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The concept of romantic feelings was entirely foreign to Satan, who had only had a taste of the addictive emotion when you showed up with your wit and intriguing personality. It was admittedly difficult to navigate his feelings towards you, especially at first. He spent many nights with his racing heartbeat, feverish face, and irregular breathing believing that their human exchange student had arrived at the Devildom with the plague.
It wasn't until Satan was lying in bed one night, when he was reading a random novel that he had picked off of the floor, that he had his italicized oh moment. Something about the poetic, saccharine-sweet description of the protagonist's feelings toward their sweetheart made your image spring into Satan's mind. He had to close the book and stare up into the ceiling for a couple of minutes before, with a cold sweat, Satan had to come to terms with the very jarring fact that he liked you.
At first, Satan didn't have a single idea of what to do with this information. Sure, he wanted to spend more time with you, hold your hand, and maybe even press his lips on yours from time to time, but was that really what he desired in the long run? This was all so new to him that he didn't know where to start.
However, as the days turned into months, and new revelations about you flipped his family inside out, the fondness for you never fizzled out. With each passing day, Satan became more and more sure of what he wanted to do: confess his affections.
Nobody could ever willingly pry this information out of his sealed lips, but ever since Satan had realized that his feelings for you were more…intimate in nature, he might have been borrowing a couple of extra romance novels from the library during his weekly trips. Just for some inspiration on how to confess.
One such book detailed how the protagonist admitted her feelings during a calm moment between her and her best friend while they were both doing something they enjoyed. The overall scene was gentle with sweet, whispered words and soft touches that punctuated the moment.
It had given Satan the idea to invite you to RAD's library as the perfect setting to profess. One day, after classes had ended, Satan had asked if you would be willing to accompany him to the library. He didn’t want to give himself right away, so his preplanned excuse was that he wanted help finding a specific novel.
When you two entered the library, the smell of hell coffee wafted in his nose, which cemented his decision of inviting you here in the first place. The entire library was dead silent save for the occasional clacking of computer keyboards or the shuffling of books, which created a nice, tranquil atmosphere similar to his book. What excited Satan the most was that RAD’s library had the added bonus of being huge with long, winding bookshelves. It made it easier to find a secluded area for any important secrets to be shared.
“What book did you want to find again?” You asked Satan, “Is it for that project we have to do for Devildom Law?” You started rifling inside your bag, “Because I’m pretty sure that I have a copy of the textbook in here somewhere.”
Satan realized that in his haste, he had forgotten to tell you which book he wanted to pretend to search for in the first place. Thankfully, he had already thought of his excuse. “No, it’s not for that,” he waved his hand to get you to stop, “I’m actually looking for a book on flower languages and their meanings.”
“Can’t you just look that stuff up online? Why go to the library?”
Your infuriatingly inquisitive nature was one of the many, many reasons he fell for you in the first place, but right now it made him want to shake you by the shoulders. With a smirk to ignore his pounding heart, Satan held up a finger and wagged it back and forth, “This isn’t exactly something you can easily search for on the internet. At least, not all in one place. A while ago, Barbatos told me about a book that compares different flower meanings between those in the Devildom, Celestial Realm, and Human Realm. I've been meaning to check it out for a while now, but I have been struggling to find it.” He silently pleaded for you to not poke through the obvious plot holes in his scheme.
You tapped your index finger against your lips in thought, and Satan tried his best to ignore just how soft they appeared. “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t exactly be able to find that information easily with a quick Google,” you paused, “Or whatever this world’s version of Google is.”
Satan could have asked what in the Devildom you were talking about, but he was itching to confess to you already. He didn’t want to dwell on the small talk for much longer, so he held out his hand in what he had hoped was a chauvinistic manner. “Exactly, so let’s hurry up and find it.”
You immediately took his hand, only to wince and let go, “Damn, Satan, your hands are sweaty. Do you want some hand gel?”
His face burned as he awkwardly wiped his hand against his jacket, “N-no, I’m good. Come. We should go.”
Satan spent the next minutes idly searching for a book that he wasn’t sure even existed. You followed closely behind to help scan the books on the other side of the shelf. Satan knew that in any other scenario that he would suggest splitting up to cover more ground, However, his mouth remained shut, silently begging that you wouldn’t bring up such an obvious strategy. You didn’t say anything, and Satan allowed himself a fleeting moment to wonder if you also wanted to spend more time with him.
