Damien didn’t have any romantic prospects. Well, scratch that. He didn’t have viable romantic prospects. Sure, there were plenty of people in line to date the bad boy of the school. I mean, who wouldn’t be attracted to a boy who caught the school on fire at least once a week? A boy who once tried to rip the cafeteria lady’s throat out with his bare hands after she dared to try to serve him brussel sprouts?
But Damien had no interest in those monsters in return. He just hadn’t found one BOLD enough for his tastes.
He supposed he could go with one of his friends, but he’s not super interested in any of them in that way. If it’s enough to please his dads though, he might have to call in for a favor.
He scrawls all of their names down in a notebook during class and starts going through them one by one.
He scratches out Liam and Vera immediately because no fucking way could he step foot into Prom with either of them without it ending in disaster. Miranda’s crossed off pretty quickly as well. Despite her good looks, she’s a bit of a ditzy destroyer. She was raised to be prime, proper, and genocidal without a choice in the matter, and was naive about the effect her actions actually had which was absolutely terrifying. Also if he was gonna cause mayhem with anyone at prom, it was gonna be on purpose.
He’s weighing the pros and cons between Scott and Polly when a commotion starts in the back of the classroom.
Now, this sort of thing would usually be nothing to write home about. There’s ALWAYS commotion in the classrooms. Some kind of fight happening over who kissed who, which brand name would make the best name for a kid, or whose fanfic was better. Stuff that the teacher didn’t care enough to look up from writing their own fanfic in order to put an end to it.
However, this commotion is different from the norm as it is followed by a horrific screech that shatters all the windows in the room. The glass violently blows outward and Damien, who sits towards the front by the windows, is almost sent out with it. Actually, a couple students who weigh less are tossed out, and Damien watches them land a good hundred feet away.
Those left in the classroom all turn to figure out what the hell is going on, Damien included.
A blob of inky, shifting darkness with hundreds of eyes and mouths of different sizes towers over a cowering werewolf on the floor. The blob is tall enough to touch the ceiling, all its mouth rasping out putrid air and the eyes blinking at unnatural, unsynchronized intervals. “Apologize,” a voice echoes from it, as gross and unnatural as the thing itself.
“L-Look, I’m sorry all right?” The werewolf girl says, indignant even though her voice is shaking. Damien knows her, she’s a well-known prankster on campus and has been responsible for at least ten impromptu amputations. “I even gave him his fucking arm back, so can you just lay off?”
“Apologize,” the voice echoes again. “Sincerely.”
“Oz,” a green zombie boy says, tugging the slime on the back of the blob. “It’s fine, it’s not like it even hurt and now everybody's watching. Just let it go.”
The blob seems to debate this. The horrible mouths grind their teeth together in thought, sounding through the room like nails on a chalkboard. The eyes shift back and forth from the girl to the zombie and back again.
Eventually, the blob seems to reach a decision. The slime melts away, leaving a large, disgusting pool of the thick, translucent substance in the classroom. Lucky for them that the windows are broken, as it already starts draining out. The blob leaves behind a small, meek-looking kid in a yellow cardigan. They smooth it out, brushing flecks of slime off while giving the girl a furious glare. Then they turn to the zombie boy. They pat him down, seeming to be making sure he’s alright.
“I’m fine Oz,” the zombie says. He picks a green arm up out of the sludge and waves it at them. “See, got all my bits together right here. Didn’t expect to be caught one-handed today, but what can you do?”
The kid’s blank eyes crinkle in amusement.
It’s then that Damien realizes who they are: two parts of the Quad of Losers.
There’s not much that anyone knows about them, and that’s exactly why their little squad is named the way it is. No one's ever seen them really socialize with anyone besides each other, nor did any one of them particularly stick out to Damien in a crowd.
Well, Damien thinks, at least until now.
The kid huffs and grabs the zombie’s arm that still attached to him. They practically start dragging him out of the room without a word.
“Wait,” the zombie says, “I can sew it back on myself dude, it’s not that big a deal.”
The kid doesn’t say anything in return, only stopping to wave cheekily at the teacher when she sputters something about janitors and the principal’s office. They close the door politely after themselves, shutting it with a small click that seems to resonate throughout the room.
