𝐴𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑒 // 𝐿𝑒𝑒 𝑀𝑖𝑛𝒉𝑜

twenty four.

There were no words to describe the panic clawing its way through his chest; Haneul was fully ignorant of what she was doing to him.

     Minho had hurriedly escaped to the bathroom, haphazardly sliding to the floor as his hands went to cover his face–an effort to muffle the quick gasps puffing from his mouth. It took huge strength to stifle what was wracking its way through his body.

     But the look on her face while they had stood before the infernal Lake of Fire, Minho almost despised her for making him take it that far.

     He frankly didn't care if she hated him. The longevity of her life was all that mattered. Minho couldn't let it slip away from him, the delicate threads that kept her soul tethered to this reality; as long as he stayed in the perimeters of the contract, he would keep doing the bare possible minimum.

     And damn him, if whatever path he took ended up saving Haneul, what did he really care about either of their happiness?

     No lie had left his mouth; Minho regretted letting Haneul grow on him, her comforting presence now as natural as the sky being blue. Never in a million years should he have let himself get that accustomed like that, not again.

     And maybe there had been a bit of lie in there.

     Haneul didn't mean nothing to him. And she definitely wasn't just any mortal.

     His lashes brushed the tops of his cheekbones as they fell closed. She was too genuine, too much like he remembered. There should've been an easier way to deal with this. Like ripping his own heart out.

     But Minho was promising himself now. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice, he wouldn't allow her to get too close. Every lovely, real thing that grew near to him was inevitably destroyed.

     So he didn't care if it hurt her feelings, Minho would do his duty as a guardian and no more. No more late night chats, philosophical conversations, glances that lasted a bit too long. He was ending it now.

     The demon just hoped he'd have the will to deny his own selfish desires.

-

in the Underworld...

"My Lord, your dinner."

     A twitch of his Master's fingers sent the servant rushing quietly away, knowing well what happened to the last demon who hadn't fulfilled his duties fast enough.

     The dining hall was filled with a deep sigh, the emptiness allowing the sound to reverberate eerily. Several more demons lined one of the walls in case their master required assistance of any kind, their legs poised to move at the slightest beckoning.

     Alone at the head of the obsidian table, Lucifer steepled his fingers, pressing his pursed lips to his knuckles in thought. A few moments of silence lapsed, the servants nervously waiting.

     The demons' shoulders jumped as Lucifer slammed his fist on the table, emitting a groan reminiscent of a bored child.

     "Oh, damn it all."

     The Lord of the Underworld abruptly stood, his hips jostling the table and overturning his cup as he walked out of the hall. Scrambling to right the upset tableware, the servants cast wary looks at one another. The Master never did anything too quickly, never dwelled on anything longer than he wanted to; he was Lord of Hell, what time didn't he have to spend as he pleased?

     Lucifer stalked through his palace, allowing a small tendril of pleasure to rush through him at the sounds of agony drifting from more remote parts of the palace. It did sadden him whenever he couldn't partake in the activities held in his own home. However, what fun would it be if he couldn't concentrate?

     Arriving at one specific corridor, Lucifer didn't hesitate as he shoved the door open, immediately scanning the room for the demon he was looking for. A perturbed expression greeted him, the owner of the room looking rather disturbed as he held a glass tube and several foreign substances.

     "As much as I enjoy your visits, my Liege, could you not have waited until after I perfected Hell's newest mode of torture?"

     "Beelzebub, please," Lucifer huffed, taking the nearest available seat. He wrinkled his nose at a greenish looking mixture that was boiling away in front of him. "You know how it is when I have nothing to amuse myself with, you always manage to find something interesting to distract me."

     With the endless patience of an immortal parent, Beelzebub grinned in resignation. "Did you review the death toll today? What was the worst cause of death this time?"

     Lucifer waved his hand in dismissive boredom. "Hit by a semi truck, couldn't be more tiresome."

     Ignoring the pun, Beelzebub meticulously swirled the container he was holding. "The fields seemed a bit more lively today; I heard a rogue of ours took out some anger on a few forgotten souls."

     "Only six mortal souls were erased, the demon was caught as well... do you actually have anything for me?"

     "My Lord..."

     The high demon trailed off, raising his brows in apparent defeat. His eyes drifted to one of his desks, where a stack of papers was waiting to be approved and filed; his attention snagged on one particular case.

     "Actually."

     Lucifer nodded eagerly, desperate for a shred of intrigue. His advisor flipped through the papers for a moment, stopping on one small file.

     "I'm not sure if you'll even remember this case, but... it seems that the subjects of it are making a reappearance on the Underworld's radar. In fact, many of our subjects cannot help but be drawn to them. If the situation escalates even further, it could definitely be a spectacle to behold, my Lord."

     A gleam shone in Lucifer's eye, and he tilted his head, rolling the idea around for a moment before caving in.

     "Give me the file."

not me listening to a french countryside playlist while writing this