Work Text:
« First Meeting »
Because transforming into a one-to-one replica of another species is simply impractical, demon transformation are intentionally not perfect. They omit some parts—like an organ or gene—to save energy for more practical spells. Like mind control and terra forming.
Vincent Fabro is a rare demon living among humans, and he’s no exception to this practice. When mimicking a human, the demon’s eyes are red colored deficient, he’s more pain intolerant, and he can oddly only taste bitter flavors. Despite lacking the proper taste buds though, he cooks and eats regularly. It’s a meaningless activity for demonkind, but to him, it’s better than rotting away in purgatory and hell.
Gourmet has broken the boring cycle of hunting.
In dire need of ingredients, fortunately for him, modern humans are always stocked with ingredients (hurray, technology and science!). Hence, Vincent is ringing the bell of apartment 418. In the pursuit of salt.
“Hello?” A voice speaks through the smart doorbell within seconds. “Can I help you?”
“Yes,” the demon speaks. “Do you have salt?”
“Yes.” A moment’s silence. “Do you need some?”
“Please.”
“Okay. Please wait.”
The door opens moments later. Behind the door is… a short bilateral-animal shaped cloud. And it’s purple. Vincent knows it’s a human by its shape but it’s an odd color. Humans are usually red colored and white—negative and positive energies.
Vincent can’t (see) read the stranger’s expression, but judging by the moment of silence, he’s stunned by… something. Shock? Surprise? Constipation? The demon can certainly smell the change of atmosphere.
“Hello?” He tilts his head. “Are you well?”
“I can’t believe it,” the human says. They have a masculine voice with almost a faint Chinese accent. Otherwise, his speech is American. “You’re… you’re a demon!”
Huh?
Huh.
Vincent remembers now—there are human shamans too. Spiritually gifted souls who can see the aura of demons, and destroy them. They’re especially distinct from positive and negative energies thanks to their odd color. That explains the purple.
He reflects silently to himself, how his attempts of spice trade has tragically led him to his (and possibly all demonkind’s) demise in the silk road. A pinch of salt for his life. It’s a pity. Truly, a shame. In his reflection, he regrets to lose the chance to cook homemade pasta.
If there is a merciful deity who listens to demonkind, his only wish in death is to see memories of his cooking to flash before his eyes.
“If you must hurt me,” he says. “Please spare my face.”
“What?!”
“Shaman,” Vincent calls the stranger. “You must know that a demon prides itself in appearance.”
“Wait, wait,” the human stutters. “You’re just letting me… kill you?”
“Are you letting me go?”
“Well, no.”
“Precisely,” Vincent sighs. He’s a gentleman and doesn’t forget to bow his head. “You may proceed with your execution.”
The man’s voice pitches, “I’m not executing anyone!”
“Then you plan to torture me,” the demon frowns. “I had thought humans have moved past their… distasteful methods, but it can’t be helped. It’s an instinct to your kind. I only request that you don’t cut or bruise my face.”
“I’m not torturing you either!” He sounds alarmed. “What the hell? Are you okay?”
“Are you okay?” Vincent echoes, leaning down to meet where he assumes the person’s eyes are. “You’re shaking a lot.”
“There’s- there’s a demon outside my door,” the shaman says. “And he’s- he’s… not hurting me?”
“Fighting consumes a lot of energy,” Vincent says with surrender. “I’d rather be consuming food, which I would have, if I had salt.”
The man pauses for a moment. “Really?”
“Postive,” he replies promptly.
“How can I know you’re telling the truth?” He asks cautiously. “It- it is my duty to ward the earth. I will take the necessary measures to subdue threats.”
“But you will not kill me?”
“Yes.”
“And how do you suppose you can ‘subdue,’ these ‘threats?’”
“I…”
Vincent considers the shaman momentarily. If he’s sparing a demon, he must be lousy at his job. Undoubtedly a beginner. And alone too; shamans usually live with their families. But, the demon is not eager to die soon either. Perhaps, the human can be persuaded… to give salt.
“Look,” Vincent huffs. “Would you like to monitor me while I cook? To be certain you’re warding the earth off my cruelty.”
“I… I can?”
“Not without the salt you promised.”
“Oh! Of course,” the stranger pauses for another second. “I have to wear my shoes. It’ll be less than a minute. Do- don’t go anywhere, okay?”
Vincent has to withhold his laughter. Humans are unsurprisingly gullible but quite… amusing.
« (Un)welcome Guest »
In the kitchen, the demon frequently checks his laptop for the Italian pasta recipe (hurray again, technology!), while the shaman he’s (reluctantly) invited monitors him from the dining room. A brief introduction let Vincent know his company’s name is Li Zhao Yu. At twenty-two years old, the man has moved out (kicked out, really) of his parents’ place after abandoning his spiritual studies.
It’s a wonder how easily humans can abandon their faiths, but it’s funny how all it takes to resume the person’s shamanship is the appearance of a demon. On the other hand, a change is always welcome to the demon’s mundane routine. Although, he’s still skeptical about being acquianted with a human. They’re so… emotional and goal-driven. It’s unpredictable and sometimes too stressful to deal with.
