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“HAARLEP!”
The incubus didn’t look up. They were lounging half-sprawled across the bed, one leg draped over velvet sheets that cost more than what even the richest Faerûn could ever afford in their lifetime.
“What?” they groaned in response to having their nap interrupted.
“Where in the Hells are my socks?!”
That earned Haarlep’s full attention, finally. The incubus lifted their head, blinking once as though processing the sheer audacity of the question.
“Dearest brat of mine,” they drawled in their usual tone, but there was a note of irritation in their voice. “I am your personal incubus. Not your mother.”
Haarlep waved their hand nonchalantly before turning to face the orange skies of Avernus once more. “Check the dresser. Perhaps Korrilla dropped them off from the laundromat today,” the incubus mumbled, eyes closed. Ready to let the warmth of the First Layer to lull them back to their afternoon siesta.
“There were none!” Raphael snapped as he stomped towards the side of the bed the incubus was on. “I checked. Twice.”
Haarlep didn’t bother opening their eyes, but instead hummed in sarcastic thoughtfulness. “Well then,” they said, rolling the last syllable, “I suppose no socks for you today.”
Raphael stared sharply at the incubus before shaking the poor fiend awake. “No,” he said. “I need you to get me more.”
Haarlep finally lifted their head, miffed at the constant interruption to their nap time. It was then when the incubus noticed that Raphael was still in his bathrobe, hair still slightly damp from the bath.
“And pray tell, from where in all of the Nine Hells do you want me to pick up socks that would fit you?”
The smaller of the two clicked his teeth, irritation flaring from what he hoped was feigned ignorance from his incubus. “From my old bedroom. Obviously.”
There was a pause.
“So,” Haarlep stated at last. “You want me,” they said, pointing at themself, “to go all the way to Cania—the literal Eight Layer of the Hells, governed by the second strongest Archdevil in all of Baator—” they gestured vaguely at the red skies outside of the boudoir, “—to retrieve a pair of socks.”
“Yes.”
Raphael stood there, arms crossed. The incubus swore that he saw the man stomping his feet as well. Their eyes studied him for a moment, before sighing dramatically, tail flicking in annoyance.
“You are the most spoiled brat I have ever had the misfortune of being bound to.”
To that, Raphael simply slumped on the bedside.
“Just hurry. The marble floors are dreadful on bare feet.”
Haarlep rolled their eyes as they rose from the bed. “One day,” they muttered, “I’ll have a day to myself.”
With a snap of their fingers, sparks of red burst out of their fingertips, as the incubus was enveloped by spits of fire.
Cania was exactly as Haarlep remembered: cold, grim, yet beautiful in a way that only the Lord of Hellfire could ever conceive.
If it weren’t for them being transported directly to the halls that lead to the old bedroom of the spawn, the incubus would have frozen to death in seconds.
Still, Haarlep shivered, drawing their wings closer to themself to preserve their body heat. “All this,” they muttered, goosebumps unusually forming on their form, “for a damned pair of socks.”
Raphael’s old bedroom stood exactly where it always had. The gelugon that warded the chamber recognized them with a low knowing grunt, before stepping aside just enough to allow entry for the incubus, then sealing the door shut again behind them.
The air inside, thankfully, was not stagnant, although it carried the faint scent of brimstone and old ambition.
Haarlep wrinkled their nose and went straight for the wardrobe, yanking open drawer after drawer. Everything in it was arranged neatly. Socks. Robes. Doublets. Pairs upon pairs of Jingly boots.
“Truly,” they said to the empty room, “he could scheme to conquer half of the Hells yet somehow still lose track of his own socks.”
As they rummaged deeper, and slowly filling up their arms with bundles of socks, something caught their eye. At the very bottom of the drawer lay a single envelope, sealed with wax and tucked carefully underneath everything else.
Haarlep paused.
“Oh my,” they chuckled, lifting the letter delicately between two claws. “What do we have here?”
Moments later, in another series of spits of fire and smoke, the incubus reappeared in Avernus with an armful of Raphael’s socks. The envelope they had found was pinched between the knuckles of their claws.
Raphael was exactly where they had left him: perched on the edge of the bed, refusing to let his bare foot so much as graze the marble floor.
“Ah,” he began sharply as Haarlep arrived, “that took you long enough. I was beginning to think you had—!”
The words died in his throat.
His gaze immediately snapped to the envelope in Haarlep’s hand. It was then when Haarlep saw raw panic flickering across his face, before it was replaced with a furious blush.
