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By the time Asmodeus arrives back in his own ring, he is extremely nervous. Fizz hasn’t replied to any of his texts or calls, despite him responding almost immediately after Blitzø’s court appearance ended. It has him concerned, to the point that he skips out on his, Bee, and Bel’s usual standing tradition of grabbing a drink after being summoned to go check on his little clown sooner.
The palace is so quiet when he arrives home he can hear a pin drop. The lights are off in almost every spot, Oz flicking them on as he walks through their home.
“Fizzy? You here, baby? I’m home!”
He gets no reply. Ozzie continues through the halls, popping his head in to check the living room, the kitchen, the quieves’ wing. Fizz is nowhere to be found. There are remnants of him, a bowl full of cereal that’s gone untouched, milk still left out on the counter. Panic starts to thrum through Oz and he opens up the app they’d downloaded after the kidnapping, checking Fizz’s location.
The bright blue circle that’s meant to mark Fizz is right on top of Ozzie’s own, blinking slowly. He’s here in the palace somewhere, or at least his phone is.
Oz keeps looking and eventually finds him tucked away in a far-off guest room, hardly touched. He’s painfully silent, phone in his hands as he sits on the side of the bed, facing away from the door Ozzie’s just opened.
“Fizz?” the sin calls softly, stepping inside and shutting it behind him. The imp doesn’t reply, aside from a quiet sniff and a jolt of recognition at Ozzie’s voice. “Fizzy, you worried me,” he coos softly, walking over to the side the clown is facing.
Fizzarolli is crying. Big fat tears roll down his cheeks, and from the look of how raw the skin around his eyes looks, he’s been at it for a while. Ozzie’s body sags with relief, glad to find his little love even if he’s not in the best shape.
“Baby, come here,” Ozzie murmurs, stepping forward. Fizz’s eyes snap up to look at him, and there’s an anger there Oz hasn’t seen in a long time, and rarely directed at himself. The clown slams his phone on the nightstand, little hands curling into tight fists as he glares up at his lover through his tears.
“What happened?” Fizz croaks out, a shiver rolling down his body. He’s still in the pajamas Ozzie had seen him in this morning. He looked so beautiful then, so soft and happy, still curled up in bed taking a rare chance to sleep in while Oz was getting ready for court. Neither of them had known then that it would be about Blitzø.
“How much did you see?”
Fizz scowls at him, rubbing at a tear as it spills down his cheek. “Everything! I saw the whole fucking thing, Ozzie! I almost lost Blitzø forever this time, and you—” he cuts himself off with a little hiccup. “You were going to just let it happen.”
“Fizz!” Oz’s heart aches as he kneels, the clown whimpering as he pulls his legs onto the bed, hugging them to his chest. Ozzie leans over the mattress, as far as he can before Fizz starts to lean away. “Baby, it wasn’t like that. I tried!”
“You’re a Sin!” Fizz bites back, sniffling. He scoots further back against the pile of pillows behind him like he’s trying to sink into them. “And Satan isn’t even actually in charge, you told me yourself! He’s just on a fucking power trip while Lucifer’s away.”
“I know, froggie, I just—”
“He had his head on the fucking chopping block!” Fizz chokes on a ragged breath, tears dripping from his face and dampening his sleep shirt. “Blitzø was as good as dead and you were just up on your fucking bench watching!”
“Fizz,” Oz sighs, a hand outstretched, lying just in front of the jester. It’s as close as he’s gotten, so he’ll take it. “Baby, I can’t just take on the other sins over Blitzø, that’s impossible.”
“You did for me! You took on Mammon for me!”
“That’s different, he’s just— I mean, you’re you! I’d take on anyone—”
“I’m an imp!” Fizz shouts, snatching a pillow from behind him and throwing it at Ozzie’s face. The sin doesn’t dodge, merely huffing as it hits him and drops to the bed. “I’m the same as him!”
“No, you’re really not, Fizz,” Oz tries to reach further but his hand is smacked away by another pillow and he reels back, not wanting Fizz to pull away further. “Fizz, I love you. That alone makes you worlds different from any other imp out there.”
