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"I think we all know what this is about."
Diavolo's voice booms across the throne room — a strange place to meet for friends who've spent four years running a student council together. Clearly the throne in the student council hall wasn't tall enough for his purposes today, which means only one thing — the prince is pulling rank.
He seems his usual cheerful self, but the brothers stare at the floor, embarrassed by some transgression you assume is about to be revealed. Meanwhile Barbatos is stone-faced, and Simeon is giving his best disapproving glare. (Solomon is, as in most things, the exception, and the only one who returns the prince's smile.)
And there you stand in the middle of it all — the brothers behind you in a line, Diavolo before you by his throne (though fortunately not yet on it), Solomon and Simeon a few feet away on either side.
Once you would have felt like prey in a lion's den, surrounded like this. After four years at RAD, though, you've learned things aren't quite that simple. You are more like a show pony: in some ways at the top of the hierarchy — every need met, extravagant efforts made, because everything depends on you; in others, you're at the bottom, because you will never, ever have the choice to be anything else.
You have a feeling today you'll be stuck at the bottom.
"Now that the Seven Rulers have graduated and are ready to take on more important roles in the Devildom," Diavolo says grandly, "the time has come to consider arranging marriages in order to improve relations." (That's his favorite phrase, isn't it? "Improve relations.") "However, although I've found many highly suitable and interested candidates, we still have one remaining obstacle."
Solomon puts a hand on his chin. "Let me guess... Now that human-demon marriages are legally accepted, no one wants to commit until MC is spoken for… right?"
The awkward silence seems to confirm his assessment.
"W-Well, yeah!" Levi blurts out, pink as a geranium. "Like, even if it's only a .0001% drop rate, there's still a chance to get the UR pull on a spouse, right?" He turns to his brothers for support. "Right?"
"Is there a more obnoxious way you could have put that?" mumbles Belphegor.
Solomon shakes his head and smiles warily. "How the mighty have fallen. Seven demons desperately in love with a human." He winks one eye open at Diavolo. "Wait, sorry, make that eight. Curious you left yourself out of the summary. I've heard you've got some proposals on hold as well."
The prince folds his arms across his massive chest and barks out a laugh. "Alright, you got me. I'll admit I'm among MC's many hopeful admirers."
Satan is unimpressed. "You're not seriously considering taking them for yourself, are you?" he asks, putting a hand on his hip. "You do realize how poorly that would go over with the House of Lords, letting a human rule the Devildom?"
"Haha! Sounds like fun!" says Solomon.
The fourth-born just shakes his head in annoyance, though with Satan, it's hard to tell if he's trying to get Diavolo out of the way here or if he's just genuinely concerned about Devildom realpolitik.
"You're not wrong," admits Diavolo, "and once I would have agreed that such a drastic gesture would be beyond even my ability. However, MC is extremely important to me. I'm confident that if they wished to be at my side, there's no obstacle I wouldn't be willing to face."
Simeon sighs.
"MC, are you alright with everyone discussing you like this? It seems a little rude to talk about you like you're not in the room," he says. (Beelzebub nods in agreement.)
"Oh, I'm used to it," you answer with a shrug.
"Ah, yes, my apologies, MC." Diavolo finally acknowledges you — perhaps less the show pony and more the elephant — though he plows through his words without stopping to consider the implications of what you've just said. "I'll get to my reason for summoning everyone here today: It is clear the brothers and myself are all interested in you.
"I realize how sudden this must be, and perhaps unfair, but I think it would be unwise to let this matter go unaddressed any longer. In the interest of keeping things running smoothly, I must ask if there is anyone here you have particular feelings for."
"So basically, you want me to propose to someone in this room."
Solomon hums in thought. "That's quite a big ask, don't you think?"
"Of course. I certainly don't expect you to decide right away, but would you be prepared to give us an answer within, say, the next week or so?"
(That's still quite a big ask.)