In a not-so-coincidental coincidence, Satan soon found himself in one area of the library that was rarely frequented by students. The shelves were situated in a way that prevented any wandering eyes from making their way over this area. Satan glanced at you in the corner of his eye. You were crouching down in front of one of the shelves. Your fingers danced along the spines of each book, and your lips were silently moving as you mouthed each of their titles.
This was it.
Satan was going to confess.
He called out your name. It came out more strained and quiet than he had wanted it to, but he was certain that the actual confession would go a lot smoother.
Your ears perked up, and you swiveled your head towards him, “What’s up?” Your hand was gripping one of the books, which you had pulled halfway out of the shelf,
Satan frowned as he stared at your crouching figure. You were still wearing your RAD uniform, and it suddenly felt way too serious of an outfit to be in during what was about to be one of the best moments of Satan’s (and perhaps your) life. This was all way too casual for his liking. No, you deserved something much better than a declaration of his feelings in a dingy library. He needed this moment to be memorable; something that would convince you to say yes.
“It’s nothing. I just…” it took a hot second for Satan to reroute what he was going to say, “I was just wondering if you wanted to give up and go to Madame Scream’s instead? I was thinking that I can just try to find this book on my own.” It wasn’t the smoothest save in the world, but it would have to do.
“Give up?” you questioned, “Already? It’s only been like twenty minutes.” You put the book back on the shelf and stood up, “Is there anything on your mind?”
“I was simply thinking about how if we were going to hang out, then I would rather spend it doing something enjoyable instead of searching for some dusty, old book.”
You squinted at Satan, which made him feel like a toddler about to be scolded. He refused the urge to squirm and firmly held his ground. “Sounds good to me,” you shrugged, “I heard they’re selling a new flavor of cake, so we should head there quickly before Beel buys the entire stock.”
At the time, Satan was glad that he was able to maneuver himself out of the situation without revealing his real plans. Although he was glad to have shared a cake with you at the bakery afterward, he was oddly disappointed in himself for backing out of the initial confession. It was silly. After all, it wasn’t like he changed his mind out of cowardice. He just wanted the best for you.
It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later that he had gotten a new idea from a light novel Leviathan had lent him. In it, a side character had written and performed a romantic song for their long-time crush. It seemed like the perfect idea to Satan. Songs were apparently a great way to reach into someone’s heart and show them how one truly felt. Besides, he had a nice singing voice and had been meaning to learn how to play the guitar for a while. According to his research, it was one of the most romantic instruments, so that made his choice of which instrument to play a little easier.
From the countless hours he had spent pouring over romance novels, Satan had assumed that writing a short song would have come naturally to him. It should have been easy taking inspiration from the sickeningly flowery language from the stories and poems he held dear to his heart. After days and days of being surrounded by blotted-out ink marks and crumpled-up pieces of paper, Satan realized that writing the perfect song was much more difficult than he was willing to admit.
It seemed as though every line that he wrote was either too cliche, too idiotic, or too strange. Satan let out a low growl as he tore up yet another piece of notebook paper with a random verse that compared you to a worm. For what it was worth, he was able to learn how to play acoustic guitar with relative ease. Asmodeus had taught him, which he was grateful for, but what was the point if he couldn’t write verses to go along with the music? Satan briefly contemplated simply playing one of Devildom’s current popular romance songs, but that felt way too impersonal for his tastes.
He decided to shelve the idea and come back to it later when he figured out how to string two sentences together. Maybe he needed to examine his confession in a different light.
In another book he had been reading, the deuteragonist blurted out their pent-up feelings for the main character in a spur-of-the-moment decision. They had been taking out the trash together when he had suddenly come clean and told the main character all of his pent-up emotions. It was a surprisingly sweet scene despite the circumstances, and Satan wanted to emulate that. However, there was the glaring issue of trying to plan for the unplannable. How could Satan possibly organize a confession that was spontaneous by nature? He daydreamed about confessing to you every day, so how was he supposed to create a plan on the fly?
The answer came to him while you were on dinner duty one day. Satan had popped his head into the kitchen to ask what time dinner was going to be ready when he saw you standing in front of the stove with such an intense gleam in your eyes. You were in the midst of creating Beelzebub's portion in a pot so large that you had to stand on a stool to get a proper look inside. Small beads of sweat prickled your forehead as you used both hands to grip the spoon and mix the Babylon Curry. Your eyebrows were deeply furrowed while you glared into the pot.
With his original question entirely forgotten, Satan's mouth remained slack as he took a moment to truly admire how nice you looked while you were concentrating on something. It was that same look you gave while you and Satan studied together (sans the sweat), and it made him feel sort of nostalgic for the times when he could be within your presence without his heart threatening to break out of his chest.
