A LONELY DEMON — CHAPTER #67 — A LONELY HUMAN

"Why are you here?"

"Because you're here," Douma replied smoothly, his ever-present smile stretching across his lips like he had just uttered something profound. 

You deadpanned. "That doesn't make sense." 

"YOU make zero sense."

"..." 

Why.

Why did this always happen to you? 

Tonight was supposed to be just another mission—an ordinary hunt where you tracked, fought, and eliminated a demon. Simple. Routine. You had done this a hundred times before. And yet, just as you were about to strike the finishing blow, the demon's head suddenly went flying—severed in a clean, effortless swipe. 

The culprit?

None other than Douma,

standing there with his twin golden fans, blood splattered across his pristine attire as if it were nothing more than a decorative pattern. 

"You're welcome, by the way,"

"...I didn't ask for your help." 

"But you got it anyway! Lucky you~" he found your irritation amusing. 

"You have nothing better to do than stalk me?" 

He gasped theatrically, placing a hand over his chest as if you had wounded him. "Stalk? Such an ugly word. I prefer... accompanying. Yes! Keeping you company! After all, who knows what could happen if you were left all alone?~" 

Oh, for the love of— 

Your grip on your temporary sword tightened as you debated whether attacking him would be worth the effort. Probably not. Douma would just laugh it off, dodging at the last second with a infuriatingly lazy grace, like you were nothing more than a little plaything. 

Still, the idea was tempting. 

"You're staring," He teased, tapping his cheek with a finger. "Don't tell me you're enchanted by my beauty? Ah, I knew this day would come!" He clasped his hands together, beaming. "I accept your love, (Y/N)! No need to be shy—" 

Your sword was out in an instant, the tip stopping just a hair's breadth from his throat. "Finish that sentence, and I'll carve your stupid grin right off your face." 

He blinked down at the blade, then back up at you. For a moment, you thought he might actually take you seriously—just for once in his obnoxious existence. 

Then he giggled. "Ooooh, so feisty! I do love a little passion in my relationships." 

You gritted your teeth and withdrew your sword before you lost the last shred of patience you had left. Turning on your heel, you stormed off into the forest, leaving Douma behind with the remains of what should have been your kill. 

"Running away? How cruel, leaving me all alone in the dark~ What if I get lost?" 

"You don't get lost,"

"I could! Wouldn't you feel bad if something happened to me?" 

"No?" You scoffed. "You're a demon. Nothing's going to happen to you." 

"You never know," he mused, suddenly appearing at your side as if he had been walking there the entire time. He leaned in slightly, his unsettlingly bright eyes watching your every move. "What if I tripped and fell into your arms? Oh! What if I suddenly had a tragic accident and needed mouth-to-mouth?" 

"Then I'd let you choke,"

He laughed, twirling one of his fans between his fingers. "You wound me, truly." 

"Not yet, but I'm considering it,"

Douma walked beside you, the sound of his geta clacking softly against the dirt path. You could feel his gaze lingering on you, even when you weren't looking at him.

"You don't have to come with me, you know," you muttered, keeping your eyes forward. 

"Why wouldn't I? It's so much fun being with you!" 

"Why do you want to be with me?" 

Douma tilted his head. "Because you're interesting, of course! So unpredictable, so lively~ I never know what you'll do next." He chuckled. "And really, it's adorable when you're irritated." 

"Great. So I'm your personal jester now," you muttered dryly. 

"Not just a jester!" He clasped his hands together, grinning. "You're my favorite little source of entertainment for the time being~" 

You rolled your eyes, deciding you were done with this conversation. "If you really want to do something useful, leave me alone and I don't know, go fetch Akaza instead." 

At that, Douma let out an exaggerated gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "Oh my! Asking for another man right in front of me? How scandalous!"

"Scandalous, my ass," you muttered. "Just go." 

Douma sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Alas, my dear, he's busy at the moment. Always so focused on his little 'strength is everything' nonsense. Such a bore." He turned to you, his smile widening. "But me? I actually make time for you. Doesn't that make me the better choice?" 

"I don't prefer either of you," you stated flatly. 

Douma came to a sudden stop. 

You barely had time to react before he turned to face you fully. Then, with a tilt of his head, he hummed, "Mmmm... really?"

You frowned. "What?" 

"If you say you don't prefer either of us," His lips curled into a knowing, mischievous smile. "Then—" He took a step forward, closing the space between you ever so slightly. "Would you kiss me like you did with him?" 

...

Your entire body locked up. 

A jolt of shock shot through you, leaving you momentarily speechless. "WH—WHAT!?" you choked, stumbling back a step as heat immediately rushed to your face. 

Douma giggled, clearly delighted by your reaction. "Oh my~ Did I strike a nerve?" 

Your pulse thundered in your ears, your mind scrambling to process what he had just said. "Why the hell would you say that!?"

He merely shrugged, twirling his closed fan between his fingers. "Because I'm not stupid," His voice dropped slightly, laced with that eerie, almost taunting creepiness. Then, leaning in just a little closer, he whispered, "I know you two were making out that night during the fireworks." 

