Chapter Text
"What Can I Hold You With?" By Jorge Luis Borges
I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of the jagged suburbs.
I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon.
Scritch, scritch, scratch.
Normally this was a pleasant sound to hear. It meant an idea was being birthed upon a piece of paper. It means you're not in a slump- it means you feel the spark of wanting to place your enthusiasm onto a paper, whether in writing or drawing.
It wasn't the case this time. Every little 'krk' or 'sk' coming from the contact between the pencil and paper made you feel sick, your aimless doodling reminding you just how lost for ideas you were.
What should you do? You needed an idea for a project coming up. You have two months until the presenting date, however the time span does nothing to soothe your anxiety. If anything, it makes it worse.
You stared at your paper, hating it. You could not for the life of you come up with anything and as you mindlessly stared, you found yourself doodling a black cat looking creature.
"Ah..." You mumble, as you stare at the doodle. Another reminder of your crush and the fact that you've been in the Devildom for five months already with no progress to be made between you two.
Honestly, it's so pathetic how you handle things with him, you really should just give up already. The conversations you've had so far are so benign it's painful to listen to them!
"Oh wow, it's super dark outside today haha-" ; "Ah what happened in class today was crazy, who would have thought-" ; "Who's on cooking duty today?"
Ugh... He's such a learned person, you can't help but feel like if you were to bring up the topic of literature, you'd end up looking like a try-hard and a fake. What's more, even if you were to start a discussion, your remarks and conclusions probably won't be half as smart as his would be! And this was definitely your pride and ego talking, but you're simply not strong enough to overcome them right now.
"It can't be helped, we're not meant to be." You hummed dramatically, throwing your head back and leaning against your chair. Making light of your stale love life was the best way of coping with the eventual sadness that comes with it.
"What can I hold you with, Satan?" You began reciting dramatically as you stand up. It's a poem that's been seemingly stuck in your head from the moment you realized your crush. It's so cheesy how a poem was the first thing your brain thought of when you realized it. It's probably Satan's fault to a extent too, though. Sure you liked literature, but not enough for it to be the first thing you respond with to a love realisation.
You place your foot up on the chair you were just sat on moments ago.
"I offer you-" You stop to think. You forgot the poem. What do you offer, though? You are not pleased with the lack of answer your brain offered to you.
You slouch, putting your foot down and seemingly melting into the ground until your arms rest on the seat and your head rests in your arms. You have no energy or will to be dramatic anymore.
You're feeling very overwhelmed: both by your lack of productivity idea-wise and of the lack of movement in your love life. The latter feels dumb to be overwhelmed about, however the fact of the matter stands that life in the Devildom is lonely.
Your human need for interaction and affection is definitely making your stay in the Devildom hard, especially when accompanied with your nostalgia for the human realm. You missed home.
"...I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of the jagged suburbs..." You bury your face in your arms.
There it is. That feeling of a pit growing in your stomach. You miss home. You miss the lean streets you walked. It's not that you felt safe walking them every time, but you felt safer than you do here. You missed the sunrises, the sunsets- God, you missed the sun. You're convinced that if you were to see it just once it would recharge your emotional battery for the next month.
You ought to ask Lucifer for a visit up in the human world. But more on that later. You sniffle and wipe your nose unattractively, standing up once more. You should focus on that project idea.
You take a seat at the desk again, sipping on the energy drink you had opened 30 minutes ago.
"What can I hold myself with?" You thought to yourself as you began to doodle again. Doodle. Doodle. Doodle.
Doodle!
You could draw! But draw what? Would that be your project? No. That's dumb and vague.
Poetry? Drawing poetry?
"That sounds interesting." You think to yourself as you proceed to entertain the idea for a while. Alas, nothing comes out of it.
Satan would definitely like the prospect of learning more about human world poetry though. What if you were to make a presentation on the history of English poetry?
"Yes! That's it!" You thought to yourself. And as a way to remember all the details better, you could draw him as a character taking part in the important historical events! Or even as a character in the poems! And you could gift all of those drawings and doodles to him as a present for his birthday after you finish everything! You are sure to get your feelings across well that way!
"Ah! I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at this Devildom moon and is sick and tired of nothing progressing! Feel my bitterness and rage as I conquer every single page- of this book..." You huff. That was pretty lame, huh... but no matter that. You have an idea is what's important right now.