The clown shrieks with frustration, hands clasping at his face as he tries to wipe away the still-streaming tears. When he looks back at Oz, his expression is painful. Oz hates it.
“So you’d just let any imp be put to death so long as you’re not in love with them?”
That takes Ozzie aback, the sin reeling away for a second as he processes. “No, I didn’t mean it like that!”
“But is it true?” Fizz’s tears are slowing but the hurt never leaves his face. “You go to court a few times a month but I almost never hear about what happens after. How many imps have you watched die and never thought twice about it?”
“I—” Ozzie pauses, trying to choose his words carefully. “Most cases don’t even involve imps, I mean technically they’re usually Goetia-related. Those birds love to fucking complain, make a big deal out of nothing.”
“Sure, and how many of those big deals end with an imp getting blamed for it? Or a hound? Do you ever fight for them? Bee spoke up before you did today, Ozzie! You know Blitzø! We just had lunch with him last week! Don’t you see how messed up that is?”
He can’t deny that. It’s not that he hadn’t thought to speak up, but honestly, it’d been a little jarring to see Blitzø on trial. He’d been so lost in his thoughts trying to piece together the truth from what little he’d known of Stolas and Blitzø’s connection to try and make sense of it and before he realized it, Bee had spoken up on the imp’s behalf first.
“I was just thinking about the case,” he tries to explain, Fizz huffing as he grabs a pillow and hugs it to his chest, refusing to make eye contact. “I spoke up right after her, didn’t I? I’d just been trying to think back on whether Stolas ever mentioned his grimoire when he’d come to see me for the crystal.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Fizz grumbles. “It got lost when you went and got mad at Mam right after and distracted everyone from Blitzø getting to tell his side.”
“Wh—” Oz blinks. “I was mad because he was talking shit about you, baby!”
“So what?!” Fizz’s eyes return to him, still glaring daggers. “I wasn’t on trial! But maybe I should’ve been, at least then you’d give a shit.”
“Fizzy,” the sin groans, flopping against the bed before he straightens back up. He can feel them rolling into a circle. “Babe, please, I cared about Blitzø, really.”
“Cared more about Mammon saying stupid shit than you did that bullshit trial.”
“Again, he was talking shit about you, Fizz, the person I’m in love with. I couldn’t just let that lie!”
“What did he say again?”
Oz doesn’t realize it’s a trap until the reply has left his mouth. “He said I was slumming it with lower classes!”
“So you do think I’m lower class?”
The sin freezes. Fizz’s scowl deepens. “You think you’re slumming it with me?”
“No!”
“Sorry to bring your reputation down,” the jester snarks, pulling himself up off the bed and heading for the door. Ozzie gets up immediately, grabbing the clown’s phone from the nightstand before following Fizz as he stomps out of the room. “Is that how you get back in good graces with the Goetia and the other sins? By sitting by as they execute whoever they want?”
“Fizz, please!” Oz pleads, walking right behind him. Fizz stomps all the way to their bedroom, sticking his head in his wardrobe as he looks for something. “Froggie, I swear, I don’t just let Satan and Mam do what they want. The rest of us sins are usually pretty reasonable, trials go on forever.”
“Oh!” He pulls his head out from his closet, a pair of pants clutched in his hands. “So you made a special exception for Blitzø and chose to sit this one out? What’s wrong? Was I spending too much time with him? Texting him too much?” He starts yanking clothes out of the closet, tossing them aimlessly as he sorts through them.
“Of course not, you know I love how close you and Blitzø have gotten! He’s good for you, you’re happier. I’d never try to mess with that.”
“But you did!”
Fizz pauses to glare at Oz, the sin shrinking back under his gaze. “You gave a half-assed argument, after Bee, and you were gonna sit right there and watch his head get chopped off if Stolas, of all fucking people, didn’t come to his rescue! He was almost—” he cuts himself off with a whimper, eyes scrunching shut as he hides them in the shirt in his hands.
“I’m sorry.”
The clown huffs a laugh into the shirt, tossing it to the ground and continuing his rampage in his closet. Ozzie can see the tears are back, blurring Fizz’s beautiful pink eyes as they threaten to overflow.
“Fizz, I am. Really. You’re right, I should’ve tried harder. I should’ve vouched for his character.”