“Are you feeling cozy, Zhao Yu?” Vincent calls while kneading dough.
“Huh? Oh, yes. Your furniture is really… nice.”
The demon knows the human meant to say old—his chairs and tables date from decades prior, but he doesn’t pry or tease the man.
The lights are purposefully dim. Since he doesn’t need to see his surroundings clearly, only his stand lamps are on. Bright LED hurts his vision. Nevertheless, he can imagine how ominous the room looks to a shaman and it’s a little hilarious.
The room is dark and the only shape visible is the silhouette of a demon wearing human skin is preparing ingredients for supper.
“Have you eaten dinner, Zhao Yu?” he asks to break the silence.
“Yes,” the man replies promptly. “Actually, no,” he says after. “I was busy with job applications.”
“Well, consider today your lucky day,” Vincent smiles at his guest. “I’m making a serving for two.”
“Oh,” Zhao Yu sounds surprised. “You are?”
“Are you not hungry?”
“I am.”
“Great, you will tell me how it tastes,” the demon says.
Despite earlier brief meeting with death, he’s unexpectedly relieved to have found the shaman. Aside from providing his last ingredient, Zhao Yu can taste-test for him and describe to him the dish. It’s an excitement he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. He expects himself to feel wary about becoming friendly with a human, especially a shaman. It’s rather refreshing.
“What would you like for drinks?”
“Water is fine, thank you.”
“Surely you have a preference,” Vincent insists. “Should I pry your mind for answers? I know just the spell.”
“Boba tea,” Zhao Yu finally answers. “And please don’t read my mind.”
“Maybe I have and you just never knew,” he teases. “You can order for yourself. I’ll pay for it.”
Time passes quickly when Vincent is cooking. Like skimming through the paragraphs of a novel or skipping pages of a book. Because his species lives for centuries, the passage of time rarely matters to him.
When he prepares the plate and utensils for Zhao Yu and himself, he feels not like himself. He’s mindful of the second that pass when he pours each of them a glass, and while grabbing a serving for two. A dysmorphic feeling burns under his skin when he carries the plates over to the dining table and sits next to his guest. Demons don’t make friends, yet here he is, having dinner with a shaman.
“Please, let me know how it is,” Vincent encourages Zhao Yu.
It’s not an exciting event, but his eyes are glued to his guest tasting his cooking. The nod lets him know he’s done right. “It’s really good, Vincent.”
He can hear the smile in the human’s words. It’s satisfying. “I’m glad, Zhao Yu.”
Dinner passes with little words exchanged. His taste remains bland but it’s different. It’s… domestic and unlike anything Vincent has felt before. He’s almost reluctant for Zhao Yu to leave.
They’re ending the night at Vincent’s lackluster living room. There’s no television or fireplace, only empty shelves and flower vases. On the coffee table, the shaman’s boba tea left rings of water droplets. Romantic paintings break the monotony of the cream walls. The bare necessities.
Vincent sits at the armchair while Zhao Yu sits at the couch. “How does it taste?”
“This? Oh, it’s really sweet,” the shaman replies, sounding embarrassed. “My grandma liked to nag at me for drinking sweets.”
The demon laughs. It’s a tragedy how age imposes such a hierarchy to humans. “Well, am I in the clear?”
“Sorry?”
“Have you warded my cruelty, shaman?”
“Oh!” Zhao Yu obviously forgot about their situation. He’s stuttering trying to find the right words to say. It’s a funny sight. “Uh, there’s protocol.”
“Protocol?”
“I have to monitor you for more days to be sure… you’re not wrecking havoc.”
Vincent has to laugh. “Okay, darling.”
“Do I have to tag you?” Zhao Yu asks warily. “I know it hurts. I’ve seen others…”
Tagging bounds a demon to the human realm. It’s a pain Vincent isn’t ready to bare. So, he says instead, “You don’t have to worry. I’m not going anywhere.”
« Becoming Familiar »
Befriending Zhao Yu is inevitable. Humans never run out of experiences and feelings to express, and every dinner, there’s a story to tell. His childhood and first times. It’s never a monotonous evening.
Now, since their first meeting, there’s been a seat in Vincent’s kitchen reserved for the shaman. Sometimes, they meet earlier just to chat. It paints a funny picture—a demon and death’s door.
Vincent has befriended Zhao Yu’s best friend too. Ling Ying is an older Chinese woman who teaches middle schoolers how to paint and young adults how to use clay for pottery. She’s not a shaman but she knows about the existence of demonkind. Vincent knows how attached and paternal humans can act towards each other, but it’s a greater case with her. When she learned about the demon’s existence, he nearly lost his life to a ballpoint pen.
They’re past that now, and Ling Ying occasionally joins their dinners, but it’s still funny to smell her hostility for the demon linger like fresh paint.
Lately, Zhao Yu and Vincent buys groceries together. After a week, the man has insisted because he’s responsible for paying for the food too, it’s natural that he pays for his meals. It’s a weak excuse to hang out, but the demon accepts it. Because Vincent is not clueless to his own attraction towards the shaman (he’s a demon, not a monster), but apparently Zhao Yu is. More like non-confrontational. The man’s flustered voice and frequent moments of silence is a telltale sign. It’s honestly hilarious.
