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“I called this place home for almost twenty years,” you sighed, picking up your luggage from the floor. “I wonder if there is still place for me in the human world.”
He wanted to say you can still stay. That the Devildom can still be your home. But this talk – this argument – happened already so many times, only damaging the remains of the bond you once had. Nothing convinced you and nothing could close the gap that grew between you through those years. Barely twenty short years, in a blink of an eye.
He had known you would leave him some day – but did not expect it wasn’t death that tore you apart. He couldn’t understand how did this happen. Why – and most importantly – when.
It’s been just twenty years, two short decades. And he couldn’t remember anything specific that happened throughout this time that could cause the fallout.
The days were going the same as usual, the House of Lamentation and RAD were as they’d always been. And you liked them being this way, otherwise you wouldn’t stay in the Devildom.
Yes, he noticed that you’ve been out of energy recently. He knew that humans would eventually become calmer, so that was probably normal. Though he did miss the times you were more outgoing, he wouldn’t let you notice that.
You were young when you arrived to the Devildom, so it was bound to develop with time – he accepted that. This was probably also the reason why you weren’t enjoying the same books, games and films you once were. You turned to stories that he didn’t see appeal of, true, but it was normal that people would have different tastes. You might have not talked much about your new cultural discoveries anymore, but never seemed to be sulking at him when he didn’t understand why the story resonated with you. As usual you’d snuggle and cuddle, go on dates and he never felt like if your affection wavered.
Maybe humans just get more private with their thoughts, when they mature? Maybe it just comes with the calmness of maturity? That must have been it.
But for some reason, you seemed more worn out than calm. Irritable, even, at the usual ruckus of RAD and the House of Lamentation. He was supportive of you, even if you occasionally were nagging him or snapped at him. Even if you said something hurtful, he understood that such things sometimes happen when people argue. He never let those words affect him – letting silent days happen would be a waste of time of your life. So he wouldn’t speak up about the jabs you were making in those arguments.
Instead, on those days, he was supportive, he’d hold and comfort you, like he would always on a bad day. Maybe on a bad week. But it seemed that no matter how he’d make sure he’ll be always there for you all the same and how he’d reassure you that things would get better soon, it never worked. For some reason it was only driving you away and he couldn’t figure out why.
But it couldn’t be the reason. It all was recent, so recent that he missed how long it actually took. You wouldn’t make such heart-breaking decision on a whim, that much he knew.
Maybe he dismissed your worries at some point, not noticing your exhaustion building up year after year? He had to admit, the change was gradual – still, it was quick. Maybe it seemed longer for you. The difference in perception between you and him couldn’t be this big though, could it?
And he couldn’t think of any specific time he’d disappoint you or any reason of why your mind would change so much though in such short time. There was no breaking point, just rapid erosion of your relationship over the years for reasons he didn’t understand. It wasn’t like you – especially not the recent, more mature you – to act rashly.
It just didn’t make sense.
But as you put your luggage back down, he didn’t speak up, not anymore. He didn’t want to make the last day end on a sour note, bringing up points that never convinced you anyway. Even if he had to bite on his tongue and clench his fists to stay silent – but starting this argument again could burn the last bridge, or whatever was left from it.
He hoped there was still something left you could go back to, as he looked for any hint of hesitation in your face, something to hold hope onto. For hesitation that wasn’t there, despite all the sadness in your eyes. Why were you hurting yourself? If it pained you to part ways, why are you leaving?
But you already made this decision. A decision difficult and painful for you too, even if you were the one who was leaving.
You stepped forward and put your arms around him. There was still tenderness in that embrace. He dared to hug you back, closing his eyes for a moment and inhaling your scent – the scent so familiar and warm, that signified home, that he was waking up to in the mornings, with you next to him.
But this was the last time, and as soon you stepped back again, it disappeared. Forever.
“Farewell.”
So many things changed during this short period of time.
But not him.