As Satan stood dumbly in the doorway, he made up his mind to tell you the truth right there and then. Before he could even think about forming a coherent sentence, you had turned your head.
"Satan!" You beamed, which made Satan's stomach flutter and do a somersault, "I'm so glad you're here!" You had to shout to be heard through the crackling sound of the stove, but the way Satan's gaze was trained onto you made it clear that he could have heard you at any volume.
Whatever spontaneous and thrilling confession that Satan was going to say suddenly disappeared as his mouth ran dry. "R-really?" That was all he managed to muster up.
You laughed at his response, which didn't do his poor heart any favors. "Yes, really," you said and hopped off of the stool. You grabbed a knife that was lying on the countertop. With a small spin, you held the blade towards him. "Could you help me mince up more of these flame mushrooms, please?" You tilted your head towards the edge of the counter where a bunch of flame mushrooms sat crowded on a tiny cutting board, "I realize I didn't cut enough of them, but I can't leave Beel's curry unattended for too long, or else it'll burn."
Satan tentatively grabbed the knife by its handle, "Of course, I'll help you out. Anything for you." He would just have to confess later.
Unfortunately, later never came up because you had him running ragged the entire time. After Satan had finished mincing the flame mushrooms, you had asked him to mince the other vegetables, too. Then, you wanted him to help season the rest of the dishes and mix them together while you focused on Beelzebub's meal. Satan had no idea when exactly he, the Avatar of Wrath, had become putty in your hands, but he couldn't say that he minded. By the time you guys were finished, the mere idea of opening Satan's mouth to speak already used up half of his energy. You didn't fare much better: your haggard appearance made it seem like you got hit by a truck.
"Thanks for helping me out there," you breathlessly groaned as you brought the dishes to the dining table, "I'm never making Babylon Curry for you guys ever again."
"It's no problem at all," Satan responded, carrying a couple of bowls of his own, "You should have called me earlier. I could have helped out more."
You placed the dishes down and started to set the table. "Yeah, I should have done that," you reached out to gently pat his shoulder, which almost made Satan drop the food in surprise. Thankfully, he had managed to steady himself before either of you cried over spilled curry. "You're always so dependable. It's one of my favorite things about you."
Satan bit his tongue to stop himself from asking what other things you liked about him. He felt positively giddy at the unexpected compliment and realized that if he was going to tell you that he liked you, then it may as well be now. Sure, it may not have been entirely spur-of-the-moment, nor spontaneous, but it would have to do.
"Listen, I–"
"Do I smell curry?"
Seriously?
Your gaze, which had been focused so attentively on him just a moment ago, shifted over to the source of the sound. Beelzebub was standing next to the dining room door frame. He was slightly hunched over with both of his arms pressed down on his stomach.
"Yes, Beel!" You quickly answered while making space for the gluttonous demon, "I'm sorry that dinner took a lot longer than normal. Come here and sit."
A deafening stomach growl tore through the air when Beelzebub sat down. He muttered a small thank you before diving into the meal.
While Beelzebub was tearing into the food, you apologetically turned toward Satan, who was giving his younger brother the stink eye, "Sorry about that. Is it alright if I go ahead and call everybody else to eat? Then you can finish telling me what you were about to say over dinner."
Defeated, Satan let out a singular, "Okay," while he watched you dart out of the dining room. He didn't know how to confess to you. That was a fact, and he was struggling with it. However, what Satan did know was that he didn't want to do it under the leering faces of his brothers, lest a fight breaks out. He would just have to try again later, whenever that would be.
A few days after the whole dinner ordeal, Satan had gone back to the drawing board. In other words, he had checked out yet another romance book. This one was written as a series of letters from the protagonist to her girlfriend, and it gave Satan the idea to write you a letter.
It wasn't an ideal scenario: Satan dreamt of telling you how much he liked you in person. However, he was getting desperate. Although there were still a few months left, the Human Exchange Program was nearing its end. Satan was going to have to tell you that he liked before you were whisked back to the human realm–and away from him–forever.
Thankfully, Satan found writing to be quite easy when there wasn't any sort of song, beat, or rhyme scheme to follow. With newfound confidence, Satan let the tip of his intricate pen scratch the surface of the parchment as his feelings were captured in ink. In poetic prose, he wrote about how he didn't know what to feel when he first met you, how that tension soon morphed into ease as he found you to be charismatic, charming, and a great friend, and how he soon came to the shocking realization that he lo–liked you a lot.
