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At the very beginning, Lucifer warned you: stay away from Solomon. Never trust the shady sorcerer. Keep your distance at all costs, and do not interact.
But you never listened.
No, you were convinced that you knew better. That the white-haired mage had good inside him, that he wasn't a demon in human skin with an agenda more suspicious than Diavolo's own. For an entire year, you believed in him, and the two of you stayed by each other's side the whole time you were in the Devildom.
You have so many good memories with him.
The two of you pulled pranks on Asmo. Downloaded TikTok onto Lucifer's phone. Ran a scam where you auctioned your souls off on D-Bay and kept the Grimm. You egged the student council hall on April Fool's day, and you even shared your food with the guy.
So many good memories.
So many tainted memories.
If you had known where it would land you, you never would have allowed yourself to get close to him.
"I fucking hate you," You grumble, darting forward and flopping onto your bed the second Solomon opens the door, groaning as you burrow your head in your pillow. It reeks of magic, much like everything else in this godforsaken place, and you're entirely sick of it, but you're too exhausted to even care right now. "I can't believe you fucking did this to me."
"Oh please, you're acting like this is the end of the world." The mage closes the door, and you hear the sound of shuffling as he puts his books away for the day, taking off his school jacket. His actions are innocent enough, but you're certain he finds amusement in your state, and the very thought fills your lungs with even more resentment toward your current situation.
"It is the end of the world," You grumble in protest. "I'm supposed to be relaxing right now. Playing video games with friends. Hanging out at a club. Wasting time on twitter, sending celebrities stupid pickup lines. Not doing more schoolwork at another fucking school of magic."
Solomon laughs lightly, a warm sound that you wish you didn't like.
"Technically, RAD wasn't a school of magic," He tells you.
"Oh, who fucking cares? This school is! You've kidnapped me and dumped me in Hogwarts, basically, and I hate Harry Potter!"
"How unfortunate for you, then." Solomon grins boyishly as he rolls your body over, eyes twinkling with mirth as he gazes at your utterly unamused expression. "Relax. You'll begin to enjoy your time here, once you get used to the course load. I dare say you might even find it fun to learn about our magical heritage."
"When pigs fly, Solomon," You quip back, opting to ignore the fact that your potions teacher told you that your end-of-year project would actually be to create a solution potent enough to give farm animals wings.
You sigh grumpily and roll over, closing your eyes and relaxing quietly as the sorcerer pats your shoulder, quietly telling you not to nap for too long, so you have time to finish your homework later.
You ignore him, for the most part.
I'll never enjoy it here, you convince yourself. As much as you love spending time with Solomon, you don't have it in you to completely change your life and begin studying magic, irregardless of how much the teachers at this school want you to. Ignoring the sound of scribbles as Solomon begins his own homework, you tell yourself that the mage is wrong, that all you need to do is flunk out during this first semester and then you'll be returned to your normal life in your home country.
What you don't expect is for Solomon's words to be proven true.
One week into your time at the academy, you've just begun to grow used to the course load. The students at school stop raising eyebrows at your face, and as you begin to grow accustomed to the school, it becomes accustomed to you.
Two weeks in, you've already fallen into a loose rhythm.
By three weeks, you've developed what a less apprehensive person would call "friends," and by four weeks, you're genuinely giving your studies your all, learning spellwork and enchantments with an almost-passionate fervor.
By the time the month has ended, you've actually forgotten your plans to flunk out.
And though you're surprised by your change of heart, the never-fading smile on Solomon's face makes you suspect that he predicted this from the start.
You glance up at him from your textbook, momentarily halting your note-taking to study the way the enthralled light never fades from his eyes, even as he glances from book to book while continuing to draw a summoning circle for his demonology class, somehow looking pleased even as he cross-checks his image.
You groan.
You've found yourself glancing up at Solomon more and more often in these past few days, distracted from your own studying by the way his hair falls over his forehead, or the way his chest sometimes peeks through when he undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt, or the way he sometimes bites his lip cutely when going over a particularly difficult passage. Hell, you once spent five minutes staring at the sorcerer's hands, because they looked oh-so-soft as he took notes on the book he was deciphering.