"So I get to pick a husband out of anyone in this room?" you reiterate. "And you're sure they'll say yes?"
"I'll gladly be the replacement if they don't," chimes the annoying wizard.
Diavolo ignores him. "I think I speak for everyone when I say we would all be happy to have you."
There are no objections from the crowd — only nods and grunts of assent.
"Just know that this may be your only opportunity. The suitors I have in mind for the brothers are getting impatient, and it would be unwise for me to delay my own marriage prospects for much longer. Additionally, the others will soon be returning to their respective realms. It's very unlikely you'll get a second chance."
"Haha, no, you can always find me and ask me again," says Solomon.
"Hon, I need you to take the desperation down like, three or four notches," replies Asmodeus, and — as politely as the expression can be managed — Diavolo looks like he wants to shred the sorcerer to pieces.
"Can I trust you'll respect my decision, no matter who I choose?" you ask.
The prince gives a small frown. "Is there some reason I would not?" he says. "My greatest wish is for you to be happy."
"So you'll respect it."
"You have my word as future Lord of the Devildom: I will wholeheartedly endorse your union with anyone here today."
You nod, steeling yourself. "Okay. Then I'm ready to choose."
Mammon pales. "Wait. Now?! He said you had a whole week! I'm not even—" He quickly licks the palm of his hand and uses it to slick back his hair, which promptly ignores this effort and settles back into place, only now slightly messier than before. "Gah!"
"I don't need a week to decide who I like."
"Ahaha, you were supposed to look at me when you said that," Solomon comments, which is finally enough for Asmo to start dragging him away.
Levi looks like he's under a thunder cloud. "Ugh… Just give up, Mammon. There's no way they'd pick either of us… It's probably between Lucifer and Diavolo. Did you even hear how cool his line was? 'There's no obstacle I wouldn't be willing to face?' Gah… Why did I even bother showing up today?"
"What happened to your '.0001% chance?'" asks Belphie.
"I thought this was gonna be like a gacha, not that they got to PICK who they liked…"
"You thought we were going to give away MC in a lottery?" Simeon says indignantly.
"Can I choose now?" you ask.
The angel huffs. "Honestly? I'm totally against this on principle."
"Just shut up and let them pick!" says Levi.
"They shouldn't be forced to propose on the spot just to make our lives easier!"
Lucifer finally deigns to speak. "If this is Diavolo's solution, then we must accept it."
"Is that what MC wants, though?"
While they start arguing (Simeon acting as your defense attorney, the brothers insisting everything's fine, Solomon jumping in for fun, stochastic terrorist that he is), you slowly approach the dais.
Diavolo, the only one still paying attention to you, swells with pride, his mighty wings outstretched and golden horns catching the light along their curves. He looks a thousand times larger than he actually is, a bold red lighthouse facing the sea, ready to shelter you beneath any storm.
And behind him, half-blocked by the wings, is the green little butler, his frail shadow.
You stop in front of Barbatos with a shy smile. His eyes widen a fraction, but otherwise he remains completely still.
"Is there something you need from me?" he asks.
You answer by taking his hand. "I want to marry you, Barbatos."
He looks down at his hand like it's detached from him, or that it's betrayed him by allowing you to hold it. The butler goes taut in disbelief — for the first time, it seems, he is utterly and completely unprepared for something.
"I beg your pardon, but I don't believe I was a candidate," he says, quickly appealing to Diavolo, "was I?"
The prince deflates like he was a lion-shaped balloon you've just blasted through with a sniper rifle. "I… wasn't really considering you an option, no."
Of course he didn't consider Barbatos. Nobody ever does. That's what Barbatos is used to, and how he likes it. He's so invisible that only now do the brothers stop fighting and realize you've already made your choice.
The ancient demon nods, visibly relieved. "While I certainly appreciate the thought, I believe it would be best if you selected someone else."
"Why?"
With Diavolo's vote, he is now completely confident, stating with total sincerity: "Because I am not suitable to be your spouse."