Your breath hitched and your entire body went rigid. 

There was no way.

No way.

Douma let out a soft chuckle, reading every flicker of emotion on your face with infuriating ease. "Ohhh, don't look so surprised," he purred. "Did you really think you could hide something like that from me?" He tapped a gloved finger against his temple. "I see everything~" 

You wanted to drop dead on the spot. Maybe if you stood still enough, the ground would swallow you whole and spare you from this absolute humiliation.

When that didn't happen, you groaned loudly and buried your burning face in your hands. "I hate you."

"No you don't~" he chimed effortlessly. 

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to calm down despite the heat crawling up your neck. "Why do you even care?"

Douma blinked, caught off guard for the first time. 

"You don't actually feel anything, right?" you pressed, narrowing your eyes. "So why does it matter?" 

For once, he didn't respond immediately. 

He tapped his chin, as if mulling over your words. Then, rather than answering, he tilted his head at you, his usual playful grin returning. "Mmm... good question." His eyes glinted with intrigue. "But let me ask you something first." 

He stepped forward again. This time, you refused to back away, standing your ground even as your pulse quickened. 

"...What's so special about kissing?" he asked, his voice softer, lower, yet somehow more intense. "Why does everyone get so flustered over something so simple? It's just pressing lips together, isn't it?" 

You hesitated. That... was actually an honest question. 

"I mean, uh, it's not just that," you replied, wary of where this was going. "Kissing someone you like is... different. It's a way to feel close to them." 

Douma hummed thoughtfully, absorbing your words like a curious child. "Hmm... I see, I see! So when you kissed Akaza, you wanted to feel close to him?"

"NO! HE KISSED ME! NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND!"

"Eh, tomato tomatoh, it's the same thing!"

"It's not!"

That was all the confirmation he needed. His grin stretched wider, and before you could react, he lifted his finger beneath your chin, tilting your face slightly upward. 

"Then if I kissed you now..." he murmured, voice teasingly soft. "Would I feel something too?"

Your breath caught. 

He wasn't actually going to— 

You slapped his hand away, stepping back with a sharp glare. "Don't even think about it."

Douma blinked, then giggled, not the least bit offended. "Ooooh, you're so much fun~ No wonder Lord Muzan likes you." 

You didn't even know why you were still having this conversation with him. 

Somewhere along the way, you had sort of... given up on trying to make Douma leave you alone. It wasn't that you wanted him around—because you didn't—but you had come to accept that, no matter how much you tried, he would always find a way to stick to you like a stubborn piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe. 

Walking side by side with Douma, of all people (demons), discussing things you had no business discussing with him. 

And for some reason... you weren't even surprised anymore. 

"You know, I really don't get it." Douma twirled his closed fan between his fingers. "People go crazy over love—abandon their families, fight wars, write terribly cheesy poetry—" He let out a playful shudder. "Blegh! And for what? A silly little feeling?" 

You gave him a sideways glance, already regretting your life choices. "Do I even want to know where you're going with this?" 

Douma ignored your unenthusiastic tone and leaned in just slightly, grinning. "I just wanna understand! You humans act like love is this big amazing thing, but no one can even explain it properly." He tapped his temple. "It's all so illogical!" 

You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Of course it's illogical. It's love." 

"Ohhh, so it just makes you stupid?"

"...Honestly? Yeah... Love is dumb." 

Douma laughed, clearly entertained. "So you're saying that all those sappy lovebirds running around, giving each other flowers and writing tear-filled confessions, are just dumb?" 

"Yes,"

"Oh nooo, are you heartless?" 

"Says you," you shot back. 

He giggled. "Touché~" 

You sighed, shaking your head. "Look, it's not just a feeling. It's..." You hesitated, trying to find the right words. "It's complicated. It's something that happens to you, whether you like it or not." 

Douma hummed, considering that. "So it's like getting hit by a horse." 

"...I'm sorry, what?" 

"Love," he said, as if it were obvious. "It just hits you, right? Like—bam! And suddenly you're acting all weird, turning red, stuttering like an idiot. Just like if you got hit by a really fast-moving horse." 

"The fuck?" You stared at him. "That is the worst analogy I've ever heard in my life." 

"Ohhh, come on, it makes perfect sense!" he insisted, waving a hand. "Both are painful, both leave you dizzy, and both can ruin your life~" 

"...Okay, maybe that last part isn't completely wrong," you admitted, crossing your arms. "But love isn't always painful." 

Douma tilted his head. "Isn't it, though? From what I've seen, people cry over love all the time." 

You groaned. "Yes, but that's only one part of it. Love also makes people happy. It gives them a reason to live." 

Douma blinked at you, then smiled in amusement. "Oho~? And what exactly is that reason?" 

"...It's different for everyone. It's about being close to someone in a way no one else is. It's having someone who gets you, who makes you feel safe, who—" 

"Sounds like a pet to me," he interrupted cheerfully. 

