DAMIAN'S POV
We got home, and I closed the door behind us. The propane tank was still outside, untouched, just as it was before we…teleported? At least nothing else was destroyed except for the small patch of grass underneath it. Thank God.
I moved around the house, closing the windows and drawing the curtains. The lampshades cast a dim glow over the dull interior, and I turned on the TV, lowering the volume just enough for it to be background noise. The familiarity of it helped me breathe easier.
A dull ache ran through my limbs as I limped toward the kitchen to make some coffee. My body still felt the strain from earlier—another reminder that everything that happened was real.
Did he drink coffee? Probably not.
I turned, only to find Cassiel standing there, silently watching me.
He looked so out of place.
The room—bare, lifeless, a reflection of me—felt oddly different with him in it. He was silver and glistening, not too much to look unnatural, but just enough to feel…otherworldly. For a split second, my house felt less like an empty void.
The thought unsettled me.
Jerking my attention back to the coffee, I poured two cups, black and bitter—like my life—and handed one to him. He tilted his head slightly before taking it, his expression unreadable. I rounded the couch and sank into it, exhaling as the tension in my shoulders eased.
Cassiel, of course, sat right beside me.
I groaned, got up, and moved to the opposite chair, facing him.
"Stay put." I warned as he made a move to follow.
He paused, shoulders slightly dropping, and I ignored the pang of guilt that almost made me take it back. I focused on my coffee instead, taking a slow sip. Cassiel mirrored my movement, bringing the cup to his lips.
Then his face scrunched in pure disgust.
I huffed out a small laugh before I could stop myself, quickly schooling my expression.
'What am I laughing for? This is serious.'
Clearing my throat, I leaned forward. "Do you mind talking now?"
He placed his cup down and nodded.
"Good. So, uh… do you know what's going on? Those statues moved—hell, they attacked us. Unless that was just the alcohol messing with my head…"
But it wasn't.
My body still ached from the blows, my head still throbbed, and the propane tank still sat on my porch. Reality was slapping me in the face. Hard.
Cassiel's voice was soft when he finally spoke, but it cut through my spiraling thoughts.
"Those were demons."
Silence stretched between us.
And then I burst out laughing.
Loud, sharp laughter that only worsened my headache.
"Is that a joke? A prank? Demons don't exist."
"But they do," he said, his voice quiet but firm.
"They don't, okay?" I snapped, rubbing my temples.
Cassiel went quiet for a moment before asking, "Damian, do you believe in God?"
The shift in his tone sent a strange chill down my spine.
"I don't," I stated flatly.
He nodded like he already knew the answer.
The silence that followed was thick, neither of us knowing what to say next. I wanted to ask him what the hell he was even cosplaying as, but before I could, he spoke again.
"How's your leg?"
"Fine," I grunted.
"Your head?"
"Also fine."
"You should get some rest," he suggested.
I opened my mouth to argue, but the throbbing in my skull made me sigh instead.
"Yeah, you're right," I muttered, stretching my neck. "I'll shower first… then sleep."
He nodded again.
I hesitated before asking, "Would… those demon creatures"—I entertained the thought for a second—"come back?"
"No," Cassiel assured me. "I added protective salt at the front porch and entrance, so they won't."
He gave me a small smile, and I found myself nodding even though my brain was screaming at how absurd this all sounded. I had no energy to argue.
Turning on my heel, I went straight to my bedroom. The moment the cold water hit my skin, I let out a sigh, the tension washing away with it. The day's events replayed in my mind, but I shoved them aside, letting the sound of the water drown out my thoughts.
Once done, I threw on a grey sweatpants and a black T-shirt before stepping out.
Cassiel was still sitting there, his eyes lazily wandering over the living room. He looked so… still, like he didn't belong in something as mundane as a couch in a rundown apartment.
Clearing my throat, I got his attention. "You should shower too…" I hesitated, noticing how his gaze briefly flickered downward before meeting mine again.
The back of my neck warmed.
"…I left a shirt and sweatpants in the bathroom for you," I finished, ignoring the sudden awkwardness.
Cassiel stood, stepping closer, and my feet instinctively moved back. I turned quickly, leading him toward the bathroom without another word.
Back in the living room, I grabbed a rag and started cleaning the couch we'd been sitting on, my mind racing.
'What is wrong with me? Why am I reacting like this?'
Finishing up, I took a Tylenol and downed it with water. By the time Cassiel returned, his silver hair was damp, strands clinging to his face. The reflection of the light made his hair shimmer faintly, his skin practically glowing.
And he was wearing my clothes.
The pale blue shirt and grey sweatpants fit him loosely, but somehow, he looked even more ethereal.
I swallowed hard.
"Well, uh… you can sleep in the guest bedroom," I muttered, nodding toward the opposite door.
We kind of look like a couple wearing matching sweatpants.
My ears burned.
"Goodnight," I rushed out, locking my bedroom door the second I stepped inside.
'What the hell was that, Damian!?'
Shoving the thought into the deepest pit of my mind, I collapsed onto the bed. Sleep took me almost instantly.