“Yeah, you should have.” The clown pulls back, staring at his wardrobe, now mostly empty. His clothes surround him and he shakes in frustration, hands tugging at the ends of his cap as he kicks at the clothes surrounding him, sending them flying. “Fucking stupid, I’m wasting so much time,” he grumbles to himself, swiping at an eye as he stretches over a massive pile to his left, heading into their connected bathroom.
Ozzie follows slowly, hands clasped tightly together in front of him, the clown’s phone carefully cradled between them. He watches as Fizz looks at himself in the mirror, the imp making a noise of disgust as he tries to clean himself up a bit. He’s a mess, albeit still a beautiful one. The rims of his eyes are puffy and red, tear trails drying on his cheeks. He splashes water on his face, rubbing it with a towel after. Little changes.
“What can I do?”
Fizz glances over at him for a second before rolling his eyes, staring at himself again in the mirror before sighing and straightening back up, accepting there’s little he can do to not look like the wreck he currently is. He walks back into the bedroom, sliding right by Oz.
“Nothing. You’ve done enough.”
The clown walks back into the bedroom, kicking his clothes around a bit as he looks for something, huffing when he comes up short, and then his gaze turns to the bedroom. “I need to get going.” Fizz sighs, stretching up to look at their bed and then back down. Ozzie watches from the bathroom doorway, wracking his brain for something to say, to do. How can he make this right?
“Where the fuck is it?! I gotta go!” Fizz yells in frustration, bending low to look under their dresser.
“Go where? What do you need?”
Fizz doesn’t answer, still tossing things around and then he storms out of the room and Oz runs after him.
“Fizz! Please!”
“I need my phone,” he replies through gritted teeth, and Oz reaches out and grabs his arm. The clown jerks away, turning to chew him out but he pauses as the sin holds out his phone for him. He snatches it up, checking the notifications and sighing loudly before stuffing it in his pocket.
“Where are you going?” Ozzie asks again as Fizz starts to move once more, heading through the halls hot on the imp’s trail.
“I need to check on Blitzø. He isn’t answering and I need to make sure he’s okay.”
“Oh! Of course, let me—”
“I’m not taking your fucking portal,” Fizz snips, still stomping towards the front hall.
“What? Fizz, come on, let me portal you. I won’t even go with you, I’ll just drop you off if that’s what you want.”
“Oh, so kind, thanks so much, Asmodeus.” Fizz’s tone is mocking, turning around to give Oz a tight smile as he bows. “Your sinly generosity knows no bounds, but I’ll manage on my own, thanks.”
“A car, then. Please, take one of the cars.”
The clown levels him with a look. “I can afford the bus.”
“Can you?” Ozzie knows about Fizz’s finances right now, how almost everything is still tangled up with Mammon. It’s been a continued struggle, one that Ozzie’s been able to help with by offering up his own endless supply of cash to make up for it. Fizz hasn’t turned him down in a long time, til now.
Fizz huffs at his reply, stretching a hand out and grabbing a door, and suddenly Ozzie realizes they’re at the entrance to their home and panic bubbles up as he grabs for the little clown, clutching one tiny hand in his own.
“Please, Fizz,” he begs softly, leaning as low as he can to match Fizz’s stature. “If not for me, then for Blitzø. You know he’d worry about you using public transportation, especially after last time.”
The way Fizzarolli blanches immediately assures him that yes, he does in fact remember it too. It’d been a mess, and Blitzø had insisted that Fizz always either ask to be picked up or have Oz bring him over from then on. The metal hand he’d been holding yanks itself free and Fizz sighs, folding his arms over his chest as he looks away.
“Fine. Call it right now.”
Oz immediately does, turning away awkwardly as he waits for his call to be answered. After a few moments, he’s promised a car at the front of the palace shortly and he hangs up, turning back to Fizz.
“Are you spending the night there?” He asks softly when it’s clear Fizz is at least giving him until the car’s actually out front before he runs away. Fizz shrugs, leaning against the door and pulling his phone out to look at it again. There must be no reply from Blitzø still if the way his frown deepens means anything.
“Could you… let me know? If you do decide to sleep over there?”
