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You let yourself fall back onto your bed with a loud sigh, arms outstretched and legs dangling off the side. You had half a mind to chuck your phone across the room, to let it crack against the wall. You had just gotten off the phone with your family who had tried to call you three times prior, “just to check in”. How you could receive calls from the human world while in the Devildom, you had no idea, but you hated it.
When you first arrived in the Devildom and after your initial shock had subsided, you let your family know that you were studying abroad. You gave them only vague details: naming a country you knew none of them would think to visit, telling them it was indefinite, and most importantly telling them the program required a lot of hands-on activity so you’d be too busy for frequent contact. At the time they had accepted it with no question, just “happy to see you were finally doing something in the world” (the way they said that made you grimace at the time), but after a couple of months they started getting nosy. You were dodging their calls rather successfully, but they had a way of making you feel incredibly guilty for needing your space, so eventually you caved. And here you are now.
You opt to just toss your phone against your pillow with a groan, deciding it’s too important to take your frustration out on it, and then you shield your eyes from your room’s light with the back of your arm. You force yourself to take a few deep breaths to calm down, but your mind has other plans: the call starts replaying in your head, your family’s condescending laughs and backhanded comments echoing in your ears. The not-so-subtle jabs made at your character that you just had to take with a smile because they were laughing it off and that meant you had to, too. The constant reminder that you should be doing more, for yourself and them, that you have potential and that you’re lazy for not unlocking it. It’s the way they all took turns to shame you behind a smile that really got you, and you were just so drained. But if you were being honest, the most prevalent emotion you were feeling right now was anger. Anger toward your family for their selfishness and complete lack of consideration for you or your feelings. Anger toward yourself for letting them get to you, for forcing yourself to take their bullshit, for not being good enough. Anger toward whatever higher power out there decided to put you in this godforsaken family. That rage was manifesting itself in the form of tears, and you hated how wet your arm was getting.
Something you learned about your pacts with the brothers was that it comes with the ability to pick up on the sin they represent. The situation that made you realize this was actually kind of funny: you had gone to a cute new cupcake shop with Mammon, Beel, and Asmo because the fifth-born insisted it was the new big trend of Devilgram to take a selfie with a cupcake you think looks like you. When it was your turn to order, you were stumped. You had promised yourself to only get one, but seeing and smelling all the lovely cupcakes laid out in their display cases made you think twice. You were pretty good at hiding your impulses and temptations: years of having to mute yourself due to an emotionally selfish and unstable family had forced you to hone that skill. Somehow, though, as your desire to overindulge got stronger, you noticed Beel’s hands were trembling. At the time, you brushed it off as his own battle with gluttony, but you then noticed Mammon smiling somewhat menacingly in your direction as if he knew a secret you weren’t yet aware of. He then came up to you with a proposition: “Thinkin’ about grabbing them all and not sharing, huh? Maybe we can charge Beel for extras?” That was when you knew the two brothers, Avatars of Gluttony and Greed, were picking up on your carefully veiled impulses. And that was when you realized the other brothers must have the same ability. And at the time your mind instantly went to Satan.
One of the main reasons you and Satan got along so well was your shared experiences with anger and the loneliness that accompanies it. You both quickly realized that isolation was a constant in your lives and decided that isolating together could help heal you. The resentment you two held was deep-rooted and ever-burning, one that you knew wouldn’t die out soon. Your family would often pick up on this emotion and berate you for it, insisting that you hold too many grudges and that you were an unfair, selfish individual for not just forgiving them and moving on. Satan, though, he never once made you feel selfish. In fact, he tried to encourage you to put yourself first more often, just as you tried to do the same to him. He would pick up on your wrath, feel it wholly, and understand it completely. He wouldn’t act on it for you, wouldn’t let his calming tone of voice waver, wouldn’t even furrow his brows. He’d take your anger in and absorb it, compelling you to let go some more so he could take that in from you too. The pull you felt to open up never felt underhanded, though. You never felt like Satan was feeding off of you; you knew another’s wrath fuels his powers, but you also knew he wasn’t doing this for that purpose. He just wanted to help you, and you wanted to help him, and that’s why it works.
Now Satan stands outside your door, contemplating if he should knock and enter so he can show you that he sees you, anger and sorrow and all.
Another reason why your relationship worked was that you both understood how valuable privacy was, especially during moments of vulnerability. When Satan’s had a particularly bad fight with Lucifer, he’d prefer you keep your distance until he comes to you. When you’re irritated at everything for no known reason, you ask Satan to give you some space so you don’t snap at him. There are certain cases in which you two agreed required space; on the other hand, there are some moments you’ve decided the other’s presence is allowed, maybe even necessary. If Satan’s going through a bout of insecurity and self-loathing, he wouldn’t mind you being there to ground him. As for you: you begrudgingly admitted to Satan that if he can feel your anger has mixed itself with your depression or anxiety, then having him around may be exactly what you need. And that’s exactly what Satan’s picked up on today as he reaches for your doorknob.