The first few times, you convinced yourself that it was merely because of how eye-catching he was. And that was a fair enough excuse. After all, the colors of this academy are black and gold—Solomon's pale skin stands out against the dark fabrics of the uniform and the even-darker furnishings of your dorm room.
But after catching yourself gazing wistfully at his lips a few too many times, you were forced to confront the truth.
You have a crush on the aggravating, annoying, sassy, difficult, handsome, cute mage.
But that's not even the worst part.
You think he knows.
A warmth creeps onto your cheeks the moment you begin to think about all the instances where Solomon has caught you staring at him over these past few weeks. There are almost too many examples. Early in the morning, when his hair is all messed up. Right after breakfast, when his lips have changed color to whatever potion he drank. On your way back from school, when you walk back to the dorm together. During homework sessions like these. Right after he steps out of the shower—oh, he's caught you gawking at him far too many times after returning from the shower. (You tried to play it off by saying that you were merely studying his pact marks, but you know he knows the truth. His abs are loosely defined, but they're there, and you want to lick them so bad it hurts.)
"MC?" Solomon calls, and you blink.
Fuck, you think, suddenly realizing that you were staring at him while you daydreamed about him.
Add one more to the count, you think with an internal groan, silently wondering how many more times the sorcerer will catch you staring at him.
"You good?" He questions, and you can see the smirk he's trying so hard to fight off his face.
"Uh—I'm going to the library," You blurt, opting to avoid the sorcerer's gaze as you grab your jacket, looping your arms through it with deftness despite how utterly befuddled your thoughts are as you escape the room. You don't have your books with you, or your library card for that matter, but anything is better than responding to that all-too-playful question.
You flee before Solomon has a chance to say anything else, all but running to the stairs and sauntering on down until you're outside the dorm building, the air crisp in your lungs as you inhale sharply.
I'm such a mess, you think to yourself, the lingering warmth on your cheeks beginning to cool as you fold your arms and walk in the direction of what you hope is the library. A few people crossing you nod their heads in greeting, quick smiles thrown your way as you return them, but no one stops to converse with you, and you're left alone to debate your affections for the sorcerer.
You sigh, trying to sort out your thoughts.
Solomon must harbor some affection for you, you know that.
After all, he's spent far too many nights explaining foreign concepts to you, calmly navigating you through the waters of magic where he could have simply directed you to a tutoring board.
Moreover, you've seen how he behaves with other students here at the academy. No matter who has come to your dorm, be two kids it for a group project or a single friend in preparation to summon a demon they're interested in, there's a barrier of cool distance Solomon maintains with everyone else, one that simply seems to disappear around you.
Distance, you think, recalling the awkward way Solomon avoids physical contact with others, using sorcery to do things as simple as handing a glass of water to a guest. With you, though, you've both only grown closer, once-awkward pats now having turned into comfortably leaning on each other whenever one of you is tired. Last week, Solomon even ran a hand through your hair, and though he blinked afterward in surprise, as if he hadn't meant to do that, there was an undeniable feeling of closeness to his actions, something which others would hardly expect to see from him.
Another sound of frustration spills from your lips, aggravated at your situation with the sorcerer. The two of you are closer than others, but still not close. More than casual friends, but hardly intimate. Beyond nothing, but not yet something.
You kick a rock lying on the ground, watching it sail into the grass as you brood over the fact that Solomon is more confusing than the history of magic.
And you might brood some more, maybe even consider confessing your affections to the sorcerer in question, if not for the fact that you randomly look up and the building that greets you is not the school library.
You blink, abruptly turning around to check the way you came, but it is also a road that you've never seen, never heard of, and certainly have never navigated.
"Fuck," You mutter to yourself, realizing your predicament.
You're lost.
