•cursing•

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS, ABRAXAS?!" The words ricocheted off the walls of the room and echoed down the apartment hall. A noise complaint was probably already being written. It was a mystery how the demon wasn't evicted yet.

The dining table was shoved to the floor as said man walked towards the other.

"What?" Abraxas growled, the noise spiking pain through his head. He was tired, physically and mentally. What? He might be an immortal being but even they get tired of living off of coffee. And the grave visit did nothing to help. It seemed that these guys came to put the last nail in the coffin.

"Who the fuck puts muffins in a freezer?!" The demon screamed at Abraxas. He had picked up a jar at the other's closeness, just waiting for a fight.

"Me, because they're my damn muffins." Abraxas rubbed a hand down his face before glaring, pain residing in front of his skull. "Got a problem with it?"

"Obviously." He switched the jar from his left hand to his right, just waiting. Tension swirled around the room and covered the two demons.

"Ciar! Abraxas! Stop acting as dogs before you become some!" A lady barked as she sat on the back of the couch.

Knowing better than to go against her, they both backed away. Ciar slowly lowered the glass jar. . . until he didn't. His hand hovered over the counter as his stupid lips stretched into a mischievous grin. His slender fingers turned the container as his dirty, broken fingernails scraped the surface of it.

Then he threw it. . . into the wall.

It shattered into millions of pieces as the noise of the shards hitting the floor filled the room. None of them flinched. It was an average Thursday night.

Groaning, Abraxas pinched his noses bridge as he felt a headache coming. "So I assume that you didn't come here just to destroy my apartment."

"Nope!" Popping the p, she hopped off the chair— tilting it over in the process but that's irrelevant. "Well, I didn't. Don't know about him though." Ciar snorted as he looked through the cabinets.

Ignoring the chaotic boy, Abraxas jumped onto the counter— where the jar was supposed to be instead of on the floor— and waited for her to start.

"First of all." She put up a finger. "You disappeared for three months without a reason." She then used that finger to point at him. "If you were doing something then that's different, but there was absolutely nothing from you. We thought that you were exorcized." Her other hand momentarily clenched at the end.

It was easy to see that her worry was no joke as her eyebrows knitted themself in concern. Her eyes scanned his body while awaiting an answer.

"Oh." He blinked before a smirk and faux confidence painted themselves onto his face. "You really thought that the 'Abraxas' could get exorcized?" He laughed. "By what? A human? You really need to work on your jokes, Arezo." And that did not go over well.

"Abraxas." She walked forward in a tempestuous manner and grabbed onto his T-shirt. "This is not a joke." Her words were sharp, almost as sharp as the black claw-like nails that were digging into his chest. Despite her obvious anger, he waved her off.

"Fine fine, so what was your second reason?" He wanted to change the subject as fast as possible, that much was clear. She looked deep into his eyes— as if looking for something — before backing off and taking a breath. 

"I just came to check on you. But I've realized, where is your coat?"

Shit

"You never leave without it." She pointed out. It was true, he loved them from the moment they were released to the common public as fashion. He'd kill a man over it, he has before and he'll do it again.

"I lost it," He blurted out. And she did not believe that for a second.

"Really? I'd expect you to be better at lying than this."

"I thought so too." He scratched the back of his neck. Laughing, she hopped onto the counter beside him.

"But really, tell me." She bumped their shoulders together. And this is where he was stuck.

Because he could tell her and everything would be fine or she could go looking for the poor person. And he'd rather for them to not die. But then again she might find them even if he didn't tell her— she always had a knack for that— and kill them just because he kept it a secret.

So seeing that he was screwed either way, he took a deep breath. If she did decide to go murder happy. . .he'd burn that bridge when he got to it.

"I. . . I gave it away." The moment her eyes widened with glee was when he realised that he made a terrible mistake. A shit-eating grin crawled onto her face as she basically began to vibrate.

"Did you-" She leaned onto him, only to have him slap a hand over her mouth.

