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Before him sat the delicate curls of two identical blooms bowing apart from a single stem, their twisting petals the living embodiment of licks of flame without being literally on fire. So rare, so meaningful was their perfect existence in his private garden that it could only be fate. That they were derived from the same stem surely meant they were destined to be together!
Dread mingled with certainty when he waltzed from the greenhouse and strode resolutely towards the servants' tower. Truly, this was the last thing Asmodeus ever expected to find himself about to do, bated breath entrapped behind his most comfortable silken cravat that only now decided to strangle him. Pride would dictate that he present himself to his mother as he was, in comfortable but still noble clothes, but past experience informed him that there was one foolproof method above all others to guarantee that she would grant his request.
As keepers of beauty and virtue along with a host of other attributes, not a single one of them had ever worn a garment that lacked in elegance and refinement. His great armoire was a point of subtly smouldering pride for him, a long and hard-won battle for his right to wear only what he desired instead of caving to his mother's whims. Her tastes were vastly different from his own, but if he bent his personal comforts even the tiniest bit, deferred to her desires and role as matriarch of his household above all else, she was much more amenable to granting what he desired.
There was nothing for it. That particular knowledge closely guarded by their family was never written down, and although he suspected David knew, their impressively devout butler remained stubbornly tight-lipped. If his mother deigned to treat it as a right of passage, then he had no choice but to defer to her fancies. And, because this was for Iruma's sake as well as his own, he was willing to endure the humiliation.
Despite the urgency with which he worked, it still took several weeks for their servants and dressmakers to obtain all of the materials. It took every shred of willpower he harboured within him to not let fears of inevitable judgement occupy his mind while at school, the matter so vexing that even Iruma's presence and needs battled desperately to maintain his attention. The worried looks that Iruma and Clara offered him that day haunted him for the rest of the week.
When the dreaded commission finally arrived, encircled by a swathe of silver satin to conceal it from prying eyes, powerful relief rushed through his veins with such intensity that he could almost claim excitement as he hastened it up to his room. Thankfully, his mother's presence had long since dissipated, meaning she had yet to return. He had time to rehearse.
Years of practice pulled the flowing vestment on with ease. Hands perched carefully on his hips for support, dishevelled features loosened just enough to squeeze open an eye.
It was a far cry from what he recalled of the last time he wore a dress – with the exception of Irumi's concert – a charm and elegance to it that lent him an air of maturity rarely felt with such feminine attire. Perhaps it was the decisively thick leggings he wore underneath it, or the confidence he had nurtured since. Or even the simple factor of his height and newly angular face. Whatever the case may be, when he gazed into the spotless mirror framed by serpentine twists of gold, he could still recognise himself beneath the elaborate dress. He would never go so far as to speak to anyone outside the household whilst wearing it, but... he didn't hate it like he had initially suspected. And if he could simply throw this one on whenever he needed to ask Mother for a favour, it was money and effort well spent, no more humiliating than simply having to ask anything of her at all.
Now, there was still time before she would return from work, so he would spend every second ensuring everything was perfect. Hours were dedicated to attaching and braiding hair extensions, practicing his movements, speech and curtsies. A dab of her favourite perfume upon her arrival, and she would be potter's clay in his hands.
“Welcome home, Mother. Today you look as glorious as any other.”
Legs gracefully dropped into a curtsy as low as he dared, head bowed. Eyes artfully shielded by a delicate coif peered up at the barely veiled surprise on her face. Though legs began to complain from the depth of his curtsy and practice, his stance remained low for the duration of her slowly circling around him, eager for each angle as she scrutinised every tiny detail. Finally, commanding heels ceased their drawn-out clicks before him, and wanting hands hovered longingly over his shoulders, reluctant to touch his handiwork. Sharp smugness wisely concealed itself behind the ribbon interlaced across his heart at the knowledge that she could at least refrain here.
“Son.” It wasn't a warning, exactly, but the sly lilt to her saturated tone revealed she knew which game he was playing. A delicate fingertip playfully dimpled her cheek beside painted lips. “I must say, I love the bold look you've decided upon, although I cannot help but wonder why.”
Silent breaths steeled frazzled nerves as he slowly rose back to his full height, chin lifted to pay her due respect in kind. Violet silks rustled sweetly around his hips with the movement, layers of tulle and lace interspersed with roses of black and pink that raced down the expanse of his legs like a waterfall on a field of brocade. Her eyes immediately drawn to the movement hopefully meant that fortune favoured his gamble.