You gawked at him. "What is wrong with you!?"

"What!?" He spread his arms innocently. "You described it perfectly! Loyal, comforting, always there—sounds just like a dog!" 

You groaned loudly, rubbing your face. "I cannot with you right now." 

Douma chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "But really, what's the point? Love just makes people weak, doesn't it?" 

You frowned slightly. "Not always." 

"Ohhh? Are you sure?" His voice turned sing-song. "After all, if you care about someone, it makes you vulnerable." He poked your forehead playfully. "Isn't that dangerous~?" 

You batted his hand away with a scowl. "You say that like caring about people is a bad thing." 

Douma laughed, twirling around like he was having the time of his life. "Ohhh, my dear, I'm just curious! I've never felt love, so I have to ask—what's it like?" 

You exhaled, looking away. "...It's warm." 

Douma blinked, surprised by your answer. 

You continued. "It's... safe. It makes you feel like, no matter what happens, someone will always be there for you. Like you're not alone in the world." 

Douma tilted his head, watching you with a strange expression. "Hmm... I see." He tapped his chin. "So that's why people cling to it so much." 

You nodded. "...Yeah. That's why." 

He stopped twirling his fan. "Are you in love with someone?"

You blinked at him, unimpressed. "Nah." 

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Then why do you know so much?" 

You sighed, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Because love isn't just romantic. There are different types." 

Douma stared at you, expression blank. "What." 

"Yup," you continued, stretching your arms behind your head. "There's platonic love, familial love—and love isn't even limited to people. You can love things you enjoy doing, or things you have a passion for." You glanced at him with a dry smirk. "For example, you love eating women. That counts." 

Douma gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if you had just revealed the secrets of the universe. "Wow! I did not know such a thing! That actually makes sense!" 

You rolled your eyes. "Glad you're finally catching up." 

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "So what else do I love, then?" 

You shrugged. "You tell me." 

He perked up, his excitement bubbling over. "Well! I love talking! And laughing! And having fun! And eating humans!"

"Yup. That's love too." 

"Oh! And I love making new companions! I love discovering new things! Ohhh, and I really love when people react when I'm killing them—it's so entertaining!" 

You nodded. "All of that? Still love." 

Douma suddenly paused, his fan resting against his lips. "Then, does that mean I love Akaza? Kokushibo? Daki? All my dear fellow demon partners?" 

You glanced at him, studying his face. There was something strangely genuine about the way he asked, as if this was the first time he was truly thinking about it. 

You gave him a small shrug. "I guess. That counts too." 

Douma's eyes widened ever so slightly. 

"Love is basically just... a deep connection," you explained, folding your arms. "It's something that ties you to another person, or thing, or even a concept. It's when something or someone matters to you. When their existence makes your life different—sometimes better, sometimes worse, but either way, they affect you. That's why there are different kinds of love. You can love a sibling differently than a friend. You can love a passion differently than a person. But in the end, it's all still love." 

He wasn't giggling. He wasn't teasing. 

His rainbow colored eyes, usually filled with mischief and amusement, were now wide with something almost resembling awe. Like he had just discovered something entirely new—something he never even considered before. 

Slowly, he tilted his head, his fan lowering slightly from his lips. 

"Huh." 

That was all he said. 

Just that one, simple sound—yet there was a weight to it, like something inside his mind was shifting, unraveling, trying to piece itself together. 

You had no idea what was going on inside his head. 

Douma tapped his chin, his expression unusually contemplative. He actually seemed to be putting some thought into what you had explained. 

"I think... I might understand a little," he mused. Douma tapped his chin, his usual amused expression softening slightly.

You exhaled sharply, barely resisting the urge to groan. This guy loved running in circles, avoiding any direct conclusions like it was some kind of game. "So?" you pressed, crossing your arms. "What's your conclusion?" 

His eyes shimmered like a child who had just discovered something new and exciting. His lips stretched into a delighted smile, his fingers curling in anticipation as he leaned just slightly closer to you. 

"It's in regard to my feelings toward you!" he announced with theatric enthusiasm, pausing as if to build suspense. Then, he placed a hand over his chest, exuding exaggerated sincerity. "I believe it's love, yipee!"

...

Silence. 

Pure.

Deafening.

Silence. 

The air between you both was still. 

"Huh." 

"Is there something wrong?" he asked, tilting his head, his usual playful smile unwavering. "I wonder why you look so displeased! Did I offend you? You shouldn't feel offended! More like honored!" 

You inhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your forehead as a deep sense of exhaustion settled in your bones. "Wait. Wait. You? In love? With me? HOE, we have interacted like four chapters—five at most! And most of those times, you were either trying to eat me, torment me for fun, or just being a general pain in my ass!" 

Douma blinked at you, feigning an innocent expression. His long lashes fluttered slightly as his multicolored eyes glistened under the moonlight. At this point, you were convinced he was just showing off. "Hehe, does the content of our interactions matter?" he asked, tilting his head. 