And maybe he isn't. Given his total occupation with serving the prince, it's unlikely he'd be able to make much time for you. But that's sort of the point, isn't it? He's strong without being suffocating.
"So it was a lie? When Diavolo said anyone in this room would accept?"
"I don't think 'anyone' was supposed to include the furniture," grumbles Belphie.
You smile in a strained effort to hide how much the butler's rejection stings, then slowly release him.
Solomon hums."They have a point, though. Diavolo did give his word. You're making him look sort of foolish now, you know?"
Barbatos opens his mouth to protest but finds the words missing. "I…"
The prince himself is now in quiet, rushed conference with Lucifer. With Solomon and Simeon being more like your close friends, they probably assumed you'd pick one of the eight demons when asked who you’d marry. In their planning — this meeting was probably their joint idea, you realize — they had completely overlooked Barbatos, who continues to stare at you in open-mouthed shock.
You swivel on your heel before the butler can change his mind, because the last thing you want is for him to accept you out of pity or, worse, obligation.
"Thank you for the opportunity," you announce to the room, "but I think I have to choose no one, then."
You step down from the platform and make your way towards the exit, the line of brothers parting in dumb silence like waves of the Red Sea.
"MC, wait," says Lucifer. You keep walking, but not without throwing a glare over your shoulder that says you are not the same easily-cowed human who first set foot in the Devildom.
You're a pony now, and you are trotting away.
(…That sounded cooler in your head.)
Solomon follows you out into the corridor, taking up an easygoing stroll.
"Haha! I'll admit you had me worried back there," he says cheerfully. "Guess I should have known better than to doubt my own apprentice. Now Lord Diavolo looks like a hypocrite, and you got off without having to marry. Well done, well done."
"Thanks," you mumble.
The door to the throne room opens behind you again — but it's Simeon this time, as expected.
"MC!" he calls out. "Are you alright?"
"I'll live," you answer back, the way you often do. You're used to dodging his compassion like it's throwing knives. Being in the Devildom has made you forget how to handle direct kindness. It's much easier to lean on Solomon, who provides support in his roundabout, selfish sort of way.
Simeon actually jogs out in front of you to block your path, though, stopping you with a light grip.
"Of course you'll live," he says with a pout, "but are you okay?"
"No. I'm not, actually, but there's nothing I can do about it. Wasn't that a line in your books — 'sometimes falling in love is like tripping into a rose bush and landing on the thorns?'"
Solomon tilts his head.
"Hang on. You were serious about marrying Barbatos, and not just picking him as a loophole?" He sighs. "Unbelievable… I thought you had better taste than that."
"Why would you think I have good taste? I hang out with you."
"Guys," Simeon says in a warning tone, then softens. "MC, I hope you won't take it too hard. Barbatos is…"
"An ice king. I know." You break away from him gently and continue on your path, the two friends coming to flank you on either side.
"Um... I was going to say 'old-fashioned,' but sure," he says. "He's also very serious about his job, and marriage between humans and demons wasn't allowed for a really long time. He's probably never even thought about settling down. I'm sure he still thinks you're special."
"That's where you're wrong. I'm pretty sure Barbatos doesn't like anyone, so maybe dial back on that angelic optimism." Then you laugh, remembering the line from earlier: "And you dial back the desperation three or four notches," you add to Solomon. "Haha. Asmo totally got your ass, lol."
"Did you really just say 'lol'?" balks the sorcerer. "You're spending too much time with Leviathan and not enough with your teacher." He links his arm in yours and lays his head on your shoulder.
"Please tell me if Solomon is ever genuinely getting on your nerves," mutters Simeon, but you just link your other arm in his, giving it an affectionate pat.
"So you guys are heading back to your realms soon?"