“Long have I been dutiful to the demands of our House, Mother, and the wisdom you command has led us to glory unrelenting. Therefore, in the spirit of fulfilling our role and expanding our House, I most humbly request that you mercifully bestow upon me the esteemed knowledge of eternal vibrancy.”
Gazing into his mother's evaluating stare was undoubtedly the hardest thing he had ever had to endure, the unchanged expression and irises that shifted only to gauge his sincerity far more intimidating than any beast. Whatever conclusion she came to must surely bode well for him as firm fingertips dug unpleasantly into padded shoulders.
“You have proven beyond a doubt your resolve. By the power vested in my position among the Thirteen Crowns, and as the Lord of this household, I hereby open the path to obtain the power that you seek.”
Strangely soothing claws kneaded the back of his head, a subtle affection he never expected to delight in so thoroughly, far more preferable to the full-bodied embrace that she so desperately yearned to enact. Marble floors and pillars stretched to the ceiling melted away as eyelids drifted closed in the uncommon bliss. When they opened again, they were in a darkened room he had never seen before, lined with the rose and golden standards of their House and the dim glow of tiny magenta flames. Ahead stood a granite slab so grand its head melted into the darkness that enshrouded the ceiling, Old Demonic carved in an elaborate scrawl with an ease that could only have been magic beneath the engraving of their family crest.
“Memorise the ancient inscription to obtain the power you seek, armed with the infallible knowledge that these words can never be spoken aloud. As blood of the House Asmodeus, an unfathomable curse will befall you and those within your care should this power ever be shared unduly.”
Whilst the wording and sinister tone seemed more inline with his mother's tricks, the seriousness with which she spoke warned him to obey. Despite the fall of the dress over dusty floors, he knelt before the altar, guided by a power far greater than his own, no doubt its own magic the reason for the unfathomable gloom overhead. Lips moved on their own to mouth ancient words of power, a glow of the purest shade of pink he had ever laid eyes upon emanating from his very skin. Undaunted, he continued in spite of the flourishing brightness, squinted eyes stinging with the intensity fighting to complete this ancient ritual.
The instant he finished reading the text, all flames extinguished by an unfelt wind, pitch black against his burning eyes.
Heaving himself to his feet as gracefully as he could, he felt... weightless. As though all the room's brightness had seeped beneath his skin to make him hover in the air. As though he would simply float away if he ever forgot the purpose for which he took this pledge.
His mother's hand around his elbow guided him sweetly towards the exit unnoticed earlier, an act for which he was startlingly grateful.
Restless feet had followed his path faithfully, every aching second between the school's wrought iron gates and the forest near Iruma's abode itching beneath his clothes like the cheap lace of Clara's imagination. Still, with the exuberant girl uncommonly absent, and with no interlopers nearby to eavesdrop on his innermost desires, there would be no better time. Harsh breaths gathered his wits just enough to call to the carefree figure ahead of him.
“Iruma-sama!”
With every last ounce of his resolve and commitment tucked tightly to his heart, he held out the flame lily. No greater gift had he to offer than the very essence of himself in floral form, meticulously cultivated from his unerring affection over many lunar cycles. All that he was could be inferred from spiralling, flame-like petals, the same deep, striking shade as his eyes embraced by thin bands of gold finery. Every ounce of adoration dripped from his magic into delicate curls.
Glorious surprise filled those wide, beautiful eyes as Iruma whirled around to face him, a startled step taken back only to dodge the sizable bloom suddenly near his face. Porcelain cheeks painted themselves an alluring shade of pink as captivated eyes darted from the blossom to his own.
“Please accept this offering with my sincerest affections. Never will these petals wilt or sever themselves so long as I still harbour these feelings for you, preserved for eternity by a powerful magic.”
That lovely blush may have darkened several shades as Iruma gingerly plucked it from his hold to bring it to his face, adorable button nose lost behind magenta spears curved like sculpted flames.
“Azz-kun, you shouldn't have! But how did you know it was my birthday? Did Grandpa tell you?”
Asmodeus' face remained blank despite the colour likely drained from his cheeks.
...Birthday?
Had he ever been informed when Iruma's birthday was? Typically, every tiny piece of information about Iruma's personage and history had been carefully documented and intimately tucked away in the deepest recesses of his mind for later use. It was nigh impossible for it to have slipped his mind.
Ah, but Iruma himself had seemed so surprised that it must not be common knowledge. But then why had he not been informed? Had he never thought to ask such an important question?
“Well, while you're here, we should have something to drink while we wait for Clara to come by. You look like you could use the shade!”
Iruma's delightful hands tucked into the fold of his arm to generously guide him to dusty earth. Indeed, the shade was pleasant along flushed skin and the heated curve of his back, and a shy sort of pleasure washed through him with the intimacy of cold water flowing down his throat from where Iruma graciously held a flask to his lips, but still he was too baffled to speak.