The class is still after they leave. Damien’s eyes slide back to the werewolf girl, her face blank in shock, the slime covering her from head to toe. It's such a show of boldness, to stick up for a friend in one of the most intimidating ways Damien had ever seen.
He grins. Potential prom date found so it seemed.
.-.-.
If there’s one thing Damien knows about pre-romancing people, it’s that first you got snoop all up in their business. Air out that dirty laundry from the rumor mill, and decide if the flaws that high schoolers gossip about are a deal breaker.
However, it’s really hard when the said person seems to have no rumors about themselves to mention.
After cornering and intimidating quite a few classmates into coughing up the deets, he finds only a few vague bits of info. Their name is Oz. No one knows if they’re some kind of embodiment of fear itself or eldritch horror monster. No one has ever heard them talk, but somehow teachers always know their answers when they’re called on. They spend most of their time in the classroom and the theatre, but occasionally they ditch in the bathroom. Those times are pretty rare though, mostly they just hide behind their friends in social situations and let them do all the talking.
Speaking of friends, he actually manages to get more info on them than Oz themselves. He learns the zombie’s name is Brian, and the incident in the classroom wasn’t the first time someone removed his limbs as a joke. He’s quiet, the same as Oz, but unlike them, he actually holds conversations on the occasion. He likes to tell jokes too, however, his delivery tends to be a bit dry and blunt. He once planned an entire school play, written and directed by himself. It was received fabulously.
The other two are two girls named Vicky and Amira. Vicky is apparently bookish by day and a wild party animal by night. Damien’s been shown more than one photo of her performing crazy stunts while totally sloshed. There’s also some pics of her drinking with some elderly people which is both respectable and alarming at the same time.
Amira meanwhile is a charming lady, who's apparently very good at sports and can rally a team even in the bleakest of dodgeball tournaments. She’s apparently ridiculously smart as well, despite her hot-headed attitude. It’s said she’s robbed at least three banks during her time in high school, maybe more.
Damien walks out of these conversations with a bit more information about the elusive group than he originally had, but nothing super useful. It seems the loser squad is even more mysterious than he had known.
So, he decides, he has two options. One, he can go to his friends and see if they know anything that your average run of the mill monster wouldn’t know. Or two, he can head straight to the sources themselves.
The more he thinks about it though, the more he realizes even the thought of how much Vera would make him pay out the ass for blackmail information pisses him off. And the thought of Liam’s condensing looks actually makes him punch a wall hard enough to leave a hole.
No, there’s only one option here. He has to learn more about those losers now that his interests have been piqued. Especially what the hell was up with that Oz kid this morning, and maybe, just maybe think about asking them to prom if they're not too much of a fuckwad. That would please his dads at least.
But first, he has to talk to one of them.
.-.-.
Damien certainly wasn’t expecting this when he decided to skip evening classes in the bathroom.
The frakengirl, Vicky, stands in front of one of the mirrors. Her back is arched at an unnatural looking forty-five-degree angle as she slams her hand down repeatedly on a small box of electricity sitting on the wet counter. A manic grin covers her face, occasionally cackling before she pushes down on it again and the laugh is lost to the static. The few people who also came to skip hurriedly use the bathroom and book it like that was their intent in the first place.
She slows down, the presses getting less frantic as the seconds pass.
“What the absolute fuck are you doing?” Damien asks when he sure he can hear her over her own self-inflicted electrocution.
Vicky pauses, turning towards him. She glances around as to see if he’s actually talking to her, and then raises an eyebrow, a side of her mouth quirking down. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? The electricity, the fucking electrocuting yourself is what I mean!” he says.
“Oh!” Vicky perks up. “I didn’t get a ton of sleep last night, with my, ya know, ‘studying’ and all.” She sends him an exaggerated wink. “I’m sure you know how it is. But now I’m just charging up for tonight since it’s the weekend! I think I’m just about done though, so I can like, make myself scarce if you wanna do something in here?”
Without thinking about it, Damien almost tells her to fuck off out of habit. He catches himself just in time though, biting down on his lip hard enough to make it bleed.
“No, stay,” Damien says, the words coming on with more difficulty than it takes to pry out teeth. And he should know, he’s a tooth prying torture expert. “I have something I want to ask you about anyway.”