"To my very big and empty Human World house, yes," says Solomon. "Alone and unloved. Soon the days will get cold again, and I'll lie in my king-sized mattress without anyone to cuddle with. Oh, Your poor teacher will likely die from the chill. Actually, I think I feel it coming on now. Achoo!"
"Solomon. It's June."
"You're welcome to visit the Celestial Realm anytime," Simeon offers, much more platonically.
"Really? Sweet. How's tomorrow morning sound?"
"Uh… sudden, but I suppose that's doable."
"Great, because I need to GTFO as soon as possible." Thanks to what you once thought was prudence but actually turned out to be a lack of foresight, this year you've been living in the Demon Lord's Castle.
"'GTFO,'" Solomon laments. "What has Levi done to you?"
"Okay, that time I was trying to get around Simeon's G-rated filter while still keeping the general sentiment. The point is, I don't want to be here to deal with the Hateful Eight tomorrow."
"Ah, true, true."
"You know I can hear you, right?" says the angel.
Suddenly Solomon stops, snapping his head up, his expression now serious.
"Uh oh. Speak of the devils."
You follow his gaze to the floor a few feet away, where a line glows bright green, heralding the arrival of one of Barbatos' doors.
As the three of you separate from each other and stumble back, the magical portal materializes, warping spacetime to bathe you in the throne room's borrowed, yellow-orange light.
There, inside that glimpsed other room, stand the fantastic three, peering at you as though through a mirror.
"That ability of yours will never not be terrifying," says Solomon.
"My apologies," the butler replies, turning to you with an expression that's unreadable. "The young master wishes to speak with you."
"Oh," you reply dumbly. Whatever verdict they made in your absence, you really don't want to hear it. "Well, shit."
("Language," chides Simeon.)
Diavolo looks apologetic, but you don't let him begin whatever he's about to say. Not at all.
You bolt off in the other direction, down another hall towards the stairs that lead to your room. You hope Solomon and Simeon will stall them long enough to keep Barbatos from simply opening another, closer portal.
"MC!" the prince calls after.
"Let them go," says Lucifer (perhaps the first good deed he's ever done in his life).
You pray they won't follow, and run without looking back.
For the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening, you do get your wish: the prince and his steward leave you in peace. You ignore the summons for dinner, subsisting on whatever packaged snacks you have stored around your room.
You're in the middle of packing when you hear those three dreaded knocks.
"MC?" says Barbatos from the other side. "May I come in?"
You look down at your open suitcase, laid out on the bed and half-full of clothes, then sigh, stomping over to unlock the door.
"Make it quick."
As you return to your packing, Barbatos enters with silent footfall. The room is dark but for one bedside lamp, which is inconvenient for gathering your many scattered belongings, but the only way to properly express your mood since, although you have a fancy Redtooth speaker from Asmodeus, you're not allowed to blast your super-loud Dotify playlists in the castle. (It's one of the butler's many annoying rules — you assume for reasons of misophonia. Is it really your fault he has the hearing of a bat?)
Barbatos stops a few feet away, one hand folded against his stomach.
"I see you're packing your things," he notes with a slight frown.
"I'm leaving tomorrow. With Simeon."
Barbatos stands torn between his servile instinct to help you load your suitcase and his personal desire to unpack it.
He does neither, instead sticking to his original mission: "I owe you an apology."
"How much do I have to pay you to drop this whole thing and never talk about it again? It was embarrassing enough to live through the first time."
"I'm sorry, but I would consider that completely unacceptable." He finally decides to step in and begin folding one of your strewn-about shirts, though he makes a point of facing away from you as he does it. "Any embarrassment in this situation would be entirely mine. I am the one who wronged you, and it is now my duty to remedy the situation." He sets the garment down on the bed once it's folded, not quite able to bring himself to put it in the suitcase.
"Really? Okay, how did you 'wrong' me?" you ask. You want to get a sense of how Diavolo's number-one fan views the situation.
"My reaction to your confession was inconsiderate," he says. "I was thoughtless with my words, and it was obvious you were hurt because of it." Another shirt, worked with deft fingers, but this time with slightly more pressure.
