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Title: Last Waltz
Wordcount: 896 by this count
What: Meph/Yukio. I'm surprised I made it work.
Status: WIP
Notes: Why is this a thing how did this happen
A gramophone played in the distance of the dimly lit room as he entered. Yukio chalked this up to their principal’s little eccentricities, one of those things that was so distinctly him and inexplicable and absurd all at once. Sir Pheles after all was a collection of quirks and inexplicabilities, one of them being him calling at ten in the evening and asking the boy if he would very kindly drop by his office if his classes were done for the night thank you very much. Of course, who was the young exorcist to say no? So he stood there, considering both the demon who sat at his desk with his fingers pressed together and the music from the gramophone as it played on.
Neither spoke a word as he entered. He had at least expected a more than enthusiastic greeting given the demon’s tone when he called. Nothing came. So he shut the door behind him. The click of the door sounded far more ominous than it did the nights previous when he was made to give his report.
“You sent for me, sir?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Schadenfreude!” Came the more-than-eager response.
“Pardon?”
“Schadenfreude,” Mephisto repeated, less fervor and more reflection this time around. “The act of deriving pleasure from another’s pain. A curious little term I picked up from days gone by.”
“I’m not sure what this has to do with me—“
“Ah, but it has everything to do with you, Mister Okumura.” The demon continued as he rose and circled around his chair. “Yukio.” He corrected himself after a moment.
You make it easy to love you and hate you
there's a huge 500 word gap here bear with me
Yukio hated that look in Mephisto’s eyes. It was the look that said he knew more than he was letting on. Principal he may be of True Cross Academy, he was still a demon. Any exorcist would be a fool to trust one outright. But his father trusted this demon in particular, trusted him enough to ask him to look after the two of them in the event of his death. Shiro was no fool. Surely there was a reason for him to trust those eyes, trust the way they seemed to seek out the very depths of his soul no matter how unsettling. Trust meant not drawing away in the measure of this waltz, meant not glancing aside as skillful fingers tipped his chin up to meet his gaze, meant not showing an ounce of fear. Trust was a difficult thing to present to a demon.
Another you and me
“Another revolutionary heavenly romance, mein schatzi.” He thought he heard the demon murmur against the shell of his ear which pulled him from his musings. At that, the boy jerked and placed a hand on that arm around his waist to still any movement. Without a second more, he pulled away and adjusted his glasses almost hastily. As much as he tried to avoid it, there was no denying the look of noticeable amusement in Mephisto’s eyes at his reaction. It was almost as if he’d whispered those cryptic words just to bring it out. But who did he mean? His father? Them? No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t dare think of it as them.
As soon as his breathing calmed, he gave a quick shake of his head to clear it from the heady feeling before glancing aside. “If that will be all, I should go. It’s getting late and I still have an early morning class.” He finally said, a hand moving up to straighten his tie.
“Of course.” The demon replied, leaning against the edge of his desk once more. “I’ll call if I find myself in need of anything more.”
He seemed to stiffen at those words. However, his resolve remained and he delivered a curt bow before he turned (Hesitantly at that, Mephisto noted, judging by the way the boy seemed to pause a moment before turning on his heel) and left. Yukio shut the door behind him without another word, leaving the demon in the silence of his office and the still-playing gramophone.
“it’s almost as if you never died, Shiro. I do hope you’ll forgive the comparison.” He chuckled softly as he returned to his seat and swiveled the chair to face the open window. “He reminds me of you at that age: just as delectably intriguing but with his own flair, of course.”
He’d be back. Somehow, he knew he would be back without being summoned be it the next night or the night after. Yukio had done well in following in Shiro’s footsteps. Hopefully a taste for the forbidden would be one more thing he was going to inherit. If the way his breath hitched and his cheeks flushed were any indication, it would be only a matter of time until he was back. It was only the beginning. An exorcist never opened his heart lest a demon take hold of it. Confusion, frustration, tension, these things were delicious. Yet accidents did happen.
