Be My Friend

Chapter 12: Immortal Punk

After a dreadfully long awkwardness shared between an ominous 6'something obviously ripped Lord of the Underworld and a 5'9 lanky 22-year-old with blue hair; I would say this friendship is going well. I internally groan.

Incredibly embarrassed and cheeks aflame, I decide to finally break the ice. "So... As your new 'possible' friend, I think it would only be appropriate to show ones face in one's own household," I state with the authority of a puppy. My hands are shaking but not because I'm scared, I'm just so exceedingly abashed so I stiffy force my arms across my torso. 

"I can see your face just fine." 

Ugh, even with the hood he's hiding under I know for a fact he's smug at how easily worked up I can get.

"What? No! Not my face... Obviously... I meant your face." My cheeks tint a little red and I roll my eyes and let out a huff. "It's just strange seeing your red irises all the time." Way to make the situation less awkward. Red irises? Seriously? Why did I have to make things weirder?

"If you insist..." He drags on but doesn't make an effort to move. I gnaw at my lip with anxiety but try to calm myself. His pale tattooed, defined hands reach up and pull the hood off slowly. The light in my kitchen flickers and I groan.

"So help me god if you blow another light bulb then I'm going to throw a tantru-" I don't finish the sentence. I suck in a short, quick breath as the black hood falls back and reveals silky smooth black hair styled into a mohawk. Thick blackened rings outline his eyes. What struck me as odd is the whites weren't white but black instead. The only visible colour was those irises.

Pale pink lips with two lip rings on either side match the many other piercings I'm taking in. A sharp pale jawline is emphasized by the numerous tattoos that disappear beneath a studded leather jacket. Those heavy boots I was hearing in the early hours of the morning looked heavy and were decorated with many chains.

"Better?" He asks making my gaze snap back up to his face.

"Much." I nod with content. I grab the groceries from the floor and make my way over to the kitchen to restock; all the while feeling a hot gaze on my back as if there was a target painted there.

"So what's your name? Obviously, you know mine is Mason, but what would you like to be addressed as?" I asked while putting a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream into the freezer.

"I have many titles, as you mortals like to come up with; Satan, Antichrist, Devil, King of Babylon, etcetera, etcetera." He waves a hand in the air dismissively and only then did I notice the black chipped nail polish coating his pale fingertips.

"Okay, but like... What do you want to be called?" I emphasize by pointing a finger towards his large frame.

I can see his dark eyes widen slightly. Had no one bothered to ask him that? I wasn't sure exactly. This was off-putting. This entire situation was just strange.  "Damian's fine." He answers after a few minutes of thought.

I turn around and pile my chips and stuff into my cupboards. "Damian?" I repeat, testing it out for myself. After finishing putting away my things I turn around to address why he's gotten all silent but Damian is already mere inches away from me and I have to cran my neck to see his facial expression twisted in curiosity but that disappears once he notices my staring. 

"Woah there, personal space," I say and put my hands up and push away from his chest but he doesn't budge at all while I back up a few steps. It's silent for another moment before an idea pops into mind. "Wanna watch Netflix and maybe get high?" A grin makes its way to my lips.