"Uh, yeah?!" You scoffed, throwing your hands up in disbelief. "You literally have no reason to feel any type of way about me." 

"But I do!" he countered cheerfully, clasping his hands together. "I think I'm in love!" 

A dry laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "No, you're not. You're just interested in me, that's all. Maybe fascinated at best." 

He gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his mouth. "But how can you be so sure?" His tone was almost wounded, though you knew better than to believe it was genuine. 

You gave him a look. "Because I just know. You're too... you to be in love." 

"But I am absolutely convinced that what I'm feeling is love!" he insisted, puffing out his cheeks like a petulant child. 

You groaned and waved a hand. "Fine. Explain, then. I'll humor you." 

His expression brightened instantly, as if you had just given him permission to do his favorite thing in the world—talk. 

"Okay! My chest feels light when my thoughts wander to you. Ever since I first met you, you've been in my mind quite often! And the idea of you staying by my side pleases me greatly!" he declared, looking at you expectantly. "So? What is it that I'm feeling if it's not love?" 

You let out another deep, suffering sigh. Your brain needed a second to process everything he had just said.

You had to consider this from an outsider's perspective, treating Douma like the character you first knew of. You were analyzing him instead of a headache you were suffering through. You sifted through everything you knew about him—his personality, his behavior, his way of thinking, his utter lack of genuine emotional depth—

Then it clicked. 

Oh. Okay. Now his behavior made sense. 

Lowering your hand, you straightened up and looked him dead in the eyes. "Alright, Douma. I have a question for you." 

His brows lifted curiously. "Oh? What is it?" 

"If it were between you and me—let's think that your dear Lord Muzan said that one of us had to die—who would you save?" 

Douma didn't even hesitate. Not a single second passed before he burst into an airy, amused laugh. "Pfft—Myself, obviously! Why?" 

"..." 

"..." 

You stared at him. 

He stared at you. 

Your eye twitched. "...Not even a second thought about me?" 

"Haha! Why should I?" he replied, his voice completely genuine, as if your question was ridiculous. "It's only logical to prioritize myself." He tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. "Though, I suppose it would be a shame if you died. I think I'd feel a little saddened." 

BITCHASS.

You massaged your temples, exhaling slowly to calm yourself down. "Then there's your answer. You don't love me. Forget about those thoughts." 

Douma blinked, processing your words. Then, much to your horror, his lips stretched into an even wider grin, his expression lighting up with delight. 

"Ah! I see! You're saying that love requires self-sacrifice!!" 

You let out a slow, exhausted sigh. "That is... not exactly the point."

Douma giggled, rocking back and forth slightly on his heels. "Oh my, what an interesting lesson! I wonder, though—if I continue to feel this way about you, will it evolve into something more genuine?" 

You fixed him with a deadpan stare. "Let's not find out." 

"Mhm..." Douma's ever-present smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. It was the briefest lapse, almost imperceptible, but you saw it. His lips still stretched into that usual grin, but his eyes—those eerily mesmerizing rainbow-colored eyes—had sharpened. There was something behind them, something that wasn't just amusement. "You think I'm wrong," he stated. His voice wasn't teasing or playful. It was quiet. Almost serious. 

You folded your arms and shot him a look. "Because you are." 

That odd glint in his eyes flickered again. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, his expression brightened. "No, no, no, I don't think so!" he chimed, shaking his head dramatically. "You see, I am absolutely certain that I am in love with you! It's undeniable! And if you don't believe me—" He pointed a delicate, clawed finger at you. "I shall prove it!" 

You let out an exhausted sigh. "Oh, this is gonna be fun." 

Douma straightened his posture as if preparing for a speech. "First of all!" he announced, raising a finger. "I think about you all the time!" 

You gave him a deadpan look. "Yeah, like an unsolved puzzle that pisses you off because you can't figure out why I act the way I do." 

His smile twitched slightly. "O-Oh? But—but also, when I see you, I feel something special!" 

You tilted your head. "Is that 'something special' the burning desire to mess with me?" 

"... No?" 

You just stared at him. 

He giggled, tapping his chin. "Okay, maybe a little! But also—" He waved his hands, as if trying to grab something from the air. "I feel like I want to keep you around forever! That must mean something, right?" 

You raised an eyebrow. "Douma, you literally collect humans like they're decorative ornaments. That's not exactly helping your case." 

He pouted, tapping his cheek in thought. "Hmm... Okay, what about this? My chest feels light, and when we talk, I feel all warm inside!" 

You groaned loudly, rubbing your face. "That's because you're entertained! You find me interesting! This isn't love, it's just you enjoying the fact that I don't blindly worship you like your dumbass followers!" 

Douma blinked. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to argue, but... nothing came out. He just stared. 

That was... unsettling. 

You folded your arms, narrowing your eyes. "Douma. Stop it. Who are you trying to convince? Me... or yourself? If you can't figure yourself out, then what makes you think that I can? This is dumb. Disappear from my sight and go fall in love with someone else—or another demon, whatever. I don't care." 

Still, no response. 