How could he have let this happen? It was unlike him to be so careless as to leave such an important detail unchecked! Why had he never asked? Had he taken Iruma's intrinsic need to explain himself at every opportunity for granted, in unfaltering certainty that he would bring such a momentous day up of his own volition?
The cold, clammy, painfully sweet palm resting upon his forehead instilled as much shame within his veins as gratitude. It was his duty, nay, his desire to serve and care for Iruma, not to let himself be taken care of! Ah, but neither could he deny the pleasure it brought him, nor the fact that despite Iruma's status, he would unfailingly take any lesser task upon himself to ensure the comfort and safety of their friends, and even strangers should he ever feel the need. Truly, the Netherworld did not deserve his incredible generosity! Yet he could no more extinguish the heartfelt emotions blazing within his chest than wish for a moment of their time to be different.
For the gentle, affectionate smile upon his lips, Iruma's concern was evident in the unrelenting stare of sweet, azure eyes and the palm still perched upon his forehead. Even though he could sense his unease as keenly as if it were his own, ever the most admirable soul in the world, his best friend still spoke up.
“Are you feeling alright, Azz-kun?”
Forcing a smile, Asmodeus lifted his head from the cool, smooth bark of the sturdy tree behind him and gazed up into those perfect eyes. “You needn't concern yourself with me, Iruma-sama. I will be back to my passionate self before you know it! Besides, today is about you – we must celebrate!”
Numerous thumps shook the earth like pudding as a trail of dust and bending trees rapidly approached them, screeches and squawks from untold wildlife equally ominous. It was a wonder she didn't crash into them as deep grooves scored the soil beneath her heels to forestall her arrival, overzealous arms outstretched where she wobbled mere inches from Iruma's back.
“Iruma-chi!”
As Iruma stood and turned to hug her, Clara's muddy face poked from beneath his arm to worriedly gaze upon him. Though he cared not for her pity, the action left him surprisingly touched. Clara was reigning in her natural ability to irritate him. Taking note of his blank expression and the vibrant flower pressed against her back, a wide, wicked grin spread up her face as she pulled back to hold Iruma at arm's length, shining her radiant warmth upon him while one hand rummaged in her magic pouch.
“Here! Tasty num-nums for the hungry-wungry happy boy!”
Even Asmodeus had to chuckle at her antics, Iruma's open and heartwarming laughter just the balm his soul needed as he accepted the wide sack of chocolate bundled carelessly into his free arm. For the chance to hang out and spoil his dear Iruma as he undoubtedly deserves, he must naturally put aside this momentary defeat.
Asmodeus half willed the lone Gloriosa to burst into flames where it sat atop his bedside table in a clear crystal vase, although he put no magic into the impulse. Of course the sprawling pink-gold petals born from the same stem alone weren't enough to convey his affections! So consumed was he by the excitement to finally express himself that he neglected to realise the occasion! So, truly, it was by his own failings that he had sabotaged himself. Granted, Iruma had never provided the knowledge of the day of his birth, but he himself had confessed to being so swept up in everything else that he simply forgot! Such things were entirely natural in the face of endless ordeals!
Next time, he would succeed where he had previously fallen, return at a more opportune moment with an entire imperishable bouquet! Laced with infinitely more heartfelt displays of obvious meaning!
Countless restless afternoons were spent within the gold-tinted confines of his private greenhouse, impatient gaze transfixed on barren flowerbeds or yet-minuscule white blooms whose buds stubbornly refused to open. Ordinarily, nothing could stand in the path of his brilliance, victory after effortless victory falling upon his lap like carefully plucked petals, so his long-winded struggle against this most unexpected foe left him far more frustrated than he would ever admit. Obsessed with his need to make everything perfect, Iruma and even Clara couldn't help but worry over the dark lines which had intruded beneath his eyes, a concern he simply waved away despite their protests. At least he incorporated their advice into his routine, unwilling to create undue displeasure in his paramour.
Days continued to pass in the blink of an eye when engulfed in his garden exploits, pride and affection free to spring forth from the charred remains of vexation when he triumphantly regarded the array of whites, purples and pale pinks. Tenderly he gazed upon the single blue flower that sprouted proudly from its pot, fashioned himself from sparkling clay and fired by his own hand. Unfazed was he by its solitary nature, for just as Iruma was standalone and irreplaceable, so too was this mighty bloom destined to be the centrepiece of his proposal. There was no other place for it than held aloft by beautiful and colourful friends steeped in devotion, admiration, and the promise to protect and provide for their undisputed ruler.