When he finished pouring his heart out, Satan's pen hesitated on the blank area of the paper where he was supposed to sign his name. He knew that he didn't have much time for meandering and that he needed to confess now or else it might be too late. It would have been so easy to sign the five-letter word that he had constantly written on exams, homework, delivery packages, contacts, and everything in between. However, Satan's fingers involuntarily trembled whenever he tried to write that same name on the letter that would finally close the gap between you and him.
Satan started to tremble before quickly scribbling out the words, 'Sincerely, Your Secret Admirer.' He swiftly folded up the paper and stuffed it into the envelope, so he would no longer have to reread it.
Letting out a small sigh, Satan tried to reason with himself. He would just slip the envelope into your locker in the morning, wait until lunch, and make casual small talk. He would ask you if anything interesting happened today and watch your eyes soften as you shyly pull out the letter that had been painstakingly written the night before. You would bite your lip and explain the contents of such well-written and affectionate prose before lamenting how you would never, ever find the author of such an amazing letter. Ever the gentleman, he would put you out of your misery and reveal that he, Satan, wrote the letter. Then, you would gasp, tear up, and then hug him as you confessed how much he meant to you.
Yeah, Satan thought with a goofy smile stretched wide across his face, this was definitely going to work.
The next day, the first part of his plan went without a hitch. He had managed to slide the envelope through a gap in your locker (that he was triple-checked to ensure that that was indeed your locker) before giddily scurrying out of the hallway. Satan spent most of the day afterward staring at the clock, begging time to go faster as he eagerly waited for lunchtime. The second the bell rang to signal the start of break, Satan dashed out of his classroom and into the cafeteria.
You were one of the first ones there, sitting at a table all by yourself. He was glad that none of his other brothers were here to set his plans ablaze, but Satan knew he had to be quick before Beelzebub made his appearance. Satan rushed to get his own tray and sat next to you.
You seemed lost in thought as your half-lidded eyes gazed at your food. You prodded at the odd, gelatinous substance, and watched it bounce each time. When you took notice of his presence, you smiled. The corners of your eyes crinkled in such a delightful way, "Oh, hey, Satan. Nice to see you here for once." You were referring to how he usually spent his lunches in the library. Satan tactfully decided to ignore that small jab.
"You seem happy," he commented, taking a bite out of his sandwich. When he finished chewing, he asked, "Did anything interesting happen today?"
You shook your head, "Not particularly." You scrunched up your nose in amusement, "Mammon turned himself into a dog again
That would kind of be interesting if it wasn't his third time." Finally mustering up the courage to try the food on your tray, you took a hesitant bite before your eyes lit up, "Have you tried the moldy swamp gelatin? The name sounds atrocious, but it's actually quite good."
"No, I can't say I haven't," Satan responded with a strained smile. He didn't want to derail the conversation any further, "Though, I'm a little surprised. Are you sure that nothing interesting happened? Nothing at all?"
You tapped the spoon against your lips and slowly shook your head, "I don't think so? I mean, today's been pretty typical if I do say so myself." Satan's shoulders drooped in disappointment, and you started to laugh a little, "Unless you're talking about this letter I found in my locker," You reached into your coat pocket and fished out the letter–his letter–from its depths. The parchment was now out of the envelope and folded into a smaller size so that it would fit in your coat. "It was signed by my secret admirer. I wouldn't consider it to be interesting, per se, but I was a little surprised when I first saw it."
Satan perked up as his eyes remained glued to the piece of paper in your hands. He couldn't bear to see your reaction, at least not yet. "Have you…" his voice was too soft and quiet, so he started over, "Have you read it, yet?" His mouth suddenly dried out, and he took a huge swig of water.
"Yeah, I have," you opened the letter, allowing your index finger to flick one of its corners, "It was…quite the read." Was that a good or bad thing?
"What did you think?"
You shrugged, "I don't know. The language was a little cringe, to be honest." Your eyes flitted over the words, ignorant to how Satan's heart sunk down into his stomach, "Sort of like whoever wrote this didn't know how to convey their feelings properly and consulted the most disgustingly sweet and cutesy books they knew." You refolded the letter and placed it gently back into your pocket.
The back of Satan's neck prickled in shame at how accurate your assessment was. He couldn't confess to you anymore, not after you destroyed him like that. He would have to scrap this plan and come up with a newer, less-cringe-worthy one. He still had to maneuver himself out of this situation, though. If he could do it once, he could do it again.