Vicky blinks at him. “Me?” she asks, bringing an exaggerated hand to her chest. “Are you sure?”
Damien grits his teeth. The dirty laundry, he thinks, this is all for the dirty laundry. “Yeah, you,” he says, “What the fuck is up with that Oz kid?”
He doesn’t fully register Vicky’s playful demeanor until it’s gone, immediately replaced with some cold and clinical. She glances at him with narrowed eyes that make him feel just as exposed as he would naked.
“Why do you wanna know?”
“Cause I fucking want to? What, is there something hard about that to understand?”
Vicky takes only two steps to get all up into his personal space. She points an accusing finger in his face, so close that he could bite it off if he wanted. It’s more intimidating than it should be for someone her size. “Now you listen here, and you listen good,” she says. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but leave Oz out of it. They’re one of my best friends, and I swear to god if you pull them into something stupid or get them hurt, I’ll-“
“WHOA, FUCKING WHOA,” Damien says, holding his hands up. “Take a chill pill for a second. And also take that fucking finger out of my face before I take your entire hand off your body.”
Vicky still looks highly suspicious, but she at least takes a step back.
“Look,” Damien says. His voice strains with the effort to sound nonviolent, the threats holding themselves in his throat. “I just-They did something cool and destructive, and I just wanna know, more about them, you know?” He can feel the heat rising onto his cheeks.
“O-m-g,” Vicky says, jaw-dropping clear off her face. She hurriedly picks it up and reattaches it. “Ohmygod, are you like...trying to woo them?”
Damien’s eyes widen, he frantically shakes his head and hands around. “No, no no no, fuck no, man, just, fuck. It was just cool and I want to know more, alright? Don’t be stupid about this. I don’t want to woo anybody, anywhere, that’s just fucking dumb. Who the fuck uses the word woo anymore anyway?”
“Ohmygod,” Vicky’s eyes light up in a way that scarily reminds him of Miranda. “You are!! You’re totally trying to score a date!”
“No! Shut up! I’m just-” Damien scrambled to find an acceptable excuse. “-looking for the best way to set them on fire! They’re too made of sludge and I have no idea whether it’s flammable or not!”
“You want information on them...because you think they’re cool...and you want to commit arson on them…” Vicky says slowly.
“Well, it sounds stupid when you put it like that,” Damien says, pouting.
Vicky snorts, her hand covering up her mouth. “Sounds stupid when you put it like that.” She looks at him appraisingly, hands moving onto her hips as she looks him up and down. “You realize you’re not their type right?”
Damien bristles, “Excuse you, I’m everyone’s type.”
Vicky rolls her eyes, leaning towards him. “Listen, dude, Oz is smart as hell, and I’ve seen your test scores. Plus they’re not even interested in excessive violence, they go out of their way to avoid it. You really think they’re going to be interested in the guy who gave them third-degree burns on three separate occasions this term?”
“Hey, none of those burns were intentional. They can’t blame me if they got caught in the crossfire, goddamnit,” he says, indigent. “Also, I watched them fucking wreck a werewolf’s shit up yesterday. If they’re not into violence, it’s obvious they just need someone to teach them better ways to express themselves.”
Vicky tilts her head, frowning until something seems to click in her head, her eyes widening. She glances back and forth between her reflection and Damien a couple times, before giving herself a couple of nods. “Alright. Fine, I’ll help you talk to them if you’re really looking to get to know them better. But,” she steps closer to him again, her hair falling in a way that shadows her entire face leaving only her eyes glittering underneath. “If you dare hurt them, prince of hell or not, I promise you I will put the fear of God into you.”
And though she’s a head shorter than him, at that moment Damien has no doubt she’ll try to follow through on that threat.
He smirks, “You got a deal.”
.-.-.
The costume is fucking stupid, it’s itchy and tight in all the wrong places and he hates it. It takes every shred of self-control not to rip the thing off of him. Every time he moves, a price tag from his helmet swings around and hits him in the face until he finally rips it off and sets it on fire. At least he looks cool in it.
