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At this point it’s a habit well established. To find each other away from the throws of sleep. What started as common pleasantries born from awkward beginnings ended in easy banter. Ultimately, it has culminated in a comfortable aura born from seemingly natural synergy.
It is odd. But in times like this, the mere presence of such deity inside these walls ends up being a common occurrence. Much to his begrudging delight.
For it is rare to find genuine comfort in conversation. Even more so with an individual who holds no bargains or deals. With her, there is no veil of fraternity for convenience. For she gains nothing from his company.
Nothing that is worth under his conception, that is. Everyone has a motive. A price. He certainly has one. Or that’s what he repeats to himself mentally whenever he feels his frame relax a little too much. Like a mantra meant to cast away the spell he’s seemingly under when he feels at ease. Calm. Serene. No. He’s not a creature made for such ease of self.
But again and again, the lull returns. Deeper. Stronger. When she gazes straight into his eyes with bright, genuine interest. When she asks about the topics he enjoys that have followed him in death. When she laughs at the worst jokes under his repertoire.
Is it strange? That a being who has never been human, reminds him so much of being one?
Well, not himself. But the humans who were rare. The unspoiled ones. Who hadn’t been corrupted by the monstrosities of their own kin.
An adorable, lovely and unsullied creature. Ripe for his machinations.
But he finds himself not having time for schemes. Because he’s too preoccupied by the absolute delight of finally having someone willing to understand just why the radio is the only medium worth something.
He’s gotten too much joy from seeing her struggle on the piano keys.
When was the last time he’s had the privilege to teach proper dance moves to an eager partner?
Decades. That’s how long it’s been since he’s had the opportunity to fully immerse himself in his earthly pleasures. Music. Books. Cooking… It's been a while. It has been so long. A very long time since he has been able to remember the other things that made him, him.
So much time spent as the Radio Demon. The Overlord. The Pet. At every turn, fear. At every stop, another adversary. Who has time to remember their favorite authors in such environment?
But times have changed. With freedom, empty pockets of silent thoughts emerged. Like bubbles from a deep, murky swamp. He does not enjoy having a quiet mind. A quiet mind invites mania.
But just like that, like she senses his distress, she appears.
Wings tucked away. Barefoot and in only her camisole. With a tired, weary smile she joins him wherever he decides to stew in his silences and kills them with an effective:
“Can’t sleep either?”
“What are you reading?”
“Can I join?”
That’s how it started and how it’s been ever since. Only now, he expects her rather than be surprised. The gaps have filled and without really remembering how, or caring for that matter, she’s found her place cuddled up to his side. Proper decorum be damned against the commodity of delightful conversation.
He’s always starved. But in this case, it’s for something he dares not name. Yet, it is there.
Connection. Genuine connection that leaves him hungry again when she bids him goodbye.
And he despises himself for it. He shouldn’t want anyone’s company.
But there she is. Playing with his claws and touching his hands as if it weren’t the most blasphemous thing to let such an angel touch a sinner’s claws which has torn flesh with glee.
She presses her finger tips against the points, testing their sharpness. It’s like she’s purposefully tempting him. But she isn’t. She just keeps talking. Calmly.
With a soothing tone, she shares about how she feels in regards to her stay in Hell and he listens. But not really. Because it’s been years since he’s felt the beating of his own heart and her head is casually resting on top of it. It’s like she jumpstarts it simply by being close.
It isn’t racing or anything like that. But he simply becomes aware of it. Like it’s supposed to be there. He would rather not think about such things. So he does what he does best. He entertains.
By filling the silences of his mind with tales of memories only recently unearthed. Much less shared in company. So he tells her stories. About a time long gone and a man turned bones.
And she listens.
Emily listens.