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Damien Thorn is, honestly, a huge cynical asshole to most people, being the Anti-Christ and raised in Hell he only grew up seeing the literal worst of humanity and saw the most disgusting, depraved people imaginable. Even the people who were mostly innocent save for one sin or crime were still in Hell and therefore he didn't care for them at all.
And then he met Philip Pirrup. Pip is the only person he's ever met who he can't be cynical or asshole-ish towards. He can be mean, he can say mean things to him, but he can't ever be cynical about Pip's personality or place in the world. He genuinely believes Pip is perfect and wonderful, even if Pip himself denies it. If there was only one person who deserved Heaven, it was Pip. At least hypothetically, because Damien selfishly wanted Pip with him at all times, not dead or in Heaven, where he can't see him. Even at school he prefers to know where the blond is at all times, whether it be via sitting next to each other in class, or using his demonic powers to sense his soul.
He keeps his eyes forward, with one arm over Pip's shoulders as they walk down the crowded hallway down to Pip's locker after an incredibly boring religious studies lesson, and while he twists the combination lock and hums to himself Damien leans up against the locker beside him with his hands in his hoodie pocket, looking like a thug.
Pip's eyes suddenly lit up as he pulled out a single dead red rose and a note from his locker.
"Another letter!" He swooned and giggled, unfolding the note to read it and mumbling under his breath as he read the poem. Pip had been getting love letters for almost a month now, written in swirling black cursive and unsigned, saved for a dripping black heart. The letters were poems describing the writer's deep feelings for the Brit in beautiful sonnets that made Pip giggle like a little girl and Damien gag like a little boy.
"They called me 'a drop of sunshine in an oily black ocean." Pip sighed dreamily, clutching the letter to his chest. Damien rolled his eyes.
"Is that meant to be a reference to last week's BP oil spill?"
Pip shook his head and swatted at his shoulder, folding the note back up and slipping it into the inside pocket of his bright red peacoat, then slipping the dead rose behind his ear, not flinching at all as the thorns poked into his flesh.
"I wonder who it is." Pip asked, looking around at the large group of seniors conversing at their lockers just like they were. Damien gave a side glance and shrugged.
"Some idiot."
Pip hipchecked him into his locker and Damien yanked on his ponytail.
"Well, if it's someone in our class I can compare the handwriting." Pip hummed thoughtfully.
Damien paused for a second, leaving Pip to walk ahead of him.
"English next, right? You coming?"
Damien shook his head and spun on his heel, waving him off with a quick mutter of 'smoke break'.
Damien was out by the designated smoking spot of the high school, sat on the floor leaning on the wall behind the school and by the loading bay. It was also where the goths liked to hangout but they were nowhere to be seen for once, which Damien was happy with. They were his friends, but sometimes they fawned over him too much. He much preferred to sit by himself or with Christophe and Pip, who didn't give him as much shit for being the spawn of Satan. Nobody but Pip would notice him skipping English, because he knew Pip could mimic his voice well enough for the register. With Pip gone he could pull out his leather notebook and begin writing another poem in his flowing fountain pen.
He hated English and all the assignments they were set, and he half assed every homework he got, especially poetry, but for Pip he would do anything. Except for admit his feelings in person.
At lunchtime Pip stepped up behind the wall and leaned his arms on it. Damien looked up and covered his book with both arms.
"Hey." He greeted, pointed elf-like ears perking up at the sight of his best friend.
"Hi." Pip replied, eyes half lidded and lips pursed. He stepped around the wall and slid down against it, sitting beside Damien on the floor and letting their shoulders touch.
"Pass us a fag." He held his hand out, palm up. Damien leaned down and rested his chin on Pip's outstretched palm with a wink.
"Here's your fag." He grinned, fangs peeking out.
Pip's lips twitched up in a smirk, and he gave Damien's chin a quick scratch with his black nails.
"Sorry, I meant my second favourite fag." Damien pulled himself back up and handed his phone over to the Brit while he rummaged through his hoodie pocket and pulled out the pack of Barlmoro Reds. He slipped the cigarette between Pip's lips instead of his fingers and lit it with his fingers, a click of his thumb and forefinger lit up into a flame that singed the tip of the cigarette.
"Ta." He mumbled around the stick, then took a long drag and exhaled a large puff of smoke right back into Damien's face. The demon grimaced and glared, and his pointed ears folded down.
"We have a partner assignment, so I told Mr. Bart you were mine." He starts swiping at Damien's phone, attempting to beat his Pacman highscore. Damien would play Pip's phone games, but he's not the biggest fan of weird Japanese dating sims, and he doesn't want to ask the awkward question of 'why are you playing a demon dating game?' so he sat quietly and watched. When Pip didn't beat the insanely high score that Damien had wasted hours on getting to he handed the phone back and then pulled two paper bag lunches from his messenger bag. Even though Damien could afford the school lunches for both of them Pip still insisted on making his own.
When the school bell rang to signify the last period Pip hopped to his feet, brushed off his pants, then kneeled down to quickly peck Damien's lips with his own.