Vicky’s in front of the stage with Brian, animatedly discussing something to him. She gestures wildly, hands flying in any directions with an almost manic grin on her face. Brian regards her stoically, his mouth pursed in displeasure.
Meanwhile, Oz stands on the stage of the theatre with him. They send tiny little glances his way and then back down to their friends. It looks almost like they want to go and intervene, their body swaying forward and backward as if debating, but one glance at Damien seems to stop them.
Well, Damien knows an opportunity when he sees one. Even if he’d rather introduce himself with a fist or a lighter, he has a dumb feeling that words will work better with Oz.
He closes the gap between them while Oz is looking at their friends. “Hey, you,” he says.
Oz startles, a stark contrast to the bold individual who stood up against werewolf in class a mere couple of days ago. They look up at Damien and hesitantly wave.
Damien narrows his eyes, staring into those blank eyes until Oz shivers and looks away.
Maybe that one bold moment was a fluke? Maybe it was a momentary snap in judgment that just caused him to wreck shit rather than a desperate urge for destruction? Damien feels a bit disappointed at the thought.
“What did you want with me anyway?”
The voice is in his head, an overwhelming whisper that pushes all of his thoughts away. Damien winces, the feeling almost painful. When he opens his eyes, Oz is staring at him again, expression unreadable.
“Vicky said you were going to talk to me,” the voice strikes again, an ominous echo that he’s heard out loud only once before. It’s softer this time, less overwhelming and easier to follow. “But I can’t figure out why you’d want to.”
It takes a moment for Damien to place the voice in his head as the one that came out of the gigantic blob version of Oz in the classroom. It sudden lines up how Oz got away with never saying a word in class or to their friends, but still managed to communicate with others.
Damien crosses his arms, looking pointedly at Oz. “Get the fuck outta my head man, that’s creepy,” he says, though it lacks his usual bite. “And I don’t know...can’t I talk to you because I want to?”
Oz raises an eyebrow. “No,” they say, the word as sharp as a blunt knife in the torso. “Anyone who talks to you usually winds up on fire, kidnapped, or dead.” They pause. “Or worse.”
“What’s worse than being dead?”
“I’m sure you’d think of something.”
Damien smirks, “That’s quite the compliment, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
Oz stares blankly at him, their eyes giving away nothing. Their voice makes a noise like static on a broken television in his head. It’s uncomfortable enough to make him angry, he thinks as he grits his teeth.
The silence between them is awkward and oppressive as well, which goes on to make Damien embarrassed enough to get even angrier, this time more directed at himself. Fuck, he pushed too hard to fast. He should’ve known he wasn’t charming enough to get away to say something like that. Quick, how do people normally deal with awkward situations with people they might try to ask to prom?
Damien does the most sensible thing he can think of at the moment, reaching out with his lighter to set the feather attached to Oz’s hat on fire. As his dad always said, fight awkward with arson.
Oz doesn’t seem to agree if the squawking noise that erupts in Damien’s brain is any indication. He flinches back at the noise, stumbles over his own two feet, and crashes onto the stage. To make this mortifying incident worse, his lighters still on as he does so, fire springing up as the flame brushes against the wood. Stupid fucking wood and it’s extra flammable qualities!
“Ohmygod, Oz!!!” Vicky shouts from the crowd.
Damien scrambles up in time to see Oz furiously smacking against their hat. The little guys that often appear on their shoulders are popped up as well, desperately attempting to help put out the flames.
Brian vaults onto the stage and bodily picks up Oz, throwing them over his shoulder. The dirty look he tosses at Damien before he rushes off belongs in the filthiest of gutters.
“Hey!!” Damien shouts after the disappearing figures of Vicky, Brian, and Oz. “This is not my fucking fault!!”
A flaming support falls from the ceiling and creates a gigantic crater right next to where Damien is sitting.
“Ok, ok! This is somewhat my fault! Fuck!”
.-.-.
The gym is a mass of sweaty teens and rampant hormones. Amira stands at the forefront of it all, commanding her army with a confidence that lesser monsters could only dream of having. With a downright vicious toss, she puts an end to a dodgeball war and leaves a bright red, rubber ball shaped mark on the unsuspecting monsters face.