***
In your dorm room, Solomon is growing increasingly frustrated over the summoning circle he's been instructed to sketch. His fingers are supposed to be tracing the emblem of Mephistopheles, but it's so similar to Barbatos (and he's so used to drawing the summoning circle of Barbatos) that he keeps messing up at the end and has to restart all over again.
Or at least, that's what he tells himself is the cause for his repeated failures.
Solomon is hardly dumb—he's well aware that the reason for his utter inability to focus right now is caused solely and explicitly by you, and that this would not be happening if he weren't worried for your whereabouts.
But at the same time, there's nothing he can do about the fact that you're already gone, or the fact that he just messed up again on this seal.
A frustrated groan leaves Solomon's lips, inwardly cursing himself for driving you from the room.
After all, he really needs to get this assignment done.
Then again, it's not like he would be doing much of a better job if you were still here.
The sorcerer can never find himself fully able to focus around you, eyes always drawn upward to study you. It feels like if he casts his gaze away for too long, he'll miss something—the way your eyes light up every time you understand a concept, the way your eyebrows furrow every time you don't. It's the little things he tries to pay attention to: how you silently nod your head at the end of every sentence you read to the way you aimlessly fumble with your blanket whenever an assignment bores you.
Solomon is positive that he's successfully picked up on every one of your little quirks, by now. At a single glance, he can tell what subject you're studying by the way you're sprawled out over your bed, and if he looks a little longer, he might even be able to tell how good a mood you're in based on the way you tap your pen against your notebook. Give him enough time, and he's even picked apart how the way you kick your feet in the air relates to how nervous you are for an upcoming quiz.
Yeah, Solomon really hasn't been doing too well in his school, with how much he's been focusing on you.
Of course, you don't notice it at all. No, Solomon cast a spell long ago which makes it look like he's studying diligently even as he gazes absentmindedly at the way you run a hand through your hair when you're tired, making it incredibly easy for him to catch all the little glances you've been giving him these past few weeks.
Does he feel guilty for watching you watch him?
Absolutely.
Does he think about removing the spell?
All the time.
Does that mean he will change anything?
Most definitely not.
The look of shock on your face every time he casually "catches" you staring at him is too attractive for him to stop, especially since the immediate state of fluster it induces is so amusing to watch.
But that doesn't stop him from regretting calling you out just now, because while he's pretty sure you know your way around the campus, he's also well-aware that whenever your head is in a jumble, you lose all sense of awareness.
I'll wait, he decides, rapping his pencil against the outline of the sketch he's working on, reaching for a ruler. I need to finish this assignment, anyway.
But then ten minutes turns into twenty, and by the time Solomon is done with his assignment, the hour is over, signaled by the four loud rings from the grandfather clock on the ground floor.
The mage glances at your empty bed, set just six feet across from his, and he frowns.
I'll wait a little longer.
But one hour stretches into two, and two stretches into three, and nearly four hours have passed by the time the sun sets, and Solomon is pacing back and forth in the dorm, glancing at the door every time he turns, in hopes that you'll walk through it.
Fucking hell, he thinks to himself, grabbing his academy jacket as he flips his book closed and shoves it onto his desk.
He isn't going to torture himself any longer like this.
Hell, he'll confess if that's what it takes to bring you back, because right now, he's going crazy cooped up in this room and there's only one thing that's going to calm him down.
Shoving his keys into his pocket, he yanks the door open, all final hopes of you standing on the other sides crushed when he sees the almost-empty hall, and the questioning eyes of students wondering why he's heading out when it's so close to curfew.
He huffs in exasperation, slamming the door shut as he walks out, long legs carrying him in the direction of where he suspects you got lost.
He's really fallen for such a troublesome person.
Then again, Solomon adores even that part of you.
***
You've never been so relieved to see a clump of white hair.
Or, well, maybe you have—you know, given that Mammon has saved you more than a few times from Lucifer's wrath—but you've never been so relieved in the human world to see a familiar, fluffy clump of white hair.