That's not quite the answer you wanted.
"You talked to Diavolo?"
"Indeed, we had a rather lengthy conversation." This shirt takes two tries to fold.
"Let's get something straight, then. If you're here because of him, because you're following his orders, or taking his advice, or trying to patch things up to make him look better, then you can just get out right now, because I don't want to hear it."
"Do you honestly believe I did not come here on my own behalf? I truly do wish to apologize."
"I don't even think you know what you're apologizing for," you retaliate. You're not usually this blunt with Barbatos, but you long ago learned that keeping a filter when living among demons is a useless exercise. As of today, with Barbatos as the last holdout, you will no longer do it for anyone. "Like, you don't have to apologize for turning me down. I mean, yes, it hurt, but it's not wrong."
"Still, I was inconsiderate about it."
"It's fine. I don't care. I really don't."
"Pardon me if this seems rude, but I have a hard time believing that."
"Okay then, I forgive you for not liking me. There. Does that make you feel better?"
"It doesn't."
"Is that really all you guys talked about? Using nicer words to say no?"
"There were other matters discussed."
"Spit it out then. I know you didn't just come here to apologize." You brace yourself for the killing blow — the news of how Diavolo intends to deal with you.
Barbatos sighs, considering what details to reveal. "I cannot deny the young master was disappointed with your decision," he answers, "but he has agreed to honor it."
There it is.
You stop what you're doing and turn to point towards the door. "Get out."
The butler's eyes widen in shock. "Pardon?"
"I said, get out of my room."
He tenses almost imperceptibly, and you know him well enough to understand he's holding back genuine anger. "May I inquire as to why this causes you offense? I believe you are the one who asked for my hand in marriage, were you not? I'm sure you are well aware it is not my place to marry, and yet as a gesture of his friendship, the young master has graciously allowed it. Is something about that outcome disagreeable?"
"You really don't get it, do you?"
"I would be much obliged if you could help me understand."
You jab your finger into his chest.
"Fine. Then let me teach you something about manners, young man. You don't hold a meeting with all your demon friends to force someone you kidnapped to marry one of you, as though you're entitled to my affection. You don't change your mind when the decision doesn't go your way — and you certainly don't magnanimously decide to 'honor' the thing you already said you'd do, and send your butler over to mend the fences.
"Do you even realize how you're coming across right now? 'Hi, my boss said I should so graciously marry you on a technicality so he doesn't look stupid. Not because I actually like you or wanted it. Sorry I didn't use nicer words while standing there and letting him auction you off."
The butler is taken aback.
"Barbatos, you are the most thoughtful, meticulous, sanctimonious demon... no, person... I have ever met," — each descriptor is punctuated with a jab — "You know where every goddamn fork goes on the table; you would lecture us for hours over missed homework or midnight snacks or fucking up folding a fitted sheet — and yet, when I go to you for help because Diavolo is doing something fucked, and you're his handler, and I need you, suddenly you seem to forget the whole point of etiquette is basic respect!"
"I—"
"Would I have married you if you'd agreed to it on the spot? Yes, you're my pick, okay, I like you. Great. Suffer through that revelation, sorry. Did I expect you to agree to it? Absolutely not. Not for a minute — I know what I am, and what you are — but what I did expect is that you would do something to help when I needed it, because that is your job.
"Solomon thought the whole thing was funny — I get it, that's normal for him. Simeon knew it was wrong, but what's he going to do? Fight off eight horny demons? Nine, if I include you as their babysitter? You could have stopped it. You know better. I don't care if he's the prince and your special baby boy you love more than anything — if Diavolo pulls something like that, you tell him to stop. You don't stand there and watch it happen! Heck, you're still letting it happen! It's happening right now! You went and asked for advice on how keep letting it happen, and he said, 'let's honor the agreement!' I mean, what the hell?!
