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Solomon was sitting on his bed with a pillow propped against the headrest, a book sitting on his lap, opened to a page that he had tried his best to pay attention to. For some reason however, he found himself unable to get lost in the magic of words. Today, the strings of sentences failed to make sense to him and instead, confused him even more as his mind kept wandering different places.
He lifted his head and his eyes darted to the clock on his wall as he watched the hands tick with unrelenting fervour.
Before he could tears his eyes off the wretched clock he watched it hit zero and shut the book in his lap, filling the otherwise silent room with momentary noise.
11:58, 11:59, pause, pause, pause, 0:00.
There it was, a new day had begun, another Ninth of December, not much different from the myriads of December Ninths he had lived through before.
Long gone where the days where Solomon had looked forward to the day, had watched the ticking of the clock with glee and waited impatiently for the day to come.
Nowadays, another year to his life meant nothing more than another year lost with the people he cared about. Only with immortality came the realization that even though time moved forward, it did not mean much to you.
Solomon checked his DDD. 0:05. There were no new messages. Good.
Through the years, Solomon had learned to hide the fact that this specific day, the ninth of December, was his own date of birth. Although he was rarely one to get gloomy over such trivialities, this one was inherently different.
With each and every year he remained stagnant while the people around him turned older, wiser, suffered through hardships, got sick and inevitably faced death, either with a smile upon their lips or regret filling their souls. Solomon however, was left to outlive them all, over and over again.
He shouldn't be one to complain, after all, in his unquenchable thirst for knowledge and power, he had chosen this life for himself. Still, Solomon couldn't help but feel particularly nostalgic every time this time of year came around.
Decades ago he had given up on celebrating this day, had done his best to demolish each and every record that proved that the Ninth of December was his supposed day of celebration. After all, there was no need to celebrate a day that marked nothing but yet another year, with myriads of others just the same to come.
Solomon put the book away and got up from his bed. He walked over to his balcony, pushed the doors open and enjoyed the stinging breeze of cold air blowing against his cheeks. Staring up at the dark sky, he was reminded of decades of birthdays, different from this one yet also very much the same, spent with friends and lovers, enemies and allies, all so discernible in life but now interchangeable in death. Solomon was the remaining factor, the man who had outlived them all, so self-absorbed in his search for knowledge; his very own narcissus standing ever so lonely in a lake of memories.
Solomon gripped the balcony's rails tightly and watched the way his clenched fists made his knuckles turn ghastly white, observed the way his dark blue veins threatened to break through thin skin. Sometimes, he wondered if he had made the wrong decision after all. Who was he to decide that he himself was above other humans?
Suddenly, Solomon heard the faintest of sounds. It was a sound he knew all to well, a sound which most definitely did not belong to the quiet whisper of a cold December night. Like a bell chiming through the empty halls of an abandoned church, a pretty voice cut through the silence, accompanied by the soft sound of wings flapping and then feet hitting the ground.
There was no need for Solomon to look up to know who had joined him on this cold and somewhat lonely night.
„Asmo,“ he said without looking up. His elbows were resting on the rails and he contemplatively watched the way the trees, dipped in white like used paint brushes, swayed in rhythm with the wind. „What brings you here?“
For the shortest of moments, Asmo stayed uncharacteristically silent, which generally meant little good. Solomon turned his head to look at the demon.
Asmodeus was sitting on the railing, still in his demon form, with a thoughtful look on his face. His gaze was fixed on Solomon and Solomon alone.
„You, Solomon.“
Solomon raised an eyebrow at the short answer. „What about me? You're generally not one to be this mysterious, Asmo.“
The demon's eyes shone eerily in the night as he pushed himself off the railing and walked closer to Solomon, putting his hand down on his forearm ever so softly. Those mesmerizing eyes of his seemed to gaze right through Solomon's soul, leaving him bare and exposed, leaving whatever was left of his stony soul to be looked upon by Asmodeus' hypnotizing eyes.
Asmo let out a soft sigh and gripped Solomon's forearm a little bit harder before turning his head to get a better look at him. Today, he seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet and perhaps even the slightest bit solemn.
„You're usually not this lost in thought either, Solomon. I can tell something is up, so don't even think about turning me away.“ A scowl appeared on Asmodeus' face as he mustered Solomon intently. „What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?“ he asked, his eyebrows knit together.
Finally, Solomon returned Asmo's gaze and let out a deep sigh, his breath visible in the cold winter air. He hadn't even put on a jacket and was shivering by now, but either didn't notice or didn't care enough to change something about it.
„I've just been thinking a lot.“
„About?“
Solomon's grip on the railing tightened once again. „Life, death. Everything in-between. How slow it starts and how quickly it can end again. Do you know what the one thing is all humans have in common?“
Asmodeus kept quiet for a moment.
„Death. At least in the end, everyone is equal,“ Solomon continued, tracing the lines of a horizontal eight on the cold wood with his icy pointer. „With one exception,“ he added. „Me.“
To be honest, Solomon couldn't say what had brought him to confide in Asmodeus tonight. Normally, he wasn't one to regret his choices. After all, they had been for a greater purpose. Tonight however was the one night of the year where he allowed himself to mourn all the souls he had outlived and would inevitably outlive over and over again.
