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Time.
He doesn’t have time.
He doesn’t—
Maybe one day he can have love.
But now, revenge is his priority. For all his desires to have a family, what he lost, he fashioned himself into a knife.
I can’t leave them. But I, I need to...
At the end of the night, he’s a hollowed out shell left with bitterness and spite. It’s gotten him this far.
“I wonder if I can think of a bonding activity. Or if it’d be too strange. I don’t want it to be awkward.”
Fondly, Paimon says, “I’ve never really played Dad before.”
“Are we? Aren’t they too old for that?” The last thing he wants is to impose a role on another adult, even if Adrian feels so incredibly young and alone to him.
Paimon blinks. “Too old to have parents? No one is too old to have a family. When you died, you were old enough to be their father.”
“A young father, but I guess so. I never thought I would be...like that to anyone else.”
“Me either. I’ve always tried to avoid the whole...offspring thing. Family is enough, you know, when there are legions of fallen angels. Makes planning potlucks a bit of a headache. Ruling is easier.”
He can kill, and he can always come back to Paimon. If only he could think away that chill of fear, the expectation of abandonment that almost made him want to abandon Paimon first to spare himself, even if he couldn’t.
Not unless he thought of a way that didn’t hurt.
In the hospital, he was a thing. Inhuman, abandoned, unwanted. With Paimon, he is inhuman, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. They look at each other’s inhumanity and go back to bed anyway.
His monstrosity has a home with Paimon.
He feels weak now because he wants comfort from Paimon now. He wants—
Chapter 17
Paimon
Given Lauren?iu’s serious mood, Paimon doesn’t want to press him on details, but he does try to lighten things up.
The two of them sit cross legged across from one another on the bed. Paimon enjoys these times most of all. Their post-midnight hours.
“Do you think that kid ever feels bad about shooting zombies in the head?” In this household, nothing says a casual conversation like murder. “I don’t feel too much animosity toward these reanimated people. I mean, they’re not munching on my brain, so.”
Lauren?iu’s eyes are half-lidded. Always thinking. If only Paimon could find a way to smooth his worries away. “I’m not sure. They’ve never mentioned it. I’m not sure if we have much collective guilt between us.”
“Maybe,” Paimon replies faintly. He’d hope centuries, centuries of centuries would wash away his guilt. His memories.
“Do you regret anything you did during the War in Heaven?” Lauren?iu asks.
Now, that’s a question.
Paimon swallows thickly, looking down at Lauren?iu’s arms draped over his legs, those nicely defined knuckles. “I only have one regret.”
"What's that? If I may ask." Lauren?iu’s expression softens. “You don’t need to answer.”
Paimon sets his hands on his knees. Squeezes them. “I killed so many angels, but it was mostly defensive. Smiting, angels are very good at smiting and all that.”