He just kept looking at you, his smile still plastered on, but his eyes... 

You couldn't read him. 

Was he confused?

Annoyed?

He clapped his hands together. His usual, exaggerated grin returned in full force. "Ah! What a delightful conversation! You always make things so fun, (Y/N)!" 

You exhaled sharply. "Yay, lucky me." 

"Speaking of fun!" he continued, completely unfazed. "Since we're having such an interesting chat, why don't you come visit my Paradise Faith?" 

You blinked. "Excuse me?" 

"My beloved temple, of course!" He pressed his hands together in excitement. "My dear little followers would be thrilled to meet you! It would be such a lovely experience! I could give you a grand tour!" 

You stared at him, trying to gauge if this was another trick. Normally, you'd dismiss this as more of his nonsense, but... 

Honestly? You kind of wanted to see it. 

It wasn't like you were in any actual danger. Thanks to Muzan's mark on you, Douma couldn't kill you even if he wanted to. And, let's be real, the idea of seeing his cult firsthand was kind of intriguing. 

You glanced at him warily. "You're not gonna try anything weird, are you?" 

"Me? Weird? Oh, (Y/N), how could you wound me so?" 

You rolled your eyes. "That's not a no." 

"Hehe! But you have my word! I won't do anything... strange." He paused. "Well, nothing too strange." 

That was probably the best you were going to get. 

"...Fine. I'll check it out." 

Douma's grin widened, his eyes practically sparkling with excitement. "Oh, how thrilling! I can't wait to show you around!" 

Yeah. 

Thrilling. 

That was totally the right word for this.

——————————————————————————————

The journey to his cult's temple was oddly peaceful—too peaceful, really. Douma had led the way with his usual carefree steps, humming a cheerful tune while you followed beside him. His golden fan swayed in his hand as he spoke, occasionally glancing at you with an almost giddy expression. 

"You know, I'm quite flattered that you agreed to come, (Y/N)," he mused, flashing a grin. "Not many get the privilege of entering my humble paradise." 

"Humble?" You gave him a skeptical look. "Your temple literally has golden pillars." 

"Hehehe! You noticed!" He beamed, unbothered by the sarcasm. 

To be fair, you were genuinely interested. His "paradise" had been shown so briefly in the manga that you never really got to appreciate its full scale. Now, standing before it, you had to admit—it was grand. Towering structures with intricate carvings, draped in silks of red and gold. The place radiated an almost ethereal glow, lanterns casting a warm hue along the walls. If you didn't know any better, you'd almost believe this was truly a sacred, peaceful place rather than the den of a cannibalistic cult leader. 

As soon as you both stepped inside, murmurs filled the air. 

A group of his followers immediately gathered, their expressions shifting from reverence to outright shock upon seeing you at his side. 

"Lord Douma!" one of them called out, bowing deeply. "Welcome back! You—oh!" Their eyes landed on you, widening. "Who is this?" 

You opened your mouth to introduce yourself, but Douma, of course, beat you to it. 

"Oh my, haven't I told you all about her already?" he teased, twirling his fan dramatically. "This is the wonderful (Y/N) I always ramble about!" 

A ripple of excitement went through the group. Some gasped, others whispered among themselves, eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

"So it's true! You really exist!" 

"We've heard so much about you!" 

"It's an honor to meet you!" 

You blinked, completely taken aback by the warm reception. "Uh—thanks? I guess?" 

Before you could process it further, a few of them hurriedly presented trays of food and drinks, bowing as they held them out. 

"Please, (Y/N), have some of our finest delicacies!" 

"This tea is brewed specially for honored guests!" 

You froze. The overwhelming attention made your face heat up. "Oh—uh, no thanks. I'm good." You lifted your hands in refusal, stepping back slightly. "Really, I don't need anything." 

"Oh, but we insist!" 

"Yeah, no." You shook your head firmly. "I appreciate it, but I don't—" 

"Oh, come now, (Y/N)!" Douma chimed, giving you a playful nudge. "Don't be rude! Accept their kindness—"

You shot him a glare. "I said no." 

For a moment, he just stared at you, then let out a dramatic sigh. "Ah, you're so stubborn! Fine, fine, if you won't accept, then away you go, everyone!" He waved his fan dismissively. "Shoo! Off you go now!" 

And just like that, the followers obeyed instantly, stepping back with deep bows before dispersing. 

You exhaled in relief, shaking your head. "Geez." 

"Hehe! You're quite the modest one," Douma chuckled. "How adorable," 

Ignoring that, you followed him further inside until you arrived at a large, ornately decorated door. He slid it open, stepping aside with a dramatic bow. "Welcome to my private quarters~" 

You stepped inside, glancing around curiously. 

The room was grand—larger than you expected. The walls were adorned with murals, depictions of serene landscapes and celestial motifs. Silken cushions and plush futons were scattered across the floor, and in the center, a small golden table sat, decorated with incense burners emitting a faint, calming fragrance. At the far end of the room was a grand throne-like seat, carved intricately with floral and dragon designs. 

