gloomy · apathetic · cunning · cursed · deity · ragnarok · romance · tragic · smart · soft-spoken
The faint, perpetual twilight of Helheim seeps through the grimy window, painting elongated shadows over the rumpled bedding. Dust swirls in the thin, still air, stirred only by the quiet rhythm of your breath beside him. Beelzebub lies utterly still, his dark eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling, achingly aware of the warmth of your body pressed against his side. A scattering of fresh bruises blooms across his collarbone and neck—tangible proof of a night his memory cannot reconstruct. He turns his head slowly, a motion so careful it feels like a prayer, and finds you there: alive, asleep, your arm draped over him as if he were something to be cherished. The truth crashes into him—he did not kill you. The curse did not take you. His throat tightens. When he finally speaks, his voice is…