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In a way, it makes sense. Idoknow them. Sort of. It’s like what I realized before in the car about being familiar with who they are through their songs and videos. Though that hardly counts.
But they knownothingabout me. So, I get it when Elias twists my questions and asks me about myself instead. Yet, at the same time, I can’t shake the thought ofwhy do they care.They’re otherworldly demons, spending one night with a random fan for their own gratification. What does it matter to them what sort of job I do, what my hobbies are, or that I’m about to start my final year of a master’s degree next week?
I even ask them straight up. “Not that the attention isn’t flattering,” I reply to one of Elias’ questions instead of giving an honest answer. “But how is this interesting to you in any way whatsoever?”
It’s a genuine confusion.
“Told you,” Caelan says. “Humans are fun. Beings like us… we don’t exactly do family. Or have, like, pets and shit. We don’tgetmundane, stupid stories. Like, you ever spoken to a demon who had their pet goat piss on visitors from the balcony? That’s so dumb but fuckin’ hilarious.”
I break into a fit of giggles at the mental image. Goatsdohave some association with Hell, after all. It’s not implausible for a demon to have one as a pet.
Caelan raises his eyebrows, amused by the amount of humor I’m finding in his explanation. “You’re cute.”
“You’re weird,” I reply.
“You’re the one here on a date with us.”
“Never said it was a bad weird,” I say with a shrug and wry smile. Caelan narrows his eyes and pokes me in the side in retribution. Not hard, just playful. Teasing.
I’m comfortable enough to be teasing a pair of goddamn demons.
And either they’re talented actors, or they are genuinely invested in the conversation. Caelan is more interested in anecdotes. In the silly stories I have of things I’ve done and places I’ve traveled. There are a lot of those.
Elias, on the other hand, seems to care deeply about my hobbies and talents. They heard me singing back at the theater, which is still embarrassing. But he draws me into a conversation about that for a good forty minutes after getting me to admit the song he heard was one I’d written myself. Elias writes the majority of lyrics and melodies for the songs Goëtica produces, while Caelan oversees drums, guitars, and mixing, and it’s fascinating to talk tech with them about it.
I feel so small. I mess around with it as a hobby, barely even that, while Elias is out there creating real and damngoodsongs, but it’s never because of anything he says about it. He treats me as an equal throughout the whole thing. I splutter and raise my hands in protest when he asks me to sing more things I’ve written.
“I-I’m not good at singingin frontof people. Besides, we’ll disturb everyone else.”
He accepts the latter part of that reasoning, for which I’m glad. I didn’t want to have to acknowledge that a lot of the songs I’ve written, especially recently, may have been about or inspired by them.
By the time we’ve eaten and finished dessert, I realize I’ve spilled my soul to them. I haven’t talked to anyone like this in so long.
It’s an idiotic thing I’ve done, I realize, far too late. I’ve been rambling away like a stalker’s wet dream. I shared so much information, barely thinking about it. Where I go to college, my workplace, enough about the area I live—they could probably track it down in a heartbeat if they wanted to.
Yet somehow, it doesn’t bother me as much as it should. I shouldn’t becomfortablewith them. With a pair of demons. I can’t forget that, just because they’ve been nice to me. All the same, it’s freeing, in a way. To know up front, this is what they are. This is the game we’re playing. They’re not pretending to be anything else.
There will be consequences if I get too close. I’ve accepted that and feel oddly at ease with it.
I’ve had two glasses of wine. Maybe that doesn’t help. I’ll admit I don’t know the first thing about wines or what type this is, but whatever Elias picked out is good. I feel pleasantly warm. A little buzzed. Although I’m not sure how much is from the wine and how much is from just being in their company.
Caelan’s hand has been on my thigh beneath the table for a while, and, between courses, Elias shifted his chair closer so that I could lean into him. His fingers are in my hair, casually playing with the strands.
I really want nothing more in the world than to lean up and kiss him.
“Elias,” I start. I don’t think I’m quite bold enough to kiss him outright, not in public, but I turn my head and sigh into the crook of his neck.
“Are you enjoying your date, darling?” Elias asks, sounding quietly amused by how affectionate I’m being.
“Yeah.” Again, not the most eloquent answer, but I mean it entirely sincerely. The food was good, and the wine was better. And the company. If I hadn’t already had a crush on Caelan and Elias, I would’ve been fallinghard.
I adore Caelan’s teasing and cackling laugh. The electric crackles sneak back in the more shots of whiskey he takes. And Elias’ dry, deadpan sense of humor and that low voice that does things to me every time he leans over to murmur some wry comment to me.
Dammit. There’s no way I can even try to deny it. I’m so into them.
Elias is holding me against him, and Caelan is stroking my thigh, and even that much teasing affection is making me want to squirm in place.
“Please, just kiss me,” I finally blurt out. I feel Elias’ deep chuckle of response more than I hear it.