So this was his personal space. 

You weren't sure if this had ever been shown in the manga, but it certainly fit him. Lavish, over-the-top, and undeniably extravagant. 

"Damn," you muttered. "You really live like this?" 

Douma giggled. "Do you like it?" He gestured around the room, watching you expectantly. 

You shrugged, taking a seat on one of the cushions. "I mean, it's nice, I guess. But I'm not exactly a fan of your whole cult thing." 

He plopped down across from you, resting his chin in his hands. "Aww, that's a shame! Wouldn't you like to be a part of it?" 

Your response was immediate. "Not a chance."

He let out an exaggerated laugh, as if he had expected that. "Oh, (Y/N), you're truly one of a kind! Most humans would kill for a spot in my paradise~" 

"Yeah, well, I'm not 'most humans.'" 

He sighed, but the grin never left his face. "That's exactly why you're so fascinating." He leaned in slightly, tilting his head. "You know, out of all the humans I've ever come across, I just can't seem to dislike you. Isn't that odd?" 

You arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah. You and your weird fascinations." 

He giggled, waving a hand. "Oh, details, details~ But truly! I find you so interesting, (Y/N)! And I just can't put my finger on why~" 

Douma watched you—no, he studied you as you hummed absentmindedly. A simple tune, yet it held his attention like an intricate puzzle. 

"Hmh," he mused, tilting his head, the playful smirk never quite leaving his lips. 

You noticed his stare, the way he dissected your existence with that unsettling gaze. It wasn't admiration. It wasn't curiosity.

"You're analyzing me again," you muttered, arms crossing as you shifted uncomfortably. 

"Of course I am," he replied smoothly, resting his chin in his palm. "You're a peculiar thing, aren't you? From another world, carrying knowledge you shouldn't have. It's almost adorable how much you intrigue me." 

His words felt like a cage, a reminder that you didn't belong here, yet somehow, you did. 

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Ugh. Right. I keep forgetting you know about that stuff. It's weird." 

"Weird? Don't be!" Douma chuckled, his tone mockingly reassuring. "You're basically temporarily working with us, aren't you? A cute little stray playing house with the demons." 

"I'm not,"

He grinned wider, fangs peeking. "Tell that to Lord Muzan." 

... 

Your throat went dry. That was the problem, wasn't it?

Muzan.

His plans. His intentions. What exactly did he want from you? And more importantly—what were you going to do about it? If you made the wrong move, you could put everyone in danger— 

"You know, (Y/N)," Douma interrupted your spiraling thoughts. "I see you as you yourself." 

Your brows furrowed. "...What do you mean?" 

He looked thoughtful—seeing through you rather than at you. 

Douma's grin stretched wider, his fangs glinting under the dim light. He leaned in, his presence suffocating yet eerily inviting, like a silk thread tightening around your throat. His voice, smooth as honey yet dripping with venom, slithered into your ears. 

"Ah, (Y/N)... You're such a strange little thing, aren't you? The realization that you are... an anomaly." He chuckled, tilting his head. "A lost soul, drifting between worlds, caught between existence and something... lesser. Or maybe something greater? Who knows? Certainly not you, hahaha!" 

His fan flicked open with a snap, though he made no move to use it, simply holding it between his fingers like a priest holding scripture. His nails—painted and sharp—drummed lightly against the delicate frame. 

"You carry so much guilt. It's almost poetic." His voice dipped into something softer, almost whispery, almost sympathetic—almost. "The weight of responsibility crushing down on your fragile little shoulders... The endless cycle of doubt gnawing away at that lovely mind of yours. You think you need to do something, don't you? That you need to fix something. But tell me—how does it feel to carry burdens that were never meant to be yours?" 

He sighed, his smile never faltering. 

"You belong everywhere and nowhere all at once. A visitor. An error. A mistake? Or perhaps... a miracle?" His eyes glowed faintly, as if he were peering right into your soul. "Like a fleeting dream, you're both nothing and everything we might be seeking for. You exist between things. Not quite friend, not quite enemy. Not quite savior, not quite damned. Just a question floating in the wind, searching for an answer that doesn't exist." 

His fingers lifted, brushing just near your cheek—but never quite touching. A teasing almost-touch. 

"You say that I want you to understand me so I can understand myself," he murmured, watching your expression with intrigue. "But let's be honest here, little one. It's you who doesn't understand yourself. You act like you have control, but you don't, do you?" 

"..."

"Say, (Y/N). What is it that you wish for?" He leaned in, voice hushed yet cutting, as if peeling back your very soul. "What is it that you want?" 

Your lips parted, but no words came. 

His grin widened, but his eyes remained sharp, calculating. "Ah, don't tell me—you don't know? Oh, that's rich. That's delicious." His laughter bubbled from his throat, light and airy, but you could feel the razor's edge hidden beneath it. 

"I could help you, you know?" His voice dropped to something more intimate, more insidious. "You could believe in me. As a god. And you could betray me, like a man. Because that's what humans do, isn't it? Lie, betray, deceive." 