“Where did you get that?!”
A slow smirk curved on the incubus’ lip as they dropped the pile of socks on the bed. Their claws turned the envelope over, noting the faint ‘H’ scrawled at the front of it in Infernal.
“You really ought to be more careful with your keepsakes, my little brat,” they said lightly, waving the letter in front of the furious man. “Especially when you hide them in your sock drawer. An amateur mistake.”
“Give that to me!” Raphael snapped, lunging at the incubus to snatch the letter.
That reaction alone was enough to confirm that the letter was never meant to be seen by the world.
With a chuckle, Haarlep lifted the letter just out of reach, arm raised effortlessly overhead.
Against the incubus’ cambion form, Raphael’s human guise was much shorter. Which meant that the prideful spawn was forced to look up at them. His scowl deepened as he continued, albeit futilely, to take the letter away.
Haarlep laughed at the sight and took a step back, widening the distance.
“Oh, no,” they said. “If you’re going to make me do all of that, I’m at least entitled to some entertainment.”
Without waiting for permission, they broke the seal and unfolded the letter. “Let’s see what’s so scandalous about this. A love letter for a long lost lover, perhaps? Your first heartbreak?”
They cleared their throat in exaggeration before reading the first sentence out loud.
“To my eternal flame,” Haarlep paused, brow raised. “Oh. That’s sappy. How very unlike you.”
Raphael’s frown was now tinted with an even deeper scarlet. “You incorrigible creature, stop this at once!”
They didn’t.
“On this day, by my father’s command, you were gifted to me,” Haarlep’s voice slowed, the teasing cadence they initially had started to soften on the edges. “I swear upon my name and my true name, that I will take care of you. Not because I needed to, and not because it is expected of me, but because I want to.”
The man slapped both of his palms against his face, “This is a private matter!”
Haarlep ignored the protests of the spawn and continued anyway. Their smirk slowly turning into a soft smile at the words that followed, “If I must learn gentleness, I will. If I must learn patience, I will. I do not want you to fear me. I want you to choose me.”
Raphael’s ears were hot, face almost as red as his cambion form’s. Every inch of his existence wished that the ground would open and swallow him all the way down to Nessus.
Haarlep’s eyes were too busy scanning through the words to notice the shorter of the two, and instead continued to read on.
“Let every victory, every plan, every step forward from now on include you and your safety in it. As I do not wish to face it without you by my side…”
Raphael had curled over himself into a ball of embarrassment.
“…Should there be a time where the entirety of the cosmos must burn to keep you mine, then I shall make it burn eternally…”
The man groaned at his younger self’s choice of words.
“…So, let there be a day where you are not bound to me by ink, but by choice. And I will strive for that day to be true…”
The air in the boudoir seemed to still as the incubus neared the end of the letter.
“And finally, I swear, not as a man nor devil, not as the spawn of Mephistopheles, but myself, to be yours—…”
Haarlep’s breath caught as their eyes scanned the last sentence.
“…Till damnation do us part.”
Silence stretched between them.
“Oh, Raphael,” they said quietly, finally lowering the letter just enough to look at him.
The spawn sat frozen, colour high on his cheeks, jaw tight, hair tousled and eyebrows scrunched in a scowl. “You weren’t meant to read that,” he muttered, looking away. “I was… young, naive, and—…”
Slowly, Haarlep set the letter on their bedside table.
“You wrote vows,” they said softly, arching their brow, “Is that what mortals often call it? Wedding vows?”
Raphael let out a low, irritated grunt followed by a subtle nod before turning his face away. Mumbling a string of curses too quiet for Haarlep to fully catch.
With a smile, Haarlep’s claws gently reached out, letting a single claw slip beneath his chin, tilting Raphael’s face back until their eyes met.
“Who would have thought a little brat like you could be so tender?” they said, the teasing smirk they wore often returning to their face. The incubus then leaned down to press a kiss on Raphael’s forehead, a rather unusual soft gesture that wasn’t often exchanged between them.
Raphael scoffed at the comment and rolled his eyes. Face still flushed. Whether from embarrassment or from the gesture, even he wasn’t sure of it.
“Just… forget about it. All right?”
Haarlep laughed and nuzzled their nose against his, close enough that Raphael could feel their breath. “Of course,” they said, voice fond and knowing. “I’ll forget it—”
They pulled back slightly, just enough to meet the pair of the dark honeyed gaze before them.
“—Once damnation do us part.”