Satan faked a snicker and dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin, "Yes, I'd imagine that that letter was exceptionally bad. Do you–"
"Hold on. I never said that."
"What do you mean?"
You patted the area where the letter was placed and gave a toothy grin, "I think it's cute. I mean, yeah, the language is…interesting, but it's pretty clear that whoever wrote this put a lot of time and effort into writing this," you took another bite out of your lunch, and you cruelly made Satan wait in agony until you swallowed, "I mean, the penmanship is so pretty, and the words are pretty sweet once you think about it. I'm certain that whoever wrote this must care for me a lot, and I probably care about them, too." You stopped abruptly when you saw Satan standing up, "What are you doing?"
His entire face was on fire and his chest stung painfully. "Sorry, sorry, but I have to go," his words came out in a rush. It was entirely unfair how you could humiliate him one second, only to turn around with the sweetest words that could melt him on the spot. Satan picked up his tray, ignoring the half-eaten sandwich and other abandoned food, "I just remembered that I promised to tutor Asmodeus during lunch today. It was nice chatting with you, though."
As he was rushing from the table, you gave him the strangest look. He couldn't make heads or tails of it, not that he had the time to. Satan knew that if he stayed for a second longer then his locked up feelings would come flooding out before he was ready. Even just looking at you made him want to throw his arms around you and tell you everything. With one last desperate glance in your direction, Satan threw away his trash before dashing out of the cafeteria. He would just have to try again, and this time everything will be perfect.
After days of pouring over several different books, Satan realized that he was approaching this all wrong. He shouldn’t be trying to confess to you with all of these cutesy little gimmicks like songs or letters. What Satan needed was a grand romantic gesture, something that demonstrated just how much he cared for you without him having to utter a single word. It had to be something that would excite and perhaps even make you consider, even for just a moment, to become his partner.
So Satan took you to Ristorante Six.
“It was sweet of you to invite me here,” you said as the two of you stepped inside the restaurant. Your outfit was breathtaking, and he struggled to take his eyes off of you. His own suit paled in comparison.
Satan’s fingers twitched as he thought about linking his arm with yours, but both of his limbs remained by his side. “It was no problem at all,” he assured as he subtly wiped the sweat from the back of his neck, “I know that we’ve both been fairly busy lately, so I wanted to treat you to something nice.”
“Aw, thanks, Satan. Remind me to treat you to something next time.”
Satan chuckled under his breath. Of course, you would say something like that.
The host standing at the entrance gave a polite greeting, and Satan, unfortunately, was forced to take his eyes off of you. He nodded and told her about his reservation. The host nodded and led you and him to the table. When you arrived, you sat down before Satan could have the chance to pull out your chair for you. He gave a shaky sigh before sitting down in front of you. The host handed both of you the menus before leaving.
You flicked the menu open with a slight smile as you read over the specials. On the opposite end of the table, Satan swallowed thickly. He wasn't certain when in the night he was going to confess, but the moment was inching closer and closer. The quiet conversations of the other guests punctuated by the occasional tinkling of glasses should have eased him a little. After all, there were probably dozens of other demons also working up the courage to confess their feelings to their first crush, right?
"Anything catch your eye?" Your clear voice stood out among the background ambiance. You were still looking at the menu, flipping between the pages to decide which meal to settle on.
Satan nodded, even though he hadn't even glanced at the menu. Thanks to Beelzebub, he had all of Ristorante Six's meals and beverages memorized. "I'll probably take the Stonefish Meunière," hidden underneath the table, one of his legs bounced up and down rapidly, "It's one of the more popular dishes here."
You hummed and turned to another section, "Oh, that sounds good, too, I think," you shook your head, "Devildom food still confuses me sometimes."
"Yes, I suppose that it must be quite different from what you're used to in the human realm."
"You got that right," you snorted, "We should go to the human realm together, again. It was really fun last time," you closed the menu and set it down. Satan supposed that you must have chosen your desired meal already, "Aside from the murder mystery, that is."
"And the body swap. Can't forget how awful that was."
"Eh, I don't know. I could have sworn that you were enjoying yourself at times."
Satan playfully rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, "Messing around in Lucifer's body was fun, but the rest of it was an absolute nightmare. I hated every second being in that snob's body."
You rested your chin against your closed fist and gave him a look that said 'Sureeee you did.'
He scowled and was ready to defend himself until what you had said finally registered in his brain. "Did you mean what you said earlier?" He asked, his breathing quicking just a tad.
You tilted your head to the side, "About what?"
