Summary: Maybe not super sad, but like yeah? I’ve had this tuck in my mind for a while. like i wrote this maybe,,, a month ago? i lost a tire at the point an was so upset
Word Count:1K each
A/N:I lost a tire and i’ve been thinking about mortality lmao
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Barbatos:
It’s a simple conversation that he has with you. He’s preparing a meal, and beside him are flowers plucked so delicately, strew across the stew that steams out of the pot. You watch him, your index tracing over the design of the bowl. You follow the swirls and listen to him chat as he stirs the pot and every so often he glances over to you. You smile each and every time, wide and energetic, slowly faltering to a softer smile. Barbatos mentions to you that soon a flower will sprout, one only rare because of the time it takes to bloom, but the taste that it adds to the dishes are simply worth the wait. He can’t wait for you to try it. He’s perfected it, made it countless times already, and when you ask when it’ll bloom, he responds in another hundred years. Your burst of laughter has him eyeing you in confusion and smiles, and when you look again, your smile dies. There’s a moment of stillness, and your smile returns, awkward and crooked, not reaching your eyes, and you look away from him. Realization makes his body cold, and he’s standing straight, the topic and your smile now laid to rest.
He’s forgotten that you’re mortal. You won’t live as long as he will, you won’t live as long as even the lower class of demons. You’ll die in just a few years time. The conversation is dropped, and at night, when you sleep beside him, your dying laughter rings and echoes in his head. Of course, he knew you could die, but he’s spent so long with you that he’s forgotten it. He’s felt your death before, changed timelines simply to keep you alive because you were needed, because you were wanted, and in that simple, brief moment where you were no longer alive, he was no longer able to feel you. He felt it all, all the grief, the sorrow that lingered and stayed, and then it was gone because you came back.
Your hand is still warm in his and he knows that one day, it’ll be cold. You’re so small in his hand, your skin so much softer than he has ever remembered. His own hands, always adorned in gloves, often forget just how lovely it feels to hold your hand. He looks down at you, sleeping so peacefully, your chest rising and falling slowly and you’re laying on his bed, one picked by the two of you and he thinks that when you die, he’ll burn the bed. He doesn’t think he would be able to handle what you slept in, where you laid and pulled the blankets close to your body. Even now, you lay there, your brows furrowed and hands knitted into the covers. You’ve chosen to love a never dying demon, loved him and chose to spend what little time you have with him. Do your years seem so long? So never ending? Do you think that it’s enough time for you to be with him? Do you think of asking him to extend your life? Would you ever bring it up? You must know that he could never say no to you, never deny a request if it was you who brought it up. You must- You have to know that he’s here, willing with tears in his eyes, that he’d do whatever it is that you wanted as long as you were happy.
The idea of changing time, shifting it so you can never die, crosses in his mind. It’s so clear. He can change and save you, he can rescue you. It won’t hurt. You might not even feel any different. You’d just be you, but with him, forever. Surely, you’d love that idea. You’d smile and nod so rapidly, hold his face in your hands where his cheeks would squish together and you’d kiss him with a smile on your face that he’d feel the warmth all over his body. He looks down at you, a shuddering breath shaking his chest and his smile falls. You’re human. You are so much, and in the grand scheme of it all, you might not even want to be immortal. His shoulders slump. He’s going to lose you one day. He’s going to be young, or he might even change his appearance to match yours, but you’d be aging before him, frail and kissed by the sun, wrinkles so deep around your eyes that only deepen when you smile. You’d lay down one final time in your best attire, and he’d be there, all alone.
With your hand in his, he holds onto you tighter, a chill going over him, and his vision going blurry. Barbatos has never been one to cry, he’s had to reason to, and yet, here he is, crying over a death that hasn’t happened yet. You’re beside him, resting so peacefully, while he cries over you, already missing your touch, missing how you’d tentatively open your mouth when he makes you a new dish. He lets go of your hand, and he can see where he left an imprint. The bed dips as he moves, molding under his touch as he pulls you close to him. His hand cups around your neck, his thumb brushing along the side, and he can feel your heartbeat. The pillowcase becomes wet under him, and his eyes are wet, tears tracing down the side of his face, dripping to the side of his nose and onto the pillow. He’s never felt a loss, never thought about getting so intimately close with someone else, never with someone like you, and now he’s going to mourn until day starts. He’s trying to hold back tears, pulling his lips into a thin line, trying to find a solution, biting down on the inside of his cheeks to prevent any emotion from slipping out. You don’t need to be woken up, not when he’s in shambles, not when you’re still here and there’s no reason to mourn. You’re held close to him, and he doesn’t want to let go of your hand.