“Hey, I’m coming in,” is the warning you receive before hearing Satan enter your room. You flinched a little at the door suddenly opening and moved your arm so you could see, but it took just a second for you to resume your previous position; you know why Satan’s here, and while you were relieved about it, you don’t have the energy to express that. You mutter a greeting and think nothing of the silence that follows.
Satan knows you can’t see him, so he doesn’t hold his face back from scowling. He’s noticed that you typically only get to this point whenever your family’s involved, and he has a nagging feeling that they’re the ones to blame today as well. He knows all too well what it feels like to be permanently misunderstood by family: most of his spats with his brothers are due to this. The difference between you two, however, is Satan can and will express his displeasure if he wants to. He’s great at restraining himself and his irritation, but if his brothers have truly hurt him, they’ll be made aware. You, unfortunately, refuse to confront your family when they hurt you. You’ve told Satan of the times you tried to do so and how horribly it went, so you’ve trained yourself to hold it in. For your sake Satan holds 90% of his insults back, but every once in a while he can’t help but shame your family for their mistreatment. He notices the twinge of guilt you feel whenever he does this: despite everything, you still care so much about their well-being and reputation, and it baffles him. Satan quickly realized that you’d feel this guilt whether he spoke or not, though, so he’s decided it’s more important to make sure you understand that your anger is justified, that you should express it, and that he wouldn’t mind if you chose to unburden yourself to him.
After staring at you for a good few minutes, Satan notices the tears slowly rolling down your face and falling onto your bed. He’s painfully aware of how wet your face is and the fact that you’ve been crying for a while. Satan quickly swaps his scowl for a calm expression as he walks up to your bed and lays himself down beside you, staring up at the ceiling as his legs dangle next to yours.
His instincts were telling him to pull you toward him, to wrap his arms around you so you could bury yourself in the crook of his neck and let it out in a sanctuary he would gladly provide. He knew you’d like it, recalling all the times he could feel your negative feelings fade into relaxation under his touch. Despite his accurate observations, he knows your current state is a delicate one, so he isn’t comfortable until he has your permission. And so, his hands are clasped together on his chest, itching to hold you instead.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Satan’s still staring at the ceiling, your arm is still draped over your eyes. “I think I do, but I can’t bring myself to. You’ve already heard it all anyway.” He hummed at that, still not making a move. You and Satan lay there in silence for a few minutes before your free hand reaches for his own, which remains limp on his chest. He wastes no time intertwining your fingers with his and uses his other hand to properly encompass yours, holding it firmly to his chest and squeezing your hand every once in a while. You two spend another few quiet minutes like that before you remove your arm from your eyes and roll over to face him. As if he read your mind (you wouldn’t be shocked if he could; sometimes, he felt you could read his, too), he rolls over to face you at the same time so that your faces meet. And you two stay like that for a while, staring at each other in silence. As usual, you’re both thinking and doing the same thing: observing each other, memorizing every feature of the other’s face, just taking each other’s comforting presence in.
You first note that Satan’s brows, which are naturally slightly furrowed, were curved upward. You knew what that meant: he was relieved, heartbroken, sorry, and angry with you (but in a “Why do you do this to yourself?” way) all at once. And when you look into his eyes, you get the same message but with an extra emotion that makes your breath hitch. Satan was looking at you with such adoration, such love and care, wordlessly promising to support you no matter what. It made you feel embarrassed–nervous even–but also warm, seen, and tears were welling up in your eyes again because of how it overwhelmed you.
Satan’s heart ached at the sight of you crying again, but he didn’t show it. He knew you needed this, and he’ll be damned if he scares you into stopping. Slowly and gently, he lifts one hand away from yours to cup your cheek, using his thumb to wipe away any tears that managed to escape. You don’t realize that you’ve leaned into his touch, but he does, and it means everything to him. It means you want him around, that he didn’t misinterpret the anger he felt coming from you. It means he really does know you, and he has no doubt that you know him, and right now you both want each other’s company.
Now that you’ve gotten over the hurdle of initiating contact with Satan, you feel comfortable giving in to your desire to be held. Your free hand comes up to Satan’s on your cheek, holding it there as if he implied he was leaving soon. He doesn’t miss the way you’re trembling slightly as you hold your sobs back. At this point, Satan decides it’s his turn to take charge as he releases your hand to pull you closer to his chest. You don’t flinch or pull away; you’re content with giving him the reins, accepting that you seriously need this. He has to take his hand away from your face–much to your chagrin, which you expressed through a quiet whine–to effectively tuck your head under his chin and to rub soothing patterns across your back.