Chest puffed with pride, he reverently plucked all he needed to complete his perfect arrangement.
If only he could utilise some of Iruma's dodging instinct as his mother-detector went off mere moments too late to evade. An affronted squawk snapped out of him at the pointed nose dragging this way and that over the back of his head, suffocating arms no less uncompromising than prison bars where their iron grip trapped his torso.
“Mother!”
“What, I'm not allowed to cuddle my cute little son when he's working so hard? I never see you lately, Alice-chan! You're never home these days...”
Not when you are, no, he wisely refused to say.
As though attuned to his thoughts, she mournfully huffed a sigh of half-feigned disappointment while she gradually drew away. For only an instant, his heart gleefully leapt at the notion of peace but alas, it was not to be.
“Besides... why wouldn't I praise you for such intricate work? Look at how you've put your heart into expressing your true self with all the subtlety of charm! My little boy has grown into such a doting young man, ready to take the next step into a glamorous new world with the demon of his dreams! Ah, it brings a tear to one's eye.”
Overwhelmingly heavy with little warning, his head dipped into the supportive set of her shoulder, doubts from his previous failure that he had fought so hard to quell beneath his boots cast from him in a stunningly open sigh. “Well, yes, but... what if he is similarly oblivious? What if he refuses? What if I ever fail to provide for him, or cannot even persuade him with this display alone?”
“Then you come back with something bigger and more breathtaking until he understands! Really, I thought I taught you better than to take defeat lying down.”
She was right, of course. In some way or another, much as he loathed to acknowledge it, she always was when it came to matters of the heart. Or when it concerned him. Really, there was no choice but to endeavour to correct his previous error and win Iruma's affections.
Resolve clenched decisively around strikingly sturdy stems.
To be quite honest, part of him genuinely wouldn't be surprised if Clara stole his bouquet to perform her following action, trampling all over his feelings while she tried to literally beat Iruma over the head with his love. To her credit, she somehow had the decency to actually replicate his painstakingly curated, hand-crafted token of affection, in her own messy way, a noble sacrifice of twining stalks lashed together beneath large, complementary blooms.
“Azz-Azz. Adores. You. You giant dummyhead!”
As petal after petal broke free of its restraints at the behest of her violent, wild shaking, wafted delicately in a breeze not previously present to caress Iruma's unguarded cheek as he so desperately desired to do, he forfeited the ability to breathe. Even as cerulean eyes in a beautifully flushed face turned their attention to him, wide with understanding and slightly damp with unfettered and baffled laughter, he could hardly break free of his enchantment. Unable to find his voice, face ablaze with no doubt a fiercer flame than Iruma's, his own unmarred bouquet found its way into the open air between them, protruded from the end of his arm as though it were the first buds on a tree branch after an eternity of frost. Far be it from him to indulge in such an amorous trait, but when dizziness began to settle in around the apparent slowness of Iruma's answer, restless teeth could no more keep themselves from the feast of his lower lip than he could stop loving the young demon stood before him.
Watching as though through an ancient screen that still endeavoured to parse the meaning of a broken, sullied disc, the world itself in a state of equally breathless anticipation, Iruma's delighted grin spread up adorable dimpled cheeks and cool, tender hands tightly enclosed about his own. Adoring tugs of his arm shattered the spell he had fallen under with enough strength to force him to breathe, and keen ears could function faithfully once more.
“Azz-kun.”
Lethargic lips still unwilling to make true sound, he could only mutter a startled, “yes?”
“No one's ever confessed to me before, s-so I'm not really sure what I should be doing or if I'll even be the partner you seem to think I will, but I'll do my best to live up to your expectations! You've clearly worked so hard to make me realise how you feel. I'm really, truly flattered! And...” distracted fingertips danced sweetly across his skin, a trait Iruma may very well have forgotten amidst the maelstrom of turbulent emotions given the lack of explanation despite him adorably averting his gaze, “while I still don't know that much about diabotany, I-I'd like to learn... with you...”
Instantly Iruma's head bolted up in shock, palms looser around his own as he hastily added, “i-if you'll teach me, I mean!”
A quiet, single huff of near-silent laughter slipped from Asmodeus' lips, dragged all the heaviness of burdensome doubts and emotions along with it to leave him undeniably giddy with the strange and unexpected lightness that seemed fit to carry him away on the slightest, scented breeze. Elegant fingers curled sweetly around a hand that still clasped his own, a solemn vow between them as intimate as the sprawling bouquet would allow.
“Believe me, Iruma-sama, it would be my pleasure.”