"Are we sitting together on the bus?" He asked, and Damien spluttered for a second. Pip had been kissing him and his other friends on the lips through all the school years, but they still made him freeze up and blush a violent red.
"Yep." He coughed, and Pip tittered behind his hand as he left through the fire escape door back into the hallway.
They met back up again at the end of the day at the bus stop.
"I made brownies." He shook the plastic tub and grinned when some of the cakes inside fell apart. "They're pretty bad, but at least I didn't set fire to a tea towel like Butters did." With his free hand he mimed a shooting flame that Damien copied, summoning a real flame that licked Pip's nose and made him laugh.
"Just like that."
"Are you going on the trip to the arboretum?"
"Can't. Plants die when I get too close." He shook his head, offering out one earpod that Pip took and popped into his ear, Damien's death metal rang loudly through his ear.
"Shame, we still on for movie night?"
"Always." He raised his arm up and around Pip's shoulders and was about to open his mouth again and imply that their weekly movie night was a date, when Butters Stotch hopped onto the seat beside Pip.
"Hiya Pip and Damien!"
"Hi Butters!"
"Hey, arsonist." Damien greeted, and both blonds laughed and began talking his ear off about their cooking class until his stop came up and they both climbed over Butters' legs to stand up.
"Bye Butters." Pip leaned over and kissed the shorter blond on the lips. Craig Tucker yelled out a "fags!" at them, and was then dragged off the bus by the tassel on his hat by his boyfriend Tweek, and Damien and Pip get off at the same stop but walked the opposite direction, Craig and Tweek walk off towards the coffeeshop, and Damien and Pip to Damien's apartment building.
Damien's apartment is rundown and falling apart at the seams, but Damien doesn't give a shit, and Pip is just happy to sleep anywhere but the orphanage. It's almost completely open plan, minus the bathroom and a walk in closet, but the entrance, living room and kitchen are one big room, and the door to the bedroom is just a frame with a sheer curtain hanging over it. Most of the decorations are Pip's idea, because Damien doesn't give enough of a shit to decorate anything. Two dogs waddled up to greet them, a black, fluffy pomeranian with a pink bow tied to his tail, and a dribbling, snorting bulldog.
"Hi, Cerberus." Damien greeted the pomeranian that's attempting to climb his legs with a light head pat.
"Egg Sandwich!" Pip squealed, kneeling down so the bulldog could claim his rightful place in his owner's lap. Damien regarded the silly dog with a fond smile at the memory of a soaking, shivering Pip cradling a puppy in his red coat and begging, with big blue puppydog eyes, for Damien to let the dog stay with him and Cerberus. Real puppydog eyes wouldn't have worked on him, but Pip's sure did.
Nearly all of Pip's possessions are already strewn around the place, with the exception of some clothes, toiletries and his phone, which he keeps at the orphanage with him.
It's a tiny, claustrophobia-inducing flat in some places, but it's also very warm and cozy. There's even a little balcony that connects to the fire escape, fairy lights hang from hooks drilled into the brickwork, and the sliding door hides behind a sheer white curtain. That was Pip's idea to make it all look less industrial and more boho, whatever that meant.
The only thing Damien knew was that when they sat out on the balcony in the dead of night, Pip's face was illuminated by the lights and it made him look beautiful. So beautiful that Damien wrote about it, about the way his skin seemed to glow, and the way the golden lights brought out the light freckles on his face.
Damien's hobby is collecting the worst horror movies on DVD and then forcing Pip to watch them with the promise of hot popcorn. They have at least one movie night a week that consists them trash talking the film, each other, and anyone else they think of. Usually Eric Cartman. Pip ends up with his legs sprawled across Damien's lap and his head on the demon's shoulder while Damien bitches and moans about anything bothering him and the dogs curl up together in one bed, even though they have one each.
During a lull of silence while the credits to Twilight roll and Damien has run out of things to say, Pip speaks up.
"I like your poetry."
Damien chokes on a handful of popcorn and hacks it up into a glob of spit on the floor.
"You said such sweet things about me." He continues, looking smug as Damien catches his breath.
"I told you it was some idiot." Damien coughs.
Pip smiled, bringing both hands up to loop around his neck, and pressed his lips to Damien's.
The devil hummed softly into the kiss and slid his hands around Philip's waist.
"I knew." Pip gasped as he pulled away, arms still tight around Damien. "You're not as mysterious and cool as you think."
"What."
"Damien, you wrote about things that only you knew about." He pulled away to count on his fingers, and Damien pouted.
"You referenced movies we've watched together, and you talked about how beautiful you thought I was in the glow of the fairy lights." He pointed towards the open door to the balcony. "And you didn't even change your handwriting, how dumb do you think I am?"
"You're blond." Damien shrugs, and leans in for another kiss that Pip stops with his hand.
"Am I really a drop of sunshine in an oily black ocean?"
"Yes, Pip. You are." And Pip removes his hand and kisses him.
"You are a reference to last week's BP oil spill."
Pip punches him in the shoulder, and Damien's never been happier.