He leaned in further, his breath brushing against your skin. 

"Humans are such silly little creatures. You're no different." He exhaled softly, as if laughing at some unseen joke. "Ah, but perhaps you are. After all, you're here, aren't you? Among demons, yet not quite one yourself. An oddity, a curiosity. I must say, it's been so long since something—someone—has piqued my interest like this." 

"I am someone who did not die when I should have. I carved my own face upon this wicked flesh, painted my lips in the blood of the foolish, and made my own salvation from the bones of the lost. I am my own devastating god, and I relish in the destruction of all things mortal." 

His hand twitched, as if resisting the urge to touch you. 

"But you... What are you?"

His smile widened into something almost unnatural. 

"A god as well? A god who whispers secrets to herself and spins lies so delicate, even she begins to believe them?" His chuckle was light, almost musical. "Oh, you're such a funny little thing." 

His fingers finally brushed your cheek—just the barest graze, cold yet comforting. 

"You know what I think?" His voice was a gentle hypnotic hum. "I think you're the one fetching your own demise. Running in circles, chasing ghosts, whispering prayers that won't be answered." 

A pause. 

And then, a sharp laugh—bright and careless. 

"It's such a dumb sight!"

Imagine his surprise when he saw your face—his usually unreadable expression flickered, a moment of genuine shock breaking through his carefully crafted mask. His eyes widened just slightly before curving back into something playful, but you saw it.

That moment of hesitation. That brief crack in his façade. 

"...Are you done?" You deadpanned, arms crossed as you stared at him, unimpressed and exhausted by his usual theatrics. 

He blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Eh?" 

Your gaze didn't waver. "Your fake-ass manipulation might work on your brainless cult of followers, but I could not give a single fuck. Get a job. This is jobless behavior." 

His lips parted slightly, then slowly curled into a grin—one that almost looked real. 

"...Aw." He placed a hand over his chest, dramatically feigning disappointment. "And here I thought I finally managed to stir something in you." 

"Try harder." 

His grin widened. "Okay then. What do you love about me?" 

"Nothing." 

"Haha, come on now, there must be something!" 

"Absolutely nothing." 

"You're so cold!" 

"Says the one who can't even feel emotions." 

He let out an exaggerated groan, swaying slightly. "Ah! You wound my heart!" 

You just stared at him, unamused, silent. 

That quietness made him pause. His playful expression faltered ever so slightly as you just... looked at him. The weight of your gaze was something unfamiliar. His head tilted, his fan momentarily still in his hands. 

Then, you sighed, shifting your eyes away from him to the rest of the room. 

"If I'm honest," you murmured, voice quieter, more tired than before, "more than anything, I actually pity you." 

He let out a breath of laughter. "What? You? Pity me? What an odd thing to say—" 

"You're pitiful," you interrupted, voice sharp. 

He blinked, intrigued by the sudden venom in your tone. 

"Your very existence is pitiful." 

He smiled, but something in his posture stiffened. 

"You don't belong anywhere either, you know?" you continued. "Who in their right mind would ever want to be with a demon like you? You're pathetic. Your existence is nothing but a nuisance—background noise in a world that keeps spinning without you. Nobody wants you. Not really. Not truly. Even those ridiculous followers of yours—they don't stay because they care about you. They stay because they need you to be something greater than you are. Because if you're just another monster, if you're just another worthless thing, then what does that make them?" 

His smile didn't falter, but his fingers twitched. 

"You're a fantasy," you spat. "A hollow, empty daydream that exists only because people let you exist in their minds. You are nothing. You have always been nothing." 

He chuckled, quiet and soft, but you weren't finished. 

"You want to talk about understanding oneself?" you sneered. "Go look in a mirror." 

His eyes glinted, but his lips remained parted as if he were about to speak. You didn't give him the chance. 

"You are just so, so, so pitiful that not even the gods could save you—no, they wouldn't even try." You tilted your head slightly, watching for his reaction. "You're damned, Douma. I think you were damned even before you were born. Fuck—You have nothing of importance. No purpose. No meaning. You are so deeply, fundamentally dislikeable that even your pathetic attempts at mattering don't help you in the slightest. And the worst part?" 

You exhaled, shaking your head. 

"I think that might be the only thing I like about you." 

...

"The fact that there's someone worse off than me. Someone whose existence is even more meaningless than mine." 

His smile twitched. 

"Sick of your own face. Sick of your own skin. Sick of the dark, of the silence, of the void that stretches forever in your mind. You're crawling like a cockroach in the filth, waiting, waiting, waiting for someone—anyone—to tell you that you matter." 

You stared at him, eyes cold. 

"...But nobody does, do they?" 

...

...

...

A slow, eerie grin stretched across his face, his fan snapping shut with a

*click*

"...Heh."

And yet, beneath that smile, you saw something else. Something fragile. Something you had never seen before.

He started laughing. 