Still no reply, and Ozzie’s heart clenches as he watches Fizz’s tail slowly wrap around his hips to self-soothe as the imp busies himself with his phone. He forces himself to stay quiet, eyes on Fizz as he counts down the seconds and tries to think of something, anything to say that could fix things. His phone pings and they both know it’s the driver letting them know he’s waiting.
Fizz meets his eyes for a moment, and then he’s looking away again as he straightens up and grabs the door.
“Good night, Fizzy, love you,” Oz murmurs, holding the door for Fizz after the clown swings it open. Fizz walks out without another word, arms holding himself tight and tail around his legs. Ozzie watches him enter the elevator and then he’s left alone with nothing but his thoughts.
•••
Stolas almost jumps out of his skin when a loud banging rips him from his already admittedly poor sleep on this rather cramped couch. His eyes widen at the noise, pupils shrinking to pinpoints as his brain begins to race— Have they come back for him, changed their minds about letting him live, has someone else decided to come for him now that he’s weak and stripped down to be more harmless than a fledgling?
Looking to the side, Blitzø’s body language is both comforting and absolutely not. He’s sitting straight up in the little bean bag in the corner, his spines standing high against his neck as his eyes narrow towards the door. The alertness rolls off the imp in waves, his tail curling up behind him in agitation, but the way Stolas can see him slowly draw a knife from his boot is some level of soothing.
The banging starts up again, Stolas’ head whipping to watch Blitzø’s door shake in its frame from the force. He looks back to the imp who’s now pulled himself onto his feet, putting a finger to his lips when he notices the Goetia staring at him in panic.
“Blitzø, if you don’t open this fucking door right now I will rip it out of the damn wall, and I will not buy you a new one!”
The voice is muffled through the wood, Stolas’ brain flurrying with thoughts over who it could be but not able to quite land on anyone in particular. It’s not someone he can immediately recognize, but the way all of the tension seems to bleed out of Blitzø tells Stolas the imp certainly can tell who’s so rudely rattling his door at this hour.
“Shit.” Blitzø hisses softly, tucking his knife away and jumping to go unlock his apartment. Stolas watches him, eyes still wide and confusion still whirling through him. “Hold on, just give me a sec!” He barks when the pounding doesn’t stop, fumbling with his deadbolt before finally getting the door open a crack. It’s like opening the entryway for a gust of wind, as soon as a sliver appears between the door and the frame it’s shoved wide open along with Blitzø as he stumbles back, arms suddenly full of some pastel blur.
“Hey, whoah— What’s wrong, Fizz?” Blitzø asks, Stolas tilting his head curiously as he watches the imp’s arms immediately jump up to rub against the back of the intruder cramming itself against his chest. The name is familiar, but the sleek robotic arms that wrap around Blitzø’s torso multiple times send a spark of realization through his bird brain.
“What's wrong?” The jester practically wails, pulling back just enough to glare at Blitzø. Stolas recognizes him now, the infamous red beak and small white face with those large vibrant eyes, but the difference between the performer he’s only ever seen once in real life and this small imp in a much more casual attire and appearance is jarring. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“Well, I mean a lot. But you already knew that— Shit, you look terrible, have you been crying?” Blitzø quickly reaches a hand up to brush his thumb across one of Fizzarolli’s lower lids that looks swollen and aggravated.
“I thought I was going to watch you die and you couldn’t even text me back?” Fizzarolli growls, Stolas feeling more beads of confusion beginning to build inside of him at the way the city lights bleed through Blitzø’s windows and sparkle along tears pooling on the small imp’s lashes. His face is much more expressive, softer, than the one on the cereal box sitting in his cupboard— or what used to be his cupboard.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, my phone’s been blowing up ever since that stupid trial.” Blitzø tries to explain, “If you’ve messaged me I didn’t see it, I ended up having to turn the damn thing off.”
“Are you kidding me?” The clown shrieks, those tears spilling over to roll down his cheeks, “Of course I messaged you! I didn’t—” His words seize up in his throat as his chest heaves in a way that has Stolas’ own ache painfully.