"About wanting to go to the human realm with me…?" He realized the implication of his words and cleared his throat, "As in a day trip or something else of that nature."
Satan had always assumed that when you left, you would be parting from him forever. However, if he would be able to go with you, then perhaps he'd never have to be separated. Getting permission from either Lord Diavolo or Lucifer would be impossible (and would result in a severe punishment from the latter) but if you were the one who tried to convince them, then maybe it could work.
Even as Satan entertained the thought, he knew it was just fantasy. He knew that it wouldn't be logical to abandon his family, friends, and work for his whimsies. Though, he did allow his mind to slip away for one second and daydream about what it would be like to live in the human world with you. He wanted nothing more than to take you to the places he has read about that not even you have been and watch the smile on your face grow larger and larger as he treats you to these wondrous experiences.
"Of course, I meant it, silly," the pleasant sound of your amused laughter snapped Satan out of his thoughts, "It would be so much fun if we could go back and explore the world with you."
Satan had to push down on both of his legs to prevent the bouncing from worsening, but nothing could be done to relax his strained heartbeat. Although you didn't say it explicitly, he could practically hear the subtext of wanting to 'explore the world with you alone .' He took a sharp breath that was supposed to calm him down, but it only seemed to make him more anxious. He blinked rapidly a few times, and locked eyes with you. You were still sitting there with the ghost of your previous laughter on your face, but your eyebrows were knitted in confusion.
“Is there something wrong?”
Yes, yes there was something wrong. “No, there isn’t,” Satan’s statement was an attempt to reassure himself rather than you, but he knew that whatever he said would be futile. Satan drummed his fingers on the table. The sound was muffled by the tablecloth, blending in with the other idle noises from the other patrons. One of his legs started bouncing again, and he accidentally kicked the table leg. He gave a small, sheepish laugh when the table jolted. He knew what was coming, but he could do little to stop the lightheadedness that was wringing him from the inside out.
You stared at him with that strange look, again. The same one that Satan couldn’t begin to describe. Then, you clamped your hands together and smiled wryly, “Are you sure? Because it looks like you want to tell me something.”
This was it. This was the moment where he would confess, where his true feelings will be shown into the light. The indistinct chatter melted away as Satan focused solely on you. He reached out and grabbed both of your hands in his. You gawked at him but didn’t pull away, which was a good sign. Satan’s entire body felt like it was engulfed in flames, but he still pushed through. He licked his lips and began speaking.
“You’re right: there is something that I want to tell you. Something that has been on my mind for a while, actually,” he took a deep breath and then another one for good measure, “I–I–”
Alas, Satan was a coward, a terrible, terrible coward.
“I enjoy your company. I think you’re a great friend, and I apologize for the things I said in the past when I didn’t understand how special you truly are,” Every word Satan spoke grew quieter and quieter until he was practically whispering the last part. His head dropped in shame.
As much as Satan relied on blaming those ineffective confession methods for his lack of success, he knew right from the start that that wasn’t the issue. He knew that no matter how or where he confessed you would react the same way. The issue was that Satan had no idea what you’d say. Would you accept his affections and admit your own or sorely reject him and leave him empty? Worse yet: would you awkwardly admit that you had a crush on one of his brothers and never saw him like that?
Satan was well aware that he was shooting himself in the foot but he didn’t care. He would rather take your friendship than have to bear with the gut-wrenching agony of being rejected with one of your apologetic smiles.
You gently squeezed his hands, and Satan dared to look up at you. Your eyes softened as you squeezed his knuckles once more. It took everything in his power not to grab you by the arms and pull you in a tight embrace. “I’m…glad you see me that way, Satan,” you were whispering, too, and it was comforting despite the humiliation, “I like being your friend and hanging out with you and going on these dates. It’s fun.”
He wished he could say something. Anything. There was so much more he wanted to say to you, but practically nothing could make itself out of his lips. All Satan could manage to say was a tiny, “Thank you.” For the first time in his life, Satan desperately wanted to disappear.
“You’re welcome,” you said before the corners of your mouth wobbled and twitched upward. You suddenly burst into a loud cackle, earning the stink-eye from a couple of guests, “Though, I have no idea why you had to work yourself up so much just to say that. I thought you were going to have a heart attack!”
Although his heart was in the midst of breaking into two, Satan found it within him to break into a shaky smile. In hindsight, this entire scenario was pretty funny. He worked himself up so much for nothing, but he at least still got to hear the charming sound of your laughter. “What about you?” he snickered, “When I held your hands, I thought your eyes were about to fall out!” He realized that he was still holding them. With a small blush, Satan retracted his hands, but you barely paid it any mind.