“Hey,” Vincent says one day outside their condominium complex. Zhao Yu is dressed casually, expecting to check off their ingredients list at the mall, but the demon has other plans. He’s wearing his Sunday’s best today. “What do you say we eat outside? My treat.”
“For lunch?”
“A change of scenery.”
“Oh,” Zhao Yu hums thoughtfully. “Did you have a place in mind?”
“I was hoping you did,” Vincent replies. “I want to get to know you better. What you like and what makes you happy. Everything.”
He imagines the shaman’s face to be red. He can’t see him, but he sounds shy and it’s an auditory delight. “But you already know that. I like Chinese food.”
“I’m positive there are places that cook hotpot better than me.”
“No, you cook really good,” the man says. “But if you insist...”
The restaurant Zhao Yu picks is a fifteen minute walk away from their building, not that either species mind. The traffic of cars and pedestrians never bothered Vincent, rather, it fascinated him how dense human populations are, and how varied their souls are. Although, one energy stands out among the rest—it’s the shaman’s purple light, attracting the demon like moth to a flame when really, it should be the other way around.
Awhile later, they arrive. Vincent can’t smell the aroma of food as he enters the restaurant, but he can hear Zhao Yu inhale the smell deeply. A reminder of home. It’s a sentimental feeling exclusively human. It’s a sign that their choice is good.
They grab a seat by the window where the busy city traffic serves as the view. At noon, the area is well-lit and vibrant despite the brutalist architecture. Vincent doesn’t mind it though; he observes the person beside him instead.
“What are we having?” He asks.
“I think you’d enjoy the eggplant and rice,” Zhao Yu says. “Of course, I might be biased because they’re my favorites.”
“I’ll have them then,” Vincent says immediately. “I trust your taste buds.”
“Oh, sure,” the man chuckles awkwardly, but there’s a smile audible in his tone. “I’m glad to hear that.”
For awhile now, the demon has wished he knows the shaman’s appearance. Humans are so expressive and emotional, but Vincent can’t even see the face of the man he wants to love. It’s not supposed to bother him, like his lack of taste, pain intolerance, and color blindness, but it persists like an itch under his skin. Like an instinct, his own energy wants to know the color of Zhao Yu’s eyes or the color of his skin. If it’s as pale as the midnight moon, or as dark as earth.
The thought lingers even after they finished their food. Zhao Yu is audibly pleased with his meal, so Vincent is too. They chat for awhile because the man always has a story to tell, before leaving the restaurant and returning home. They’re talkative as they walk into the elevator and exit out of it. Even while arriving outside each of their apartment doors, they’re talking about whatever comes to mind. It’s a desperate, human effort to keep the moment frozen. Pity how there’s not even a single spell that can keep it forever.
It’s a painfully human experience, but Vincent knows, even as a demon, he cannot bear to be without it.
“Hey,” he interrupts. “I want you to tag me.”
“What?” Zhao Yu sounds shocked. “Why all a sudden? Doesn’t it hurt you?”
“I want to see you,” Vincent says. “It’s gnawing me how I don’t know your face.”
“Oh,” the shaman pauses briefly. “I… I didn’t realize. You never said anything.”
“It didn’t matter to me,” the demon clutches at his side like stopping a bleeding wound. “But your stories, they captured my heart. Every word you shared was a stroke to an elaborate portrait that makes… you. I was captivated. But I can’t see you. The painting that haunts my every thought. And I feel like a fool hanging this frame when I can’t even appreciate the big picture.”
“Vincent.”
“Zhao Yu. Tag me,” the demon tries again, because he’s ready to bear the pain. “Please.”
The seconds passed without a response pierce him like heavy metal nails. It’s a just punishment for laying his feelings in surrender. Vincent braces for the pain as Zhao Yu closes the gap between them with his steps, but the human’s hands are gentle on him.
He opens his eyes not realizing they were close, and sees the purple energy that is the shaman. “What?”
“Okay,” Zhao Yu says. “I will.”
On Vincent’s wrists, the man writes a symbol with the ink pen he’s kept in his pocket. The tag symbol. To keep a demon bound to human realm. It also opens the demon’s eyes to the physical reality. To finally allow see Zhao Yu.
The pain comes abruptly, as though every cell in his body is burning. His transformation spell quickly breaks, and his true form unravels from his human skin to reveal long, gray limbs, dark-red eyes, and large, tattered wings. His demonic body. He hears Zhao Yu’s panicked voice calling for his name, but it’s deaf to his tall ears.
Suddenly, he feels a tug on his other wrist, and the wet sensation of ink on his skin. As quickly as it arrived, the pain faded. A warm, gentle spell wraps around his body. Finally, Vincent is able to open his eyes and—
Zhao Yu is… handsome. And short. And relieved. And his smile is reaching his eyes. At last, the demon can read his expression. At last, he knows with confidence that the man is happy.
Vincent is at loss for words. Apparently, Zhao Yu too.
Their kiss is nothing short of sweet after.