„Oh, Solomon dear,“ Asmo whispered, his voice barely discernible as he grabbed both of Solomon's hands, ever so cold to the touch, and pulled them close to his chest. Solomon did not cry nor wallow in despair, he had spent all his tears decades ago. What was left was a certain emptiness in his heart, an emptiness he knew was never to be filled again, no matter how hard he tried to replace the human connections he had lost, whether it was with magic or power or knowledge; it was not on the same level and it was never enough.
Suddenly, he felt a steady rhythm against the palms of his hands, fluttering like a newborn humming bird flapping its wings, and looked up in slight confusion. He hadn't even realized Asmodeus had come this close. When-? He was really out of it today.
„Let's get you inside,“ Asmo simply said, still with that concerned look on his face. Solomon couldn't place why Asmo would look at him like that. There was no reason to be concerned after all. No one else had noticed his odd behaviour leading up to today, so why should Asmo be any different?
As if time had jumped forward, they were suddenly inside his room again and before Solomon knew what was going on Asmo had sat him down on the bed and had thrown a blanket around his shoulders. Solomon felt the clouds shrouding his mind clear a little when he noticed Asmo kneeling before him, one hand on the bed and the other resting on Solomon's thigh, staring at him intently, his eyes shining ever so bright in the darkness.
Ah, he must be using his magic, Solomon noted calmly. He felt his pact mark burn hot against his cold, chilly skin, filling him with that certain heat that was exclusive to their magic, both comforting and exciting at once. Asmodeus took hold of Solomon's hands again and pressed the lightest of kisses onto it.
With every second of this, Solomon felt his heart lose some of its weariness and felt his head regain its focus.
Asmodeus looked up again and the golden shine to his eyes eventually simmered down to the slightest of glimmers. „Solomon?“ he then asked cautiously, still kneeling and looking up at the sorcerer.
Solomon took a deep breath and felt the crisp cold air of his room fill his lungs, felt the coldness that filled his bones and shivered. At once, he felt grounded again, felt as if he had just returned to his body from an out of body experience . „Yes.“
A deep shudder ran through Asmodeus' body as well. „There you are,“ he said, his voice relieved, a slight smile replacing his former frown. He lifted a hand to Solomon's cheek and cradled it. „Where have you been?“
For a moment, Solomon gave it some thought, finally able to think somewhat clearly again. „In the past, I suppose,“ he answered, his blue lips still reluctant to push out an answer.
„You can't do this to yourself, Solomon. You had me so worried! I came here because I felt our pact mark grow cold, so so cold. For a moment I thought-“ he didn't finish the sentence, but instead crawled up on the bed, moving behind Solomon. Without any hesitation he hugged his partner from behind, burying his nose in the crook of his neck. „Let's get you warm.“
„There really is no need to-“
Asmodeus pulled Solomon even closer, much tighter than ever before.
Although he felt icy to the core, shivering and pathetic, Solomon didn't feel deserving of compassion. Not tonight and certainly not ever. After all, he was the one who had chosen a life untouched by sickness and death. He had no right to be consoled, for he was to blame for being selfish and power hungry to the core. Wasn't compassion a thing lost on someone like him?
Asmodeus cut through his train of thought before he could slip away again. „There is every need to do this right now. Solomon, I can tell you are feeling conflicted right now. You've been acting so strange all day, I just know something is wrong.“ One of his hands wound around Solomon's body and came to a stop on his chest, right above his heart, right where their pact mark had bloomed all those years ago. „This,“ he let his fingers trace circles around the mark hidden beneath the cloth of Solomon's shirt, „has been calling out to me all night long. You always indulge me Solomon, no matter how selfish I act. Let me be there for you, just tonight, please. I need you.“
I need you.
And with that one simple, sugary sentence Solomon felt the walls he always kept pulled up ever so neatly crumble to pieces.
He was tired.
Solomon turned around to Asmodeus and only for tonight, he let his head drop onto Asmo's shoulder and slid his arms around his body in a desperate embrace which was returned immediately in the same fashion.
As Asmodeus rubbed Solomon's back, the sorcerer allowed himself to let go of those gloomy ghosts of the past, even if only for this year.
It was true, he had dedicated himself to a path of knowledge and power, but inevitably also loneliness. He had lost more loved ones than he could count.
Right here however was someone who was there to stay and most certainly wouldn't go anywhere for a long time. Here was someone who needed him desperately, someone whom Solomon needed just as desperately in return. And although their relationship was certainly a strange one, hard to pinpoint and even more difficult to describe with words, it was indisputably one for the ages.
In the arms of his pact partner, Solomon felt his icy exterior thaw. His pact mark throbbed with comforting waves of warmth as Asmodeus ran one hand along the nape of his neck and worked his way up into Solomon's silver locks.
It was the Ninth of December and although Solomon despised the implications of the date, for once he felt free to let go of at least some of the guilt. Although he had outlived so many, there were still people in his life that would remain. After all, there was so much more beyond the realm of death.
For the first time in decades, Solomon spent the morning of his birthday entangled in the arms of a loved one, fast asleep, comforted by the certainty of countless more years to come. For the first time in years, he felt almost at peace.