Not the usual laugh. Not the artificial, carefully crafted chuckles he used to mock, to taunt, to entertain himself at the expense of others. No, this was different. This was real. A full-bodied, uncontrollable laugh that shook his shoulders, made his chest tighten, forced him to drop his fan as he clutched his stomach. His head tilted back, multicolored eyes squeezed shut, laughter spilling freely from his lips like he had just heard the funniest joke in centuries. 

You froze, staring at him. Douma wasn't performing. He wasn't playing his usual game of pretend. He was actually—genuinely—laughing. 

Between breathless laughs, he managed to choke out, "So... So am I just a lonely demon, and you're a lonely human?" Another laugh escaped him, as if the thought itself was so ridiculous, so absurdly tragic, that he couldn't contain himself. "Truly a pitiful bond! A pitiful connection! An undying, pitiful truth!" 

You groaned, rolling your eyes before sticking your tongue out at him like a child. "Ugh. Shut up already." 

He only laughed harder. 

The room's atmosphere shifted, the tension giving way to something looser. You could still feel the weight of your words lingering in the air, but now, his laughter mixed with it, twisting it into something else entirely. You didn't know what to make of it, and frankly, you didn't care enough to figure it out right now. 

Your body was getting heavier, exhaustion creeping in. The conversation, the back-and-forth, the way your words had spilled out like venom—it had drained you. Your eyelids drooped, and you yawned, stretching your arms lazily before mumbling, "I'm tired... I'm taking a nap."

Douma's laughter finally died down into small chuckles as he wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. He tilted his head, watching you with mild amusement as you settled in. Then, his voice took on that light, teasing tone again. "Oh? How careless of you, falling asleep next to me? You do remember that I'm a demon, right? And Akaza isn't here to protect you." 

You gave him a nonchalant wave of your hand, not even bothering to look at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." You cracked an eye open and gave him a smug, lazy smirk. "You're not gonna do anything to me." 

His grin widened. "Oh? And what makes you so sure?" 

"Because," you yawned, shifting to get comfortable, "you're in love with me or something." 

He blinked. 

You turned on your side, crossing your arms stubbornly before lowering your head—right onto his lap. 

He stiffened. 

You made yourself comfortable, resting against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. "And besides," you murmured sleepily, "you can't kill me. Muzan wouldn't allow it. So, really, you're just stuck with me, aren't you?" 

Douma didn't respond.

Seconds passed.

The room, once filled with his laughter and teasing remarks, now felt unbearably quiet. The only sound was the faint rustling of fabric as you shifted slightly, your breath soft and steady.

Then—

"Zzz..."

You were actually asleep.

On him.

Your head on his lap.

Douma remained motionless, staring down at you, utterly bewildered. His eyes were now stretched wide, unblinking, trying—and failing—to make sense of what had just happened.

Your head was resting on his lap, your arms still stubbornly crossed even in sleep, as if you had dozed off mid-argument. The warmth of your body seeped through his clothes, pressing against him in a way that felt oddly grounding. The gentle rise and fall of your breathing, the way your lashes fluttered ever so slightly as you drifted deeper into slumber—

It was wrong.

It was insane!

His arms, usually so loose and relaxed, felt stiff at his sides. His fingers twitched, hovering uncertainly near you, as if he wanted to touch you but didn't know how. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate. Normally, he would poke, prod, trace the curve of a cheek just to get a reaction. Normally, he would do something.

But right now?

He couldn't move.

His brain was a mess. His thoughts, usually so sharp and quick, trailed off into nothingness, swallowed by the overwhelming presence of you. His body, which had never once betrayed him, felt strange—wrong—his chest tightening, his throat dry, his skin crawling with something he didn't understand.

And then, the worst part.

His heart.

It was beating.

Too fast. Too loud.

A dull, frantic thudding pounded against his ribs, growing more erratic with every passing second. It was almost painful.

This was—

This was new.

This was horrifying.

He had never felt like this before. Not once. Not in all his years of existence. It crawled under his skin, coiling around his lungs, making it impossible to breathe properly. His hands clenched slightly, but not in frustration—no, in something else.

Something worse.

He... was falling in love with you...?

No.

NO.

That couldn't be right. That was ridiculous. He didn't love people. He played with them, manipulated them, consumed them. Love was an illusion, a thing humans convinced themselves was real. It was nothing more than fleeting chemicals, a fragile trick of the mind.

And yet—

His face felt hot. His skin burned.

His lips parted slightly as if to say something, anything, but no words came.

His usual, easy-going mask—his perfect, untouchable composure—was cracking.

His sweat dripped down his forehead. His ears felt like they were on fire. His entire face, from his cheeks to the tips of his fingers, was flushed a deep, furious red.

What the hell was happening to him!?

Douma—the same Douma who had spent his entire existence pretending to understand emotions he could not feel, the same Douma who toyed with humans as if they were nothing but disposable playthings—was suddenly, inexplicably, hopelessly obsessed with you.

And it terrified him.

Because,

for the first time

in forever,

he actually

...

felt something.

End of the Admist Fireworks arc.