"Solomon!" You exclaim the moment you set your eyes on the mage, sprinting forward to capture him in a tight hug. He stiffens at the contact, and you inwardly note that this is probably the closest you've ever physically been to him, but you don't care. Maybe it's the instincts that were drilled into you after being surrounded by demons for a whole year, but you had seriously begun to think that you would die out here.
"How on earth did you get here?" Solomon asks incredulously, gazing at your surroundings.
"I, um." You suddenly feel embarrassed. "I got lost, and then I sort of just picked a direction and walked."
"You..." Solomon pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, unable to even bring himself to repeat your words back to you. "You do realize that that's the worst possible thing you could have done, right?" The mage shoots a frown your way. "Do you even know how far off-campus we are right now?"
You ignore his words off with a smile, following him gleefully as he shakes his head in disapproval. "Then isn't it wonderful that I had you to come find me?"
You laugh, the sound filling the otherwise empty night, missing the way Solomon fights off an instinctive smile at the sound.
"If you turn tail and run away every single time I catch you staring at me, we're going to have an issue," The sorcerer mutters, more under his breath than to you. You ignore his words, neither wanting to nor knowing how to respond. "Your crush on me is only going to bring more trouble to us, if things continue on like this."
And that gets to you.
(And though you don't know it, the sorcerer is equally mortified by his statement. He certainly hadn't wanted to confront you like that.)
"You know?!" You exclaim, eyes round in horror. You always knew that he must have had his own suspicions, but for him to just come out and say it? You stare at the man with a mouth agape, raw embarrassment warming your cheeks for the second time today.
"Ah, yes," Solomon comments lamely, wincing when he hears how his words must sound. "I mean, ahem, I would actually, erm, consider myself, goodness look at that goose, to harbor similar sentiments.
"You...what?" You ask suspiciously, partially confident that Solomon just confessed but at the same time confused whether his words mean what you think they do. "You like me?" You ask hesitantly, watching the mage's expressions carefully.
"'Like' is such a strange word," Solomon begins. "One might consider it to be an expression of indifference, whereas another would—"
You cut the mage off with a sharp elbow to the stomach and a pointed glare, warning him to stop being around the bush.
"Fine," He mutters, shooting you a sulky glare. "Yes. I like you, okay? Are you happy now?"
A warm smile blooms on your face as you hear the sorcerer say those words, savoring the beautiful pink that swells on his usually-pale cheeks as he averts his eyes and crosses his arms.
"Yes, that does make me happy," You muse, grinning. "For how long?" You probably didn't have to ask that question—but Solomon's evident embarrassment makes it impossible not to milk this situation for all it's worth.
"Since...the Devildom," He mutters, the pink on his cheeks surging with even more prominence.
You blink at that.
The Devildom?
That's even longer than you've liked him!
"Wow," You confess, eyes slightly round in wonder. "I...I had no idea, this whole time."
"Yeah, I...kind of made sure of that."
"What do you mean?" You pause in your walk to glance at the man standing next to you. "How'd you stop me from figuring it out?"
"I, uh," Solomon scratches the back of his neck, glancing away sheepishly. "I may have used magic."
Wow.
Well, that—
Yeah, that was entirely expected.
A huff leaves your throat, and you cross your arms dramatically as you saunter ahead of Solomon, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that Asmo once warned you that, if Solomon ever started liking you, this was exactly the sort of thing he would do.
You pause, glancing right and then left as you approach a crossing, completely unsure of which way to go but unwilling to reduce yourself to asking the sorcerer from help. Not when you can feel the waves of apology radiating off him.
"Are you mad?" He asks when you stop, and the hesitant inflection of his voice only makes you fall for him more because of how annoyingly adorable you find it.
"Maybe," You respond, deciding to keep him in suspense. "But you can make it up to me."
Before Solomon can ask how, you walk in front of him and turn around such that you're facing him, one arm on your hip as you send a confident smirk.
"Given that we both like each other, see..." You trail off, standing in front of him with a devilish grin on your face as you wait for him to piece together what you're hinting at.