Wordcount: 896 by this count
What: Meph/Yukio. I'm surprised I made it work.
Status: WIP
Notes: Why is this a thing how did this happen
A gramophone played in the distance of the dimly lit room as he entered. Yukio chalked this up to their principal’s little eccentricities, one of those things that was so distinctly him and inexplicable and absurd all at once. Sir Pheles after all was a collection of quirks and inexplicabilities, one of them being him calling at ten in the evening and asking the boy if he would very kindly drop by his office if his classes were done for the night thank you very much. Of course, who was the young exorcist to say no? So he stood there, considering both the demon who sat at his desk with his fingers pressed together and the music from the gramophone as it played on.
Neither spoke a word as he entered. He had at least expected a more than enthusiastic greeting given the demon’s tone when he called. Nothing came. So he shut the door behind him. The click of the door sounded far more ominous than it did the nights previous when he was made to give his report.
“You sent for me, sir?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Schadenfreude!” Came the more-than-eager response.
“Pardon?”
“Schadenfreude,” Mephisto repeated, less fervor and more reflection this time around. “The act of deriving pleasure from another’s pain. A curious little term I picked up from days gone by.”
“I’m not sure what this has to do with me—“
“Ah, but it has everything to do with you, Mister Okumura.” The demon continued as he rose and circled around his chair. “Yukio.” He corrected himself after a moment.
You make it easy to love you and hate you
Yukio hated that look in Mephisto’s eyes. It was the look that said he knew more than he was letting on. Principal he may be of True Cross Academy, he was still a demon. Any exorcist would be a fool to trust one outright. But his father trusted this demon in particular, trusted him enough to ask him to look after the two of them in the event of his death. Shiro was no fool. Surely there was a reason for him to trust those eyes, trust the way they seemed to seek out the very depths of his soul no matter how unsettling. Trust meant not drawing away in the measure of this waltz, meant not glancing aside as skillful fingers tipped his chin up to meet his gaze, meant not showing an ounce of fear. Trust was a difficult thing to present to a demon.
Another you and me
“Another revolutionary heavenly romance, mein schatzi.” He thought he heard the demon murmur against the shell of his ear which pulled him from his musings. At that, the boy jerked and placed a hand on that arm around his waist to still any movement. Without a second more, he pulled away and adjusted his glasses almost hastily. As much as he tried to avoid it, there was no denying the look of noticeable amusement in Mephisto’s eyes at his reaction. It was almost as if he’d whispered those cryptic words just to bring it out. But who did he mean? His father? Them? No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t dare think of it as them.
As soon as his breathing calmed, he gave a quick shake of his head to clear it from the heady feeling before glancing aside. “If that will be all, I should go. It’s getting late and I still have an early morning class.” He finally said, a hand moving up to straighten his tie.
“Of course.” The demon replied, leaning against the edge of his desk once more. “I’ll call if I find myself in need of anything more.”
He seemed to stiffen at those words. However, his resolve remained and he delivered a curt bow before he turned (Hesitantly at that, Mephisto noted, judging by the way the boy seemed to pause a moment before turning on his heel) and left. Yukio shut the door behind him without another word, leaving the demon in the silence of his office and the still-playing gramophone.
“it’s almost as if you never died, Shiro. I do hope you’ll forgive the comparison.” He chuckled softly as he returned to his seat and swiveled the chair to face the open window. “He reminds me of you at that age: just as delectably intriguing but with his own flair, of course.”
He’d be back. Somehow, he knew he would be back without being summoned be it the next night or the night after. Yukio had done well in following in Shiro’s footsteps. Hopefully a taste for the forbidden would be one more thing he was going to inherit. If the way his breath hitched and his cheeks flushed were any indication, it would be only a matter of time until he was back. It was only the beginning. An exorcist never opened his heart lest a demon take hold of it. Confusion, frustration, tension, these things were delicious. Yet accidents did happen.