“You surprised me!” you retorted and crossed your arms, “I thought you were–” you started to laugh again, interrupting your own sentence, “I…had no idea what you were planning.”
Satan chuckled, and he found that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad just being friends. Although he was still extremely embarrassed for failing to confess, which was the only thing he set out to do for this date, he still enjoyed simply hanging out and having fun with you. In all of his effort to plan and work out the perfect method to confess, hadn’t been spending much time with you without an ulterior motive.
He missed this. He missed you.
“Ooh, you're staring into space, again. What’re you thinking about?” you placed your elbows on the table and teased him.
Before Satan could bite back, the server had arrived. They took your orders and returned with both of your meals in no time flat. Throughout the night, Satan joked around with you and talked about all of the things you two would do together on your next trip to the human world. Satan was having such a nice time that he hadn’t realized it was well after midnight until you had said something. The two of you kept up your lively conversation during the trek back home all the way up to your bedroom door where he bade you goodnight.
You leaned your head against the doorframe, “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for tonight…again. It’s been a while since we’ve been able to properly hang out, just the two of us.”
The hallway was shrouded in darkness, save for a couple of lanterns near and inside your room. The slight glow of the lights softened your features. Compared to the bustling restaurant, the air in the House of the Lamentation was far quieter and more intimate. Satan surmised that most, if not all, of his brothers were already asleep, which made the idea of speaking to you without any prying eyes far more tempting.
He held himself back.
Satan nodded but focused his gaze over your shoulder. Another tinge of shame washed over him. “It’s fine,” he scratched the back of his head, “You don’t have to thank me for spending time with you, especially when it feels like you’re the one who’s treating me.” In case you were unsure what he was referring to, he elaborated, “You didn’t have to pay for both our meals, you know.”
“Yes, I did!” you playfully shoved his arm, “You surprise me with an invitation to Ristorante Six; I surprise you by paying. It’s only fair.”
Satan laughed and shoved you back. You managed to dodge him, which sent Satan awkwardly stumbling inside your room. “That’s not how it works!” he shouted, allowing his laughter to subside into soft chuckles, “Not how any of that works!”
“And when did I ever care about stuff like that?”
He supposed you had a point. You were never particularly fond of following typical social conventions, neither demon nor human ones. He would have admired this trait of yours if not for the fact that it had sent you careening straight into potential danger multiple times.
“Hey, Satan?” you spoke up, which pulled him out of his thoughts. The house had gotten eerily quiet, again, “If you have anything that you want to say to me, you will tell me, right?”
The tips of Satan’s ears burned, “Of course, I will.”
You smiled, “Thank you.” You gently placed your hand on his back and guided him out of your room, “Good night. Sweet dreams.”
“Good night,” he said before you closed your door.
In the days following that night at Ristorante Six, Satan had returned all of the romance books he had borrowed for research purposes back to the library. He made up his mind that he wouldn’t confess his feelings for you right now. He wasn’t up for it and would just have to wait until he was ready to say that blasted four-letter word in that three-word sentence. He would try again in the future, of course–Satan wasn’t the type to give up easily–but right now he would just have to value your friendship.
A few weeks after the semi-disastrous restaurant fiasco, he was walking past the bookstore when he noticed a new book on display in the window. He had recognized the cover immediately: it was the next, recently published, novel of a book series that both you and Satan adored. It had been sold out for a while now, so Satan knew that this was one of his only chances to get his hands on one.
When he entered the store, he saw that he only had enough money for one copy. Thanks to a certain scumbag brother of his, Satan never kept a lot of Grimm in his wallet, only taking what was necessary. He wanted to buy a book for you, too. However, Satan didn’t know when the store would go out of stock again, so he made the executive decision to just get one for himself.
Upon exiting the store Satan immediately buried himself within the confines of the captivating story. He continued to read as he walked down the street, into the House of Lamentation, and somehow ended up sitting on a sofa in the common room.
When he was on page 97, you walked into the room, still wearing your RAD uniform. Satan was particularly skilled at multitasking, especially while reading. He still focused on his novel, while simultaneously keeping track of where you were in the common room. You sat down on the armchair and pulled your bag onto your lap. It seemed like you were about to get something out of your bag when you looked up.
“Hey, is that–”
Satan bit down his smile, “Yep.”
You let the bag fall off of your legs, “Where’d you get it? I thought they were sold out?”
“The bookstore near RAD just restocked,” he flipped through another page.