"If he had forced me to marry him right then and there, would you have let that happen, too? Would you have officiated? Does your sense of right or wrong only kick in when it comes to paperwork and misplaced forks, or is it because I'm human and don't deserve it?”
He is completely speechless — horrified.
"I trusted you. I thought I could come to you for help, but... it's always been Diavolo first, hasn’t it? Always, always, always. He's a demon prince, after all, and I'm just some rando. I get it. I really do." You slam the suitcase shut. "But I'm not going to sit here and let you all treat me like your prized goddamn cattle."
The zipper takes a moment to get closed (somewhat ruining your dramatic exit) before you can heft the thing off the bed and onto the floor.
"…MC."
"Just leave me alone.”
You pull up the handle and start to roll your suitcase towards the door.
"Where do you believe you're going? You said you weren't leaving until tomorrow."
"I don't know! Somewhere! Fuck you."
"MC."
"I said leave me alone, Barb!"
"Would you please allow me to be selfish for another moment?"
Something in his voice is heavier now, strained and desperate. Will you? Your heart certainly wants to, pulling you to a stop by its disobedient reins. You sigh in exasperation.
"You have twenty seconds," you answer.
"I'm afraid I will need longer than that."
And then, although you never heard him close the distance, he is there, drawing you into a sudden embrace from behind, arms wrapping tightly around your waist.
"What are you doing?" you gasp.
"I am the one who asked him to allow the marriage."
Your heart stops, then reboots. Pulse hammering in your ears, you numbly relinquish your hold on the suitcase handle, turning in his arms to meet him face to face. He relaxes a little.
"I agree the way we handled the situation was careless. But I did not ask him to honor his word merely for the sake of it."
"Then why?"
Barbatos exhales. It’s a reverent sound. "Because marrying you would be wonderful."
It's like he's turned on a vacuum; your mind empties completely and all at once, and in the absence of rational thought is the strange sensation of oxytocin. It is waves and waves of want crashing against your jaw and behind your ears and deep in your stomach.
"You have every right to be upset with me," he says in that low voice, "as well as with the young master." It costs him something to make the addendum; he still wants to protect Diavolo, even now. "Demons mature at a much slower rate than humans. It is no excuse, but please understand Lord Diavolo is still quite young and prone to making mistakes."
He pulls away just far enough to meet your eyes. "I, however, am not, and so you were correct that it was my job to guide him. By allowing him to put you in the situation he did today, I have failed both of you. So I must both apologize and thank you for helping me to realize that."
You try to look down, but his hand comes to find your face, tilting your chin back towards him with a thumb and forefinger.
"Furthermore," he says, "I utterly failed you today as a butler and as a friend. You have accomplished such great things that it is easy to forget you are still only human, and still quite vulnerable. It is inexcusable that I reacted in such a way when you needed my assistancee."
You drop your gaze again, determined to sink like a slow-motion rag doll in a mire of simultaneous hope and sadness. It feels like too much at once.
"Please understand my reticence this afternoon was entirely out of surprise. I had no idea you thought so highly of me. I became quite flustered in the moment, and resorted to my instincts, completely ignoring your actual needs. I fear I may have caused irreparable harm in doing so.
"I understand if you cannot forgive me. If you wish to take your leave, I will release you. But please be assured that you are incredibly dear to me, and that I feel nothing but remorse for the pain I've caused."
He waits for you to express your desire one way or the other. But you don’t leave.
Tentatively, you let your hands rest on his shoulders. He relaxes again in what you assume is relief, or gratitude.
Neither of you say anything until, suddenly, another lingering pain surfaces.
"Do you remember that time you wanted to thank me for helping with some school thing and made me dinner?" you ask quietly.
"I do."
"You washed my hair, and we played chess." Only now do you finally look up to see his expression of deep focus, as though you are saying the most important thing in the world. "Somehow I actually beat you."
"Yes." He allows a quiet chuckle. "I was rather impressed by that."