Damien watches all of this from his vantage point bench pressing a live tiger across the way. “Isn’t this a little bit ironic?” he asks, giving a pointed look at Coach.
“I don’t see what you mean, Damien!!” Coach says, almost shouting right close to his ear. His ears twitch on the top of his head. “Lifting up live tigers is an excellent way to build up upper body strength and strengthen your willpower at the same time!!”
The tiger snaps in Damien’s face as he tries to adjust his grip, growling in his face. Damien screeches a curse in return, pushing the tiger off of him with an aggressive amount of force. It darts away at a ridiculous speed, zooming past Amira who watches it exit the gym before glancing over at Damien.
“Oh no!” Coach shouts. “Damien, go catch that tiger, please! It’ll be another test of your endurance and prevent me from another lecture about animal safety from the principal!!”
“Oh FUCK no! You go check the thing yourself, you dumbass fucking no-”
“Oh, but sir, didn’t you know?” Amira asks, twirling a curling flame around her finger as she walks up to the two of them. “Damien’s allergic to all types of big cats. He’s doomed to break out any second now.”
“Oh lordy!” Coach gasps. “Damien, why wouldn’t you tell me this irrelevant fact that is only important in our current situation?” Damien opens his mouth to dispute that statement, but is cut off by is cut off by Coach frantically shaking his hands. “Never mind, there’s no time!! I’ll be right back, this time with another animal for you to bench press!” And with that, he darts out of the room, presumably after the tiger.
Damien and Amira watch him go. “Thanks,” Damien finally says.
Amira smirks down at him, holding out a hand to help him up. “No problem. What are friends for?”
Damien ignores her and stands up on his own, brushing the tiger fur off of his pants. He scowls, “I’ve never even talked to you before.”
“I know,” Amira says, tapping a finger against her lip. “But you see, most friends share a common interest and our’s,” she points at him accusingly, “seems to be Oz.”
The way she speaks reminds Damien immediately of Vera, the feeling of being thrust underneath a microscope uncomfortably familiar. It pisses him off immensely, especially coming from someone he only knows offhandedly.
“Yeah?” he says. “And what the fuck would you know? Who’s to say I’m even interested in that noob?”
Amira gives him an unimpressed look. “Umm, try the charred remains of what used to be the theatre?” She sighs dramatically when Damien sputters at her, wiping a bit of rogue spit off her cheek with the utmost grace. “Look, Damien, darling. This doesn’t have to be difficult, we both have information the other wants. An exchange won’t hurt, will it? Then we both get what we want in the end.”
“Eat shit and die.”
“Hey, don't be rude. I'm trying to help you here,” Amira says. “Do you want to get to know Oz better or not? Cause if you don’t, I have other ways of getting what I need.”
“And just what the fuck,” Damien says, “do you need?”
“Vera’s phone number.”
“What? Why the fuck would you need that? And better yet, why the hell would I give it to you?”
“First off, it’s none of your business, but if you must know I have plans with Vera, a bank, and a lot of money,” Amira says. “And second off, you and Oz don’t have a lot in common. However, unlike Vicky and Brian, I see a potential for a blossoming romance between you. I have a good feeling you both can bring out both the worst and best in each other. But, the only way anything’s going to happen is under the right circumstances, and you don’t seem capable of figuring them out yourself if setting them on fire is any indication.” She pauses, twirling that flame curl in her finger. “So do we have a deal or not?”
God, this chick really is a less snooty version of Vera. And worse yet, she probably right. Damien grits his teeth, knowing his expression is probably downright murderous at this point, but Amira doesn’t even bat an eye, watching him expectantly.
“You know what?” Damien says. “Fine!! Fucking fine! Help me out with Oz and I’ll give you Vera’s shitty fucking number!! But know this,” he points aggressively in her face, “the ONLY fucking reason I’m letting you help is that there’s not enough time till prom for me to properly fucking woo the pants off of them.”
Amira grins, pushing the finger away from her. “Right, right, of course.” Before Damien can screech at the blatant show of disrespect, Amira continues. “Now here’s what you do…” she says.
And she lays out, in detail, exactly what he should do.
.-.-.