"No! Of course not." His face burned a bright red. Yanking off his hand, she laughed.

"I would believe you if you didn't blush. So," Stretching the word. "Was it a girl or a boy?" Abraxas huffed as he crossed his arm, placing them on Arezo.

"I didn't do anything! Besides, that's more a you department." He mumbled. She playfully pushed him.

"Fine, so let's say that you didn't do anything. Was it a girl or a boy?" He remained quiet, gaining a nudge.

To be honest, the demon had no idea. While he didn't like assuming, one's appearance usually leaned to their gender— and the mysterious Charlie gave signs for everything and nothing.

They dressed as a female. . . to a degree. Yet had a very androgynous face and figure. And was really pale—pale enough to be an albino— with pure white hair. Long story short, he was confused and clueless.

"I have. . . no idea." He admitted.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"You absolute dumbass. How can you fu-"

"I didn't!" He hissed, interrupting her. Arezo was insufferable at times. "If you saw them, you'd be as clueless as I am." Now this got her attention.

"I can see them?" She asked, clearly excited. Only to get a hand in her face and a stern no. "Whaaaat?! Why not?"

"You'll scare them off if I ever see them again." He groaned, he was really tired at this point— the humming in his ears doing no favours. Still not dropping the topic, Arezo showered him in questions so plentiful that he wasn't even able to give an answer for any of them.

Her words piled against his eardrums and drilled into his brain, building and building on his headache. The humming turned to popping. Like bubble wrap too close to your ear. And it just popped over and over and over. His skull pained with every shake of his arm. The hurt intensifying as he forced his jaw shut to trap the concentrated venom that threatened to spew from his lips.

Vile thoughts begged to be words. To escape the confines of his mind and reveal his anger to all. But he didn't want to. He really didn't—

Crash!

Their heads snapped over to the location of the sound and culprit.

"Oops?" Ciar then laughed. "Who am I kidding? I'm not sorry—" Abraxas hopped off the counter and grabbed onto his arm, nails creating crescent-like marks on his arm.

"Get. Out." His voice turned low, the words punctuated with a growl at the end. He turned to Arezo. "Both of you." She opened her mouth to argue but shut it when she saw the cold, hard glare he sent, she thought otherwise. Knowing that Abraxas' tipping point was drawing near, the two demons wordlessly began to leave.

With the door shut and him alone, exhaustion fell onto him like an anvil. With half-shut eyes from the abrupt tiredness, he looked around the room. The floor was littered with broken glass, overturned furniture and Ciar's forgotten sock— aka stuff that should be fixed or removed for safety reasons. But he was tired so it didn't matter.

Nothing like being thousands of years old yet still not being able to work as a functional adult.

Releasing a hissed sigh, he forced his heaving shoulders and drumming heart to lessen. To force the drumming session in his ears to seize. To tighten his grip on his slowly escaping rage. It was hard. To not throw something against the wall. To not just say damn it all and set fire to the room. To not just run away from all his problems, as if he wasn't the main one. 

It was just. . . hard.

But he did, he always did. With eyes no longer blazing with poorly kept anger, he scanned the room again. Only this time, he locked onto the digital clock that had been replaced too many times to count.

11: 27 p.m.

Once again sighing, he halfheartedly took off his shoes and walked over to the light switch, then making his way to his bedroom. It was probably too late to bathe and besides, he could always do that in the morning. Flopping onto his bed, he pulled his limbs closer to his torso as he began his nightly battle.

By midnight, his body was curled into a ball. One would think it was a restful slumber if it wasn't for his hands constantly gripping at his ears— attempting to cover them from faux screams. Though the room was silent, the pain-filled wailing scrapped at the mind as fire-filled, scratched and burned the lining of his veins.

The hardest part was that it was no wild scenario his twisted imagination created, it was nothing more than a memory. A memory he was forced to relive over and over and over and over and over. 

The devil rests for no one after all.