“Did you buy me a copy?”
“No, I didn’t have enough Grimm.”
You crossed your arms and mumbled, “Jerk.”
Satan knew that you weren’t being serious, so he took the insult in stride. For the first time since you got here, he took his eyes off of the page, “Hey, rather than complain, why don’t you sit with me? We can read together.”
“Really?” you quirked up one of your eyebrows, “But you’re already pretty far ahead.” You tapped the top of the cover a couple of times for emphasis, “I’d hate to force you to start over.”
He shrugged, “I’m a fast reader. I’ll get back to my place in no time. Besides, it’ll be a good excuse to spend some more time with you.”
Convinced, you said, “Well, you don’t have to tell me twice.” With a bit of gusto, you plopped down next to Satan. Without waiting for his input, you took one of his arms and draped it around you. As he stared at you unblinkingly, you calmly laid your head against him. Satan’s fingers suddenly became numb, and the book mysteriously dropped onto the floor. “Are you okay?” you watched him with a blank look as he stretched over to grab the fallen book.
“Sorry, that was by accident,” Satan explained, knowing full well that he wasn’t normally the clumsy type. He opened the book back to the beginning, “Now, let’s start, shall we?”
An excited smile broke onto your face as you shifted your attention to the book Satan was holding. Truly, he didn’t mind having to start over because it allowed him to watch your joyous eyes silently read on. He couldn’t wait to watch you react to the hints of mystery and twists woven within the novel.
“I want you to read to me.”
“Wh-what?”
“You said that you’re a fast reader, right? Read to me,” you paused, “Please.”
Satan blinked a few times. The faint scent of your body wash was strong, and it made him dizzy. You were far too close for him to think rationally.“Alright,” he agreed quietly. He cleared his throat before starting from the beginning.
You immediately nestled your face into him, which made Satan stumble over a couple of the words before he could properly recover. Your hand rested casually, too casually, on his thigh. The gesture felt comforting, but it was making it difficult to focus on what he was saying. You squeezed his leg once, and Satan fought back a squeak. You were going to the end of him.
Despite all of the…distractions, Satan carried on, diligently reading his novel to you. Every so often, he would glance over at you. Your eyes would remain glued to the words, but sometimes you would catch him looking. You didn’t say anything, only smile, but it was enough to make Satan’s stomach feel fluttery and weak.When he got a quarter of the way through the story, he felt something heavy slump against him. Satan took a quick note of the page number before looking back at you. You were fully laying on him with your eyes shut. Satan laughed softly.
“Was my voice that soothing?” he joked.
You hummed and creaked your eyes open, “Shh, I…had a long day,” you mumbled while slurring through your words, “Let me sleep.” Using Satan’s body as a pillow, you curled deeper against him.
“Okay, okay, good night.”
“Thanks, Satan…” your lips ticked upward before you yawned, “...I love you.”
Satan froze.
He whipped his head towards you, “Did you seriously mean that?” Unfortunately for him, you had already fallen back to sleep. All that answered Satan was the quiet sound of your deep breathing.
He slowly swiveled his head back so that he was staring at the wall in front of him. Satan absentmindedly traced the cover of the book. It depicted two characters. One was holding a rose out to the other, who was hesitantly accepting the gesture. For a few minutes, Satan sat there silently, doing nothing except tracing the cover and listening to you breathe.
Satan wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or upset that you just stole his thunder in the most casual way possible. He almost felt jealous at how easy you were able to utter those three words. It was not even something that Satan could say to himself. Satan had spent months planning and trying to find the perfect way to confess only for it to be undermined in a span of four seconds,
He sighed and tossed his head against the back of the sofa. He wasn’t even sure if you had meant what you said. Who's to say that your words weren’t just a figment of your sleepy state, destined to be forgotten by the time you woke up? Satan wanted to rip his hair out. He liked you so, so much. Why couldn’t you make it easier for him? He let the book fall lamely on his lap before squeezing his eyes shut. Satan could feel an impending headache coming on.
You grunted and shifted over, causing his already feeble heart rate to triple. Still, you remained asleep, much to his relief. Your sleeping face was quite cute, he noticed. Your features had a sense of vulnerability to them that you normally wouldn’t show while awake. Finally, Satan let out a loud exhale and made up his mind. Frankly, wallowing around did not suit him at all.
Even if you didn’t remember what you said after you woke up from your nap, Satan would just have to remind you. Something tugged at his heartstring, and, after a couple of seconds to hype himself up, Satan leaned in to plant the smallest kiss on your cheek.