“Christ, Fizz. You’re freezing. C’mon let's get out of the doorway.” Blitzø says, the hand cupping Fizzarolli’s face tightening almost frantically in a way Stolas can’t fully understand why. “Did Oz not just portal you here?”
“No. Didn’t want him to.” Fizz grumbles as Blitzø pulls him further into the apartment, kicking the door shut with his hoof behind them.
“Please tell me you didn’t take the bus again.” Blitzø sighs with a note of worry in his voice that has Stolas’ head tilting curiously, unsure of why that would be a point of concern.
“Let him call me a car,” Fizzarolli mumbles when Blitzø reaches over to grab the blanket off the back of the couch. Stolas jumps up a little bit feeling his body pinning the bottom of it in place, staring with wide eyes as Blitzø throws the fleece over Fizzarolli’s shoulders. The horse-patterned blanket practically swallows the jester, making him look even tinier to Stolas who already finds imps quite small as it is.
“He said you’d be worried if I didn’t.”
“No shit, you’re definitely not someone who should just be walking around alone.” Blitzø suddenly turns to look around towards the couch then the bean bag in the corner, awkwardly hovering for a moment before Stolas realizes he’s looking for a place to settle Fizzarolli. With a flush, Stolas quickly tucks his legs and straightens to sit on the couch instead of sprawling the entire length.
“You could sit here next to me if you would like, Fizzarolli.” He invites softly, warming when Blitzø smiles at him for offering as if Stolas isn’t the one crashing on his very small space. Fizz finally seems to notice the discarded royal Goetia on the couch, suddenly looking much more embarrassed than before. The jester scrubs at his eyes frantically, as if he can rub the tear tracks and his vulnerability into nonexistence in front of someone who is practically a stranger.
“Haha, shit, you have company. Sorry, should’ve expected that.” Fizz tries to laugh, a smile stretching across his face that looks quite pretty in Stolas’ opinion but makes Blitzø grimace for some reason. “Sometimes I forget you’re busy like, all the time now.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” Blitzø soothes, pulling him towards the cushion Stolas freed up for the little imp. “I’m always here for you, Fizzie. Stolas is really nice too, see he moved over for ya.”
“Oh, yes. Please don’t mind me.” Stolas tries to offer when the jester hesitantly looks in his direction before allowing Blitzø to settle him down on the other end of the couch. Fizzarolli’s allowed his arms to retract from their death grip around Blitzø, but clenches Blitzø’s hands tightly when the other imp tries to pull back a step.
They’re curious to watch together, the way Blitzø allows this physicality with such ease, his tail coming up to tangle with Fizzarolli’s as if it’s an unconscious thought while the jester keeps him close. Fizzarolli seems to find something uncomfortable about this. Not keeping Blitzø so casually in his personal space, but that Stolas is a witness. The jester looks at him warily, body language ever so subtly shifting away from him even though they’re nowhere near touching. Stolas offers him what he hopes is a pleasant smile, pleased that it seems to be enough to lessen some of the tension in the jester.
Fizzarolli’s eyes slide back to Blitzø’s face, Stolas following them and feeling his heart stutter at the look across his features that are normally so sharp and closed off. The Goetia has heard this imp’s name fall from Blitzø’s beak in increasing frequency without much context over the past while, but the only time he’s ever seen them interact in person had been that terrible night at Ozzie’s— When the only expressions either imp wore were nothing approaching anything kind.
“I thought I was going to lose you again.” Fizzarolli warbles, unable to hold back a fresh wave of tears rolling down his cheeks. “I just got you back. You were going to leave me again, and Ozzie didn’t even care.”
“Now that’s not entirely true, he tried to speak up for me, didn’t he?” Blitzø tries to soothe him, brushing his thumbs over Fizzarolli’s fingers before his tail twists a little tighter around the jester’s. Stolas has seen Blitzø use his tail in plenty of different ways, on himself included, but never quite like this with another imp. Briefly, the thought flitters across his mind that Fizzarolli’s robotic hands might not have the same nerves to pick up the comfort of physical contact the same way his skin would.
