𝟸 & 𝟺

-twenty-eight-

The devil is never a partimer. She works overtime, as if continuous average hours are what she wants.

The devil is all the time. She surrounds ten best of people. Even if they seem to be of reconciliation, she knows better. She knows they are lying.

The devil wasn't a crybaby. She made others cry of their sins, of their actions, of their faults. She fed off of their tears, so long as they weeped.

The devil doesn't feed. She kills. Energy, emotion, presence, soul. She takes it all.

She doesn't care what you do to repent your sins. She sees them, keeps them, and kills you instead.

She doesn't let you by her. Once you cross her with your eyes looking the wrong way, she'll never forget the look you give her. She doesn't have eyes in the back of her head; she knows what everyone does.

She simply doesn't have the will, the want or the way to care for you once you cross her. She doesn't need you, or want you. She doesn't want to deal with you.

She'd rather you be burnt to a rotten crisp than have to kill you herself. Too much energy wasted on worthless space.

She'll look to you once more, wanting to reap you herself. She'll try to take you out with her eyes, looking deeper into yourself than you ever could.

She'll try to slowly destroy your emotions by taking them apart. Slowly, you'll have none left.

She doesn't attack anyone but herself.

The devil is herself; all the time.

The devil is me.

***

Coach looked to you as you slowly looked from the bench to him. He had a clipboard in hand. He had a rather noticeable paper in his hand. One in which a sketch had the paper covered in scribbles and notes.

If that be the paper from Izumitate, you knew the warm up off the top of your finger. You didn't even need to see the paper.

You knew. You went to the end line. The devil of yourself still sat on your shoulder, in spirit.

This game is screwed, you're screwed...she whispered.

She slowly silenced when Suga followed to your side, bringing his ray of vibrancy along with him.

"Do you know what's going on?" He turned to you as he eyed Coach Hamada from his peripheral. He was rather lost with everything between them.

You looked to him, full of answers, "He has one of our warm ups from middle school. It's...actually...not bad." You hated to admit someone as faulty and cruel as Hamada could, for once adapt to his audience. The warm up he had on the edge of his clipboard was of respectable caliber.

Something he lacked gravely.

"L/N, you remember AR?" He looked to you with a powerful voice in speech, eyes darted and papers aligned.

You knew it, it was indeed the same paper from years ago. The same paper from games ago. The same paper that had you running back and forth...

Trying to please him...

"How could I not..." you responded, particularly monotone. You'd don't want to show any appreciation for the one thing he supposedly did right.

"What is AR?" Suga staggered his gaze between the both of you, mostly looked to you for assurance.