“It’s just you and me, just us. I’ll hold you through it all, I promise. Just let it out, please,” whispers Satan, which is all it takes for you to free yourself. Your sobs shake you and rob you of your breath, but you can’t hold them back anymore. His comforting scent, his hands softly patting and rubbing your shoulders and back, the occasional kisses he plants onto your head–it was all so warm, too warm, safe enough for you to properly feel. You get louder and shakier as you think about how lost you would be without Satan. You clearly remember a time before RAD, a time when you were truly alone with your overwhelming pain. You think back to how much despair you felt then, how often you considered giving up so that you and your family could permanently take a break from each other. The memories of your past breakdowns flood your mind and force the tears to come out faster.
“I just want my family to love me, to see me, to–” a hiccup interrupts you, “to just be there for me. They’re never there, mentally. They’re always the cause, always the reason why I feel the way I feel and they don’t even care and I’m just so tired, Satan. I’m so fucking ti-red and I–” your voice cracks and you stop, content with crying wordlessly for a while. You didn’t notice, but Satan’s grip on you tightened as you spoke.
He knows you benefited greatly from this physical contact, but he wishes he could do more: he wants to be more than a bandage, he wants to pull your problems out from the root so you can properly heal. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider at the very least scaring your family into submission. You’ve expressed time and time again that most of the things you struggle with now are due to your family’s past, repeating actions, so Satan thinks an end to them should lead to an end to your struggles. But he knows you better than that, he’s smarter than that. You’re kindhearted and family-oriented; you’d drive yourself crazy with guilt if your family was injured because of you, even if it was an indirect consequence. Satan understood you and you understood him, but every once in a while he has to remind himself that you’re a human with a very loud guilty conscience, and this fact doesn’t help with how useless he feels during times like these.
As if reading his mind, you push yourself away enough to face him after your wailing subsides. “Thank you, Satan. Truly. I just…I’m so lucky to just have you here with me,” you whisper with a small, shaky smile before grabbing his face and quickly pecking him on the lips. Satan pauses for a moment and looks at you: your eyes are puffy and wet, but they seem less troubled. That shaky smile is still there as you look back at him, hands resting gently on his cheeks. He can’t help but think about how strong you are to be able to smile after all that, after having just confronted something so painful. You…inspired him. Inspired him to be your rock more often, to coax you into his arms to lessen the burden on your heart just a little. If the final result is your slightly relieved smile, then maybe he isn’t useless in these situations after all.
Satan dives back down to kiss you properly: a soft, chaste kiss to convey how much he admires you, a kiss you gladly return with a relieved sigh. After a few more kisses, you rest your head against his chest once more and attempt to suppress a yawn in the fabric of his sweater. Unfortunately for you, Satan knew you a little too well and was quite attuned to your feelings.
“Well, I think it’s time for a well-deserved nap, don’t you?” he suggests with a light chuckle as he moves to sit you both up. You shyly smile and nod, slightly embarrassed that your yawn suppressing didn’t work. Satan beams at you then, happy to see the return of this adorable demeanor he’d grown to love. Careful to avoid letting go of you for even a second, Satan shifts the two of you into a proper lying position on your bed. He’s lying on his back now with your head resting right above his heart. Tenderly, he grabs one of your hands and plays with your fingers as he pets your head with his free hand.
The combination of Satan’s warm hand petting your head, his heart softly thumping under his chest, and your post-cry exhaustion is more than enough for you to feel drowsy. Before falling asleep, you call out to him and receive a soft hum in response. “I love you. So much. Okay?” Your speech was slightly slurred, but it struck Satan’s heart so strongly regardless. He craned his neck to kiss the crown of your head before muttering a hushed I love you so much, too. He felt you smile against his chest and finally surrender to sleep.
Satan doesn’t plan on sleeping himself: he was content with holding your sleeping form close to him, hoping the warmth and comfort he provides will help you remain relaxed. Every once in a while, he’ll kiss your head and squeeze your hand. He likes to think you can feel it, that he’s reminding your unconscious mind that he hasn’t left, that he’s staying right here next to you. He thought back on what you said, mulling it over before making a silent confession: “Your family in the human realm may not appreciate you, but your family here always will. Always. I’ll always be here to provide you with the warmth you need, and I’ll always do my best to make sure I understand…just as you do for me.” Satan ended his declaration with a prolonged kiss to your temple, tightening his hold on you in hopes that his devotion could be felt by you through your dreams.