"You said I could ask for anything I wanted, right?" You look at him, brows knotted, your voice thinning out to a whisper. "So I asked for you to sleep next to me until I woke up. Do you remember?"
"I do," he says, but his face falls when he notices the shift in your expression to something melancholy.
"Then when I woke up the next morning, and you were gone."
"…Indeed. I believe I arose to make breakfast."
"Right, yeah. I mean, I... guess I figured you needed to rush me out the door to get back to serving Diavolo."
"No, not at all."
"You made me breakfast, but I just…" — you shake your head, trying to smile, like enough feigned warmth might make the nascent tears evaporate — "I couldn't bring myself to eat."
You decide you can't face him like this, and bury your head in the crook of his shoulder. "I would have given anything for you to have just been there when I woke up."
Despite the apparent irrelevance of this new complaint, he remains patient; he knows he's torn off the makeshift bandages on a long-festering wound and is now letting out whatever was rotting inside it.
"Oh, dearest." Barbatos rubs your back in soothing motions. "My intention had been to spoil you with my cooking, but I see how it might have seemed callous. I do remember your demeanor changed that morning."
"I went home and cried to Asmodeus for two hours," you laugh pathetically.
"And yet you still asked to marry me?" He chuckles lightly in self-deprecation. "At this point, I am almost certain almost anyone else would have been a better choice."
For some reason, that comment — joke, you suppose — is what finally ruptures the dam of self-restraint.
"I just wanted you to stay, Barb," you sob, full-on ugly tears now. "I just needed you to stay." You repeat the phrase like he doesn't get it, but he does. Barbatos lets you sink into him, or he sinks into you, continuing to draw circles between your shoulder blades.
"I know, love. I know," he says, pressing kisses to your temple, one hand coming to smooth back your hair. "I'm so sorry."
"You're the only demon I felt safe with," you're rambling, "and I…" — hiccup — "needed you, and you weren't there, and…"
"I know. I am here now. I will not leave you this time. You have my promise."
He hushes and holds you in that amicable silence, waiting while the wound drains. Occasionally he murmurs a soothing assurance or gentle apology.
After a few minutes, your sobs quiet down, and your heaving shoulders finally go still.
Then, when the silence grows pregnant, when you are finally secure in his embrace, and when the opportune moment draws nigh for hashing out the nature of your true and delicate feelings, your stomach decides to let out the loudest rumble possible.
"Noooooo," you whine miserably, wondering why-god-why you have to be so awkward. Barbatos is mostly just amused.
"Shall I make you some dinner?" he chuckles.
You shake your head as much as you can while it's still nestled into his shoulder. "Nooo."
"Come now, you must eat." He takes the opportunity to pull a handkerchief from his pocket, prompting you to look up so he can dry your face.
"But I don't want you to leave."
"And I won't," he assures you as he goes about his work. You continue to produce silent tears almost as fast as he can remove them — almost as if on principle — and yet he does not relent, nor does he get any harsher in his movements until it is done.
"Um, also, just for the record," you blurt out, before your stomach decides to do something worse, "I do actually like you. I don't know if that was— Like, Solomon thought I just asked you because it would piss off Diavolo, but I promise that wasn't the reason. I just— I thought you would never like me back, but I just—"
His green eyes flick up to yours, and he presses a gloved finger to his lips, mouth closed, bringing your incoherent rambling to a stop.
"Breathe," he says, and you do, a long and shaky through your nose, forcing your heart rate to slow down.
You let the breath out.
"I love you."
He smiles — the close-eyed kind of smile, so you know he's genuine.
"And I love you, lamb."
Barbatos finally pulls away. Your heart sinks at the momentary loss of warmth, but it's clear this time he has no intentions of leaving.
"Now, then," he says, taking your hand to guide you towards the door, past the suitcase that will not be used for a long while, "shall we make some dinner together? I believe it would be good practice for married life."