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Diavolo’s head is resting in your lap, eyes closed as you gently stroke his cheek with the tips of your fingers. His body is curled close to you, taking the form of a fetal position, his arms wrapped around your waist and holding tightly.
You don’t know him, or his name, but the state you found him in caused you to feel so sad that you offered him comfort, kneeling in front of his hunched, collapsed, form and patting your lap. It almost felt like it was your purpose in life, to make this strange man feel safe.
“I could kill you if I wanted to, do you know that?” Diavolo had yelled, but you had just smiled at him in return.
Patting your lap again, the smile stayed on your face. “Please, rest. You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”
He stares for a moment, piercing green eyes glancing from your face to your lap. You can practically see the gears turning in his head and give him time to process what is being offered.
Diavolo crawls over to your right and shifts so his head falls into your lap, his eyes facing your stomach. He doesn’t touch you other than this, not yet. Instead his arms are pulled tight against his chest, and his legs come up in front of them, his knees poking the side of your thigh gently.
“Why are you being so kind? Don’t you know I have died more times than I can count? I’m surprised I’m not even dead yet..” Diavolo goes on and on about death loops, requiem stands, and teenagers who were too strong for their own good, and you just listen. He rambles and complains for what seems like hours, silently taking notice of your hand gently beginning to rub the side of his head. Diavolo doesn’t address it and keeps rambling, his cheeks for the first time in ages turning a soft shade of red.
A few strands of his long hair get caught in your finger, and you twirl them gently. Diavolo suddenly stops speaking, and you look down at him.
“Is everything alright dear?” You ask softly.
He doesn’t respond, and instead wraps his arms around your waist, holding on tightly, as if he’d be pulled away from you. “It’s nothing, don’t ask again.” Diavolo snaps, nestling his head closer into your lap so his face is resting against your stomach. “Alright, I’m sorry.” Is your reply, and he can’t help but feel a little guilty at how rudely he had responded to you. Nothing more is said from him, though, and he closes his eyes to rest.
An hour goes by, and Diavolo finally falls asleep in your lap, getting the rest he so desperately needs. The tips of your fingers dance across his cheek gently, barely touching his skin. Your Italian has never been very good, but you lean down and press a soft kiss to his temple, whispering a soft farewell when you pull away.
“Goodbye, mia cara.”