The Devil Named Deimos

The Devil's Pancakes

My legs brush against rich silk and my arms stretch out to find no one lying next to me, assuring me I'm home. I snuggle deeper into the pillow only to find it to be firm. I always make sure to buy soft pillows that mold to my face. 

Tiredly, I open my eyes, rubbing the exhaustion out of them. As the world gradually comes into view, I spring up into a sitting position. This isn't my room. 

The sheets and blankets are just like mine, silk and my color of choice. Black. The difference is that the room is bland, with nothing adorning the walls except for a large mirror. Though it is simple, it screams luxury, with it's abundance of space and its expensive paneled walls. It just seems like no one finished decorating it. 

Considering its blandness, I draw the conclusion that this is a guest bedroom; and the layout looks strangely similar to my guest bedroom. 

Looking down at my figure wrapped in sheets, I notice that I'm wearing a very large dress shirt. Even with the buttons closed to the top it nearly slides off my shoulder, showcasing my collarbones. I clutch my hair in my hands. Where the hell is my dress? Where the hell am I?

The last thing I remember was Leon coming back with Jeremy to tell me that he found him, and that we should celebrate. With the headache that is pounding in my head, I'm assuming this celebration had included alcohol. A lot of it. 

Shit. This is why I never drink. 

I slip my legs out of bed and stand up. The dress shirt ends a couple dangerous inches above my knees. It's no different than a short dress I would wear in the summer, yet the context of situations matter greatly. Sniffing the material, I drown in the most addicting scent my nose has ever encountered. It's cologne, but that word does it no justice to describe how masculine it smells. 

"Don't worry, dear. I slid the shirt on first then took your pretty dress off. You look exhausted, Mr. Themis did well to tell me to let you sleep." My head snapped to the sound of the voice, I hadn't noticed anybody else in the room. 

In the bathroom, stood a woman with what seemed a cleaner uniform on. She was folding towels, and had a warm smile on her face. I almost didn't hear what she said, lost in the shock that somebody else had been here the whole time. 

"Did you say Mr. Themis?" My voice is soaked with sleep, and I rub my neck out of embarrassment. I stand up and walk towards her, stopping at the door of the bathroom, wringing my hands. Being in unfamiliar places makes me anxious. I hate not being in control. 

"Yes, darling, the one and only." Her grey haired bun wobbles on her head as she shakes her head, but a small smile paints her lips. With every fold her worked hands make, and the glint in her eyes when I brought up Deimos, it was obvious she cared for him. 

"All done, dear. The bathroom is all yours," that lady sets the towels to the side, and giving me a smile, she leaves the room. 

Looking in the mirror, I'm horrified at what I see. My hair looks like a lion's mane, but not nearly as majestic. I hastily tame it in a messy french braid, with a rebellious strand framing my face. Not perfect, but much better than before. 

There was a tooth brush, still in it's packaging on the counter and toothpaste. I let out a sigh of relief, morning breath was a struggle. Brushing my teeth, I turn around to see my dress hanging on a hook behind the door.

After using the bathroom, I tentatively open the bedroom door while tugging down the dress shirt nervously.  

My eyes discover the most perfect scene, and it leaves me drooling. Deimos stands at the stove, flipping pancakes, dressed in sweatpants. Only sweatpants.