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You loved the quiet afternoons in the library. You’d found the perfect spot to read, one that let you look outside when you your eyes needed a break from the small print of the book. The worn couch was comfortable, and you were not the only one that thought so. The demon resting his head in your lap enjoyed it, too.
“You stopped,” Belphie complained. “Did you run into a word too big for you?”
Fingers that had been playing with his hair paused to give it a little tug. “None of that, or you will actually have to read it yourself.”
“That sounds like work.” Belphie yawned and then gave you the sweetest smile. “Besides, I like your voice. What happens next?”
“You gonna stay awake until the end of the story?” You knew the answer to that. He never made it to the end. But that was okay. You treasured these quiet moments with him. There was something sweet and unguarded about them.
“Probably not,” he admitted. “But tell it to me, anyway.”
Shaking your head, you scanned the yellowed page to find your place. You had this down to an art now. Hard cover books fit nicely on the wide arm of the couch, which meant your other hand was free to bury itself into his soft locks. You cleared your throat and continued reading. He closed his eyes again with a satisfied smile.
You didn’t just read the book. You performed it, giving the tale peaks and valleys with the rise and fall of your voice. As the action became more intense, you picked up the pace, creating a sense of urgency. Though his eyes were closed, his features would subtly shift, betraying his reactions.
But today, he wasn’t the only one tired. Your yawns would occasionally break the flow of the narrative. You closed your eyes and sighed. A small break wouldn’t be so bad. You basked in the warmth coming from the window. “It’s not like you’re even awake anymore,” you muttered.
“Who isn’t going to make it to the end of the story?” His voice teased at your ear.
You startled and opened your eyes. Nervously, you looked over your shoulder, half expecting to see Belphie standing there, despite the fact you could see his sleeping face and feel his weight in your lap. You sighed with relief and, finding no demon at your back, you turned your attention back to the book.
You squinted. The markings on the page made no sense to you now. You flipped back a couple of pages and then skipped ahead. It was all unreadable gibberish.
Belphie’s laugher rang out from the second story of the library. You looked up to see him leaning on the railing. “The sunlight should have tipped you off. You fell asleep,” He mocked. He shook his head. “My, my, don’t you have a one track mind?” You blinked and looked down at your lap, where he also smirked up at you. “Shame you can’t read in your sleep. I really wanted to know how the story ends.”
He started walking down the stairs. “I guess we will just have to make up one of our own.”
“But am I going to be the hero or the villain?” Belphie yawned and stretched, abandoning your lap to sit up. His eyes were bright with mischief.
“Why choose?” The second answered, circling the couch and closing the book. His fingers lingered on the back of your hand. “We can be both. Now, how does this story start?”
“I know.” The other Belphie leaned over to steal a kiss.
In unison, both Belphies said in a sing-song voice. “Once upon a time…”