You see his eyes widen, the moment of realization dawning in his eyes as he understands what you're asking him to do.
Solomon doesn't hesitate much after that. He barely spends a single moment preparing himself, and then one hand is reaching for your cheek while his lips pull closer, and you savor the sight of his eyes closing as he presses his lips to yours, and then your own eyes are closed, basking in the feeling of warmth as you grin and lean into the kiss, lifting your own arms to his neck, looping them around to play with his hair the way you've thought about so many times.
Something about the situation is undeniably blissful, undeniably comfortable, and undeniably right as you both kiss, and the very notion that you could have ever been so hesitant about doing this makes you both laugh, the two of you smiling and giggling into the kiss like fools.
You lean back slightly, pulling away to beam at the sorcerer with a proud smile, but Solomon chases your lips, dipping his head forward and halting you from going further back by snaking a hand around your waist. Not at all minding this development, you grin as he turns the kiss passionate, slipping his tongue through your lips with a determined force you can't help but be turned on by, and then the lightheartedness of the previous moment is replaced by a sudden passion for more of this, more of the feeling of Solomon's mouth against yours, more of him.
You bring your hands to his chest, pushing him backward and onto a bench that could not be more conveniently placed as you press his body down onto it, and he doesn't bother commenting on how you're wrinkling his shirt when you grab fistfuls of it and straddle his lap. Or maybe he does try, but you'll never find out, because seconds later your lips are back to being pressed against his and everything else in the world disappears.
"Fuck," Solomon whispers, gasping when you part for air, his fingers just about to slip under your shirt as he caresses your waist.
"Yeah," You respond, knowing exactly what he's talking about. When your eyes dart from his flushed neck to his eyes, the look he gives you is nothing short of sinful.
Seconds later, the two of you are kissing again—because really, Solomon can't look at you like that and not expect you to immediately throw yourself at him—and his fingers really do squirm their way underneath your shirt, the feeling of his touch almost electric as his fingers grip your waist firmly.
And then it really doesn't matter that you're both still in public, that you're straddling Solomon on a public bench and that it's almost well curfew, because holy fuck you've both wanted to do this for way longer than anyone should have to wait, and now that you've started, nothing will pull you apart.
Bonus:
From his lovely little cloud in the heavens, Simeon cheers, a warm smile on his face as he watches his two favorite humans give in to the attraction that has always been painfully obvious to him.
He hums peacefully, internally wondering how he'll go about collecting his money from Lucifer, now that he's won their bet about how long it would take for the two of you to grow intimate—but his bliss is short-lived as he watches you tug Solomon's tie off, a light gasp leaving both his and Solomon's lips, though for two very different reasons.
"No!" Simeon cries, gasping dramatically with a hand over his chest as he realizes what is happening. "You're in public! In public!"
He moans in distress, falling to his knees as he sends a prayer up to Father for you both, his horror widening as he catches sight of buttons popping off your shirt as Solomon slips his hands underneath it, both of you starved and desperate for more contact than your clothes can provide.
"Little lambs!" He wails in horror, and all the other angels stop what they're doing for a moment to wonder what has their Simeon in such a twist, nearly every angel in the heavens listening to the sound of his utterly defeated whimpers that follow as he crawls back into bed, trying his best to forget the unholy sight that now plagues his mind.
"Forgive me, Father," He murmurs, fingers darting from his forehead to his chest, then right and left. But then, he thinks of a better prayer: "Forgive them."
Bonus bonus:
Centuries later, Simeon will reluctantly (and drunkenly) recount this tale to Asmodeus, who will immediately cheer in support. The fifth-born will claim to have always sensed the unspoken sexual tension between the two of you, and has always been an ardent supporter of "giving in to temptation," regardless of how public one's surroundings may be. After hearing Simeon's story, he'll order another round of drinks for the bar, paying for it himself in honor of everyone's two favorite humans, the demon cheering both your names loudly and downing a shot before promptly passing out on Simeon's lap.