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Hell is basically the absence of God.
The land is dark and dry. The ground cracked and barren. There is no wind. There is no air. No creation and no life. Some might call it peaceful if the quiet weren’t so painful.
The only reason a demon is to come to Earth is to sew doubt and deceit, turning human souls towards temptation and wreaking havoc on human minds so that they might fill the empty space in hell.
Going topside is the only reprieve a demon has from this vast, silent wasteland. Demons found their physical forms in the graves of those damned. Many have a favorite, a few demons who have forgotten their names will take theirs.
Tyler doesn’t remember what his name used to be. He also doesn’t remember falling from grace. To him, it seemed he woke up as he was and never knew anything else. The only thing he had was an unceasing ache of emotions churning inside of him, the most prominent and insistent being regret.
Being so angry and lonely there was only one thing he could think to do. He prayed. The demon prayed to a God who couldn’t hear him. He begged for forgiveness, he begged to know why he’d been banished, he begged to know what crime he committed.
After some time he realized that no one was listening. So for what must be the second time in his existence he rebelled. He figured he did it once before, he could do it again.
He surfaced in the graveyard of his favorite vessel, his clothes, and hair windswept as if the trip between worlds were a physical thing. It was not, but it still had the sensation of being caught up in a windstorm. It felt as if the air inside his lungs was being ripped out of him and the wind was slapping against his cheeks and body. The noise was deafening, all-powerful.
It was terrifying and disorienting then to be dropped into existence, in quiet once more. It was a different kind of quiet in the graveyard. There were more than just dead things here.
He figured God could hear him here. His prayers become song, the words roll off his tongue easier that way. He prays until his voice box wears and his songs become too painful to continue.
Then he just stands there, in an empty graveyard not sure what to do next. Tyler doesn’t know if anyone back in hell noticed or cared about his absence but if they did he didn’t want to know what would be in store for him when he returned.
Tyler waited an hour, sitting on the gravestone with his name on it. Nothing.
He waited for eight hours. Still nothing.
He waited and watched as the sun peaked over the headstones in the grassy graveyard, casting ghastly shadows until it rose high into the sky. And while the sensation of the warm sunshine washed over his skin and the breeze blew gently through his hair and the birds sang to each other, Tyler came to the conclusion that as long as he wasn’t in hell God could find him.
He finds a man in a music store, watches him play on one of the drumsets till he’s sweating. But he doesn’t slow down, just amps up and up and up while Tyler watches him in amazement. And a thought occurs to him; maybe God can’t pick out his voice among all those praying to him. Maybe he needs to make more noise.
Later he corners the drummer in an ally way outside the music store.
“Hey,” he says, allowing a smile to crack across his face. Maybe it’s a little too crooked, the man steps back, clearly unsettled.
“You were watching me play in the music store.”
Tyler licks his lips, shifts closer and holds out a hand to the drummer. “Hey, I’m Tyler. Do you want to start a band?”
The man looks down at his hand, startled. Then a smile graces his lips and a warm hand envelopes his in a handshake. “I’m Josh. Where’s the rest of it?” he asks, looking around the alley as if expecting more bandmembers to pop out of the cracks in the pavement.
They gain a sort of following. The lyrics coming naturally to Tyler as his prayers, but they’re open to interpretation. Apparently, there’s plenty of people out there who share his despair.
Sometimes he’ll talk to Josh about what they actually mean without telling him the whole truth. He doesn’t want to scare him away.
He sings and plays piano, or sometimes ukelele. Or whatever he can get his hands on. No matter what though, Josh is always by his side, driving the music on.
He slips into Josh’s room one night, the quiet too imposing, too reminiscent of the silent wasteland he escaped from. He wakes him gently, kisses away the worried question partway out his mouth.
He strokes a hand through the damaged hair at the nape of his neck when Josh stiffens in shock. Then lets out a little sound of delight as Josh’s form relaxes beneath his hands.
They slide together naturally, Tyler laughing quietly when Josh murmurs “Finally!” against his lips. He opens him up, Josh’s quiet breaths of encouragement making him more excited than it ought to. He feels like he might be corrupting him, but maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe Josh is making him better. He slides into him, nice and easy and sweet while Josh makes a shocked, punched out noise at the sensation.
They settle for a breath, Josh’s legs trembling around him before he’s moving, Josh’s voice loud in his ear. Blocking out the quiet.
He wakes the next morning, sunlight pouring into Josh’s bedroom. Their legs are tangled together, one of his hands interlocking with one of Josh’s. He turns over, breaths in the peace. He smiles, he’s content.