Vera gives Damien an appraising look as she swirls the wine around in her glass. “You acting strange,” she says, and huffs. “Well, weirder than normal.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Damien growls, straining his neck to see across the cafeteria. The sea of tables between his and Quad of Loser’s feels even bigger today as he looks for Amira hidden in the thick of it.
Vera raises an eyebrow, “Wow, no screaming. You really are behaving weirdly. What are you even looking at anyway?” She lifts her head up, narrowing her eyes as she tries to see across the crowd.
“N-None of your fucking business!”
“Ooh,” Miranda says, clapping her hands together as she glances up from where she’s arranging her silverware. The two scantily clad servants behind her are feeding each other, throwing steamy bedroom eyes at one another, but Miranda doesn’t even seem to register it. “Are you perhaps trying to eavesdrop on the peasants? I’ve been doing the same myself in my search for new serfs for my kingdom and have found some delightful prospects. After that, it’s all about the kindness, empathy, and corrosion you use to gain their trust. You jus-”
“Yeah, enslavement, serfs, you’re a princess, we fucking get it, Miranda,” Damien grumbles, finally finding Amira’s flaming hair.
Miranda’s offended gasp is sharp enough to crack Vera’s wine glass, who in turn is distracted from trying to see what Damien is looking in order to save her drink. “Why, I never!” Miranda says. “Enslavement is such a dirty word to describe the relationship I have with my subjects! They all love to serve me! Isn’t that right Mermando?!”
The servant that is most likely Mermando looks up from where he is feeding the other servant, his expression confused. He hesitantly starts to shake his head, only to see Miranda’s pout and switch to rapid nodding.
“See?” Miranda says, her expression bouncing back into an ecstatic grin as she spins around to face Damien. “I told you, didn’t I?!”
“Miranda, can’t you see I’m fucking busy? I don’t have time for this right now!” Damien says, his voice rising into a half shout. From across the room, Amira seems to feel someone’s eyes on her. She turns and their eyes meet. She grins and throws him a wink.
“What the hell do you have to be busy with?” Vera says. “This is lunch, the only order of business you have is to eat...and maybe make things more interesting for me with an attempted murder or some arson.” She chugs down the rest of her wine before woozily standing up and slamming her hands down on the table. Must be a little tipsy then. “And just what are you looking at?”
At that exact moment, Damien is saved from having to answer as the cafeteria doors burst open, leaving a giant gaping hole in the wall. An impenetrable ogre stands in front of it, gussied up in a business suit, square black sunglasses, and a microphone. He scans the crowd in search of something.
“HEY, YOU SIR!” Amira shouts. She springs up onto her chair, making herself tall enough that Damien can clearly see her from across the room. He sees the rest of the heads of the Quad of Losers popping up in surprise as well, Vicky’s patchwork arms reaching up to grab for Amira. “ARE YOU LOOKING FOR YOUR MONEY?”
The ogre looks over at her and gives a gruff nod.
“WELL, I KNOW WHO HAS IT!” Amira leans down, plucking up Oz from the crowd. She holds him up like a monkey presenting a lion cub to the world. “IT’S THIS KID, RIGHT HERE!”
Several things happen at once. The ogre begins pushing his way through the crowd, knocking over screaming students as he goes. A panicky looking Oz squirms around in Amira’s arms until they escape her grip, disappearing into the throng of also panicking people. Damien springs into action, aggressively parting the crowd to move in the direction he last saw Oz, moving against the push towards the emergency exit.
“Damien!!” Miranda shouts as he retreats. “I think you’re confused! The exit is the opposite way!”
Damien pays her no mind, keeping one eye on the bumbling ogre in order as he continues forward.
He finally spots Oz, who has seemingly backed themselves into a corner. The people around them have vanished, most having left the cafeteria, which leaves an open path between Oz and the ogre.
Oz presses themselves back against the wall, spine arched in an almost aggressive posturing. They’ve sprouted more eyes on their face, which all dart around rapidly. Smoke hisses around their body, the tendrils rising into the air. They look on edge, dangerous, and really, really fucking hot.
Damien grins as he slides up next to them. “I got your back,” he growls, voice thrumming with excitement.
Oz jolts, all eyes darting to Damien before moving back to the ogre. They seem to be debating their options before they finally nod. “Don’t fuck this up,” the echoing horror voice says in Damien’s head. “That’s an almost invincible ogre. It only has one weakness.”
