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Being alone is hard.
Sometimes, the nights are too warm, or too cold. Some nights, Belphie can't drag himself up from wherever the hell he's vegetating—no energy, see?—and decides it's easier to freeze to death. It sounds so simple in his head: get up, spin dial, lay down.
Everything is simple, in theory. Life doesn't work that way, though, does it?
Belphie doesn't sleep deeply (anymore). He sleeps a lot, but he's restless. Some nights, he doesn't know if he's asleep or awake; he rolls around listlessly till Lucifer shows up and brings him something to eat.
"What time is it?"
"Morning."
"Seriously…?"
Sometimes, he closes his eyes and forgets to eat, even though he's hungry. It's not on purpose; he's just too tired. You can only have an appetite for one thing at once.
…
(Beel ate everything in the fridge while asleep, once, and thought it was just a dream. Beel is an exception to the rule. [Belphie, too, is an exception to many rules.])
Two weeks in, Belphie finds a pen under the attic bed. It's a ballpoint; he thinks about taking it apart. (Have you ever taken apart a ballpoint pen? It's easy. Yes, the hard part is when you lose a piece right as you're putting it back together again.)
He asks Lucifer for paper, but Lucifer just asks him if he's ready to leave. (Only obedient little sheep got things like "paper" and "books".)
Belphie grits his teeth. He spits at him.
…Gloved hands curl into fists, loosen, and curl up again. Lucifer turns on his heel and leaves.
(He does not look back.
He has no reason to.
[Not for Belphie, and not for Lilith either and not for
not for
not for all
for naught?])
Two weeks in, Belphie realized he missed the stars, though he saw them just two weeks and one night ago.
Do stars still exist when no one is watching them? he asked the telescope in the corner that pointed (and still points) at nothing. Do I exist?
Then, he broke down crying—not because he missed the stars but because he realized it had been one week and six days, not two weeks.
(He has not found the pen yet. He does not yet realize it exists.)
It's so simple. All he has to do is apologize. He will stay here until he either apologizes or gives up. When he apologizes, he'll go back downstairs and see Beel. It sounds so simple in his head.
(Everything is simple, in theory. That doesn't
make it
fucking
correct.)
…Belphie finds something to write on. It's his hand. (Only, now that he has something to write on—he doesn't know what to say.)
There is a small bathroom near the back. The shower is kind of small, but it has all the usual things that bathrooms generally have. (Belphie used to take naps in the attic. He does not hate the attic; the one he resents is the man who forced him inside. Schrödinger's hypothetical cat wasn't the box's victim. Then again, at least the cat was hypothetical—)
…
There is a mirror in the bathroom. There is a mirror next to the bed, too. (The gears in Belphie's head rattle as he tries to find the punchline to a joke that may or may not exist.)
…
Belphie stares into an unspecified mirror.
Its existence confirmed, the joke looks back at him. (All he needs now is the punchline, and a way out of the box before it kills him.)
Isolation was/is/will be/always has been funny. Not funny as in haha, funny as in weird/confusing/lonely/dead/alive/weird/confusing/lonely/dead/alive?/cold/warm/hot/gone in a past tense sort of way, because even the arguments and sweating and shouting when you want to be alone are so much greener on the other end of the door, no?
He missed it—sorry, misses it, isolation is such a past tense thing and he hold s his pillow and blink s and clear ed his throat and will cry but not right now, and decide
d that maybe,
just maybe,
it isn't so funny after all.
Belphie stares into an unspecified mirror. He watches the joke and wonders if it hurts to get shot with an arrow.
(He puts his hand to the place where she was hit and wonders; he wonders and nothing more because he's not interested in finding out.
[Every time he thinks about what he could/couldn't/won't do, he remembers Beel and decides that if he dies, he'd rather it be in his sleep.])
…
The mirror shows him empty eyes.
Belphie watches, fascinated, as the eyes fill up and spill over. Tears stain his cheeks; he sniffles and remembers that he hasn't seen Beel in weeks.
"I think I might be going insane," he says to the telescope. He's on his side, curled up on the floor by the bed.
"…" There's a sigh at the attic door.
A shiver runs down Belphie's spine; he didn't even realize someone was there. "Lucifer, if that's you, I haven't changed my mind so you can just walk away," he mumbles into the floorboards.
"Huh?" says the source of the sigh. "What haven't you changed your mind about?"
Belphie rolls over. You're at the door, hands pressed to the gaps, looking so well-meaning that it makes him sick. "What's it to you?"
"…"
"…"
"Nothing." A pause. "Hey, Belphie. C'mere for a sec?"
Before he can think to say no, he's already there, staring back at you through the gaps. "Yeah?"
"Gimme your hand."
He obeys.
"Here you are," you say, and place a candy in his palm. "Beel gave it to me. I made sure to save some for you."
"Beel gave you food?" Belphie stares at the candy in his palm. He looks from the candy, to you, then back again. "Beel?"
"He did," you say. "Is that so unusual?"
"…"
"I figured, well…you've been looking unwell. Gotta keep those blood sugar levels up, yeah?" You flush. "I-I mean, I don't know if demons need to do that, but, well, I just…um. Y'know?"
Belphie folds his fingers over the paradox in his hand, and nods.
He is getting attached to you. He is getting attached to a human. He's losing
faith. He's losing faith. He's losing faith. he's losing his resolve. he's
losing
lilith.
don'tdoitdon'tdoit doit do it. if humans didn't kill her, then it was him so it had to be the humans.
scapegoat. did he call for one? no, it came to him anyway like a lost little lamb
if he rids himself of you then it'll reinforce his broken reality
that he hates humanity.
this
is true.
there is no altar. but who decided we needed one? he said/says/will say
Judging from the cut on his temple and the hairline crack in the bathroom mirror, he'd been sleepwalking.
Belphie looked/looks/will look in the mirror…and he sees himself.
(This was three days before you gave him Beel's candy.
He hasn't held it in his hand yet.
He has not yet confirmed its existence.)
Belphie looks at your corpse and wonders why his eyes hurt. If he looks in the mirror, he knows that his eyes won't be empty, so he doesn't look. Instead, he looks at your corpse and pretends to wonder; pretends he doesn't know why his cheeks are so wet.
But he did it. He proved to himself that he
he? that he proved
(proved?
what?)
proved
Belphie unwraps the candy and pops it into his mouth. He swallows the treat without tasting a thing, and discards the wrapper on the floor.
…
He picks you up. Cradling you in his arms, Belphie descends the attic stairs.
it's so quiet.
since
when
was
the
house of
lamentation
this
quiet?
yes.
no
it
was
always
never
this quiet.
yes, he
would know
because he
was
is
always will be
better off
without
the
silence.