“Yeah?” Damien says, pulling a blood-stained knife out of his pocket. The ogre’s footsteps are close enough that he can feel the vibrations in the floor. “What’s that?”
A mouth slides around Oz’s form, barring hundreds of shiny, sharp teeth. “Incredible...violence…” The echoing voices are raspy and hoarse, sending a shiver down Damien’s spine.
“That,” Damien says, “I can fucking do.”
.-.-.
They emerge from the cafeteria absolutely drenched in red. Damien’s practically vibrating with a barely curbed bloodlust. He glances over at Oz, who’s brushing off their cardigan as if that’ll get the bloodstains off of it.
Oz seems to feel his eyes. They look up at him, and their gazes meet. There’s a moment of truly serene silence that can only be shared by two people who utterly wrecked someone’s shit up together, a sense of harmony and exhaustion.
“So,” the echoing voice in Damien’s head breaks the quiet between them. “What did Amira ask you for in exchange for doing that?”
Damien huffs, still slightly out of breath. “Does it really fucking matter?”
The tiny laugh that pushes itself into Damien’s mind is even more foreboding than the feeling of Oz speaking is. It’s kind of cute. “No,” they say. “I guess it doesn’t.”
“Fucking right it doesn’t.” Damien suddenly stops walking, bringing up a hand to the back of his neck. Oz notices a couple steps ahead of him, and they stop as well, turning to face him.
“Listen,” Damien says, opening and closing his mouth like an unintelligent fish as he tries to collect his words. It’s the combination of Oz’s blank stare and his own embarrassment that finally kickstarts his frustration enough to get him started. “Listen,” he says again. “Other people are fucking shitty and terrible, all the fucking time. But you seem less shitty and less terrible than all of them, and the way you can wreck shit is really fucking hot for a noob who apparently doesn’t even like violence. Seriously, who the fuck doesn’t like violence? But, that’s like, another point. The actual fucking point is I want to take you on a date.”
Oz stares at him for what feels like an entire lifespan, a slight pink tint to their face that really compliments all the blood. “Why me?” they ask softly. “You barely know me.”
“I know! I know that!” Damien says, fidgety hands moving to his hips. “It’s just...the violence...you know?”
Oz raises an eyebrow. “If you want to date me for just the fact that I can wreck stuff when I have to, I’m going to have to refuse.”
“What? No, no, fuck you,” Damien says. “It’s not just cause you can wreck shit, it’s…” Amira’s words spring into his head. “I see...potential between us. I think we could bring out the best and the worst in each other. And you seem cool enough that I don’t want to let that opportunity go.”
A similar static buzzes in Damien’s mind while Oz just stares. If Damien had to put a name to the look on their face right now, with its wide blank eyes and skyrocketed eyebrows, it would be dumbstruck.
“Fuck,” Damien says. “If you don’t want to, just fucking say so. I won’t even be mad. Well, no, I’d be fucking pissed. But I’d go and take it out on someone else, I got a list of names I gotta take out anyway. Fuck, I mean-”
“One date.”
Damien’s head shoots up to look at them. “What?” he says, voice flat.
“I’m giving you one date,” Oz says, eyes crinkling in that amused way as they bring a finger to their chin. “If it doesn’t go well, there won’t be another. And I’m picking the place. Do you have a piece of paper?”
Gobsmacked, Damien shakes his head. Oz hums.
“Alright, hold still then.” They pull a pen out of the front of their cardigan, scrawling a series of numbers across Damien’s arm. “Text me and we’ll set something up.”
“Alright,” Damien agrees, still confused.
Oz glances up at his slack expression and huff aloud, one of the little dudes on their shoulders making the noise for them. The other makes kissy faces and winks at Damien.
“I’m looking forward to it,” Oz says as the start walking away. They wave with turning back to look at Damien. “Don’t lose my number now.”
Bold and charming, holy shit. Damien immediately pulls out his phone out to enter the number. He pauses and finally sends a message to his dad.
‘Got a potential date, I think. As a side question, do I still have that suit I wore to Aunt May’s dumb fucking wedding in my closet?’