“I saw all of it! I saw the whole court bullshit, the axe, I saw your neck, asshole!” Fizzarolli’s words come out increasingly frantic, growling the last word that loses a lot of its bite by the way the jester whimpers pathetically and screws his eyes shut. “And he did nothing. He was just going to let it fall—”
“Okay, but my head didn’t actually roll, so it’s fine,” Blitzø explains, deflecting from Fizzarolli’s accusation before the other imp can keep going. Stolas frowns, finding himself in a difficult position in his own head. On the one hand, he deeply dislikes the way Blitzø attempts to pave over coming so close to losing his life, but on the other he has a more fundamental understanding of ruling class politics— Unable to help empathizing with the unfortunate contradiction that sometimes having such status can bind a man into wielding no more power than a pawn.
“He knows how much you mean to me, Blitzø. I’ve told him everything, and he just sat there.” Fizzarolli practically whispers, opening his eyes to stare up at Blitzø widely. “I watched him look at my texts, and he didn’t do anything. Like he didn’t even care about—” a hiccup cuts him off, the jester’s beak pressing into a wobbly line instead of continuing, only looking at Blitzø with glassy eyes.
“I believe he does care.” Stolas tries to interject softly, unable to help himself when he sees Blitzø’s face crumble and mouth hang open on a response that just won’t come. They both turn to look at him, Stolas fighting the urge to sink back against the armrest against his side to get further away from Fizzarolli’s piercingly pink stare especially. “I am— unsure of Asmodeus’ relationship with Blitzø. But I can say at the very least, it is very clear he cares very deeply about you, Fizzarolli.”
Neither of the imps respond, and Stolas suddenly floods with embarrassment at opening his beak. But he’s already started, so he feels compelled to explain at the very least. “I was there if you remember, the day that Crimson fellow attempted to ransom you. He was quite worried for you, I have never seen such a Sin so distressed before.”
Blitzø’s eyes widen largely at Stolas who has another bolt of confusion that almost has his feathers standing on end, not sure exactly why the imp is making such a face at him. Perhaps he wasn’t aware of the kidnapping of his supposed friend, or surprised Stolas would know of it? To be entirely honest, Stolas has never put much thought into Blitzø and Fizzarolli’s relationship at all. Blitzø has mentioned him in passing as if the jester means something but has never elaborated on why that would be the case, ever.
Stolas had always assumed the lack of explanation had more to do with their friendship being so casual as to not need any, but something starts nagging at his thoughts that maybe it is the exact opposite. That Blitzø has been withholding because of something deeper and harder to explain.
“Yeah? And what good did that do, huh?” Fizzarolli breaks Stolas and Blitzø out of their staring match. “You both were stuck in that office the whole day, and none of it got me out of there. If Blitzø wasn’t there, would I have even gotten home?”
Stolas is about to express how worried he had truly been that Asmodeus was ready to march down to Greed himself with the Witching Hour looming over them, and incredibly thankful it never came to that because Fizzarolli had returned. But his words get stuck on processing the comment over Blitzø. Stolas in all honesty had never questioned how Asmodeus’ jester had returned, just thankful that their stressful day was over with. There was never anything close to a thought Blitzø had anything to do with those turn of events.
“You were there?” Blitzø and Stolas say over top one another, both of their eyes locking again in shock. Stolas looks down at his hands for a moment, only just realizing how tightly he’s clasped them together. He looks back to Blitzø, giving him his best attempt at a casual smile.
“I’d gone to ask for the crystal, for you. Plead your case, as it were.”
Fizzarolli huffs and Stolas glances toward him, throat tight to see the imp staring right back at him with that tired hurt still marring his lovely features. “No way he would’ve given you it without my okay. If you’d said that was why you wanted the meeting to begin with I would’ve cancelled to save you the time. You only got it because I told him to send it once I was back home.”
Stolas had wondered why the sin had changed his mind, but he’d never thought to consider that Fizzarolli had actually approved of the crystal going to Blitzø after all. His eyes flit to the other imp and he’s shocked to see Blitzø staring at him, eyes wide and expression almost unbearably gentle. They have a moment of unbroken eye contact, and then Blitzø seems to come back to himself, eyes darting down to the crystal still set in his wrist brace, and then to Fizzarolli’s face.
“Hey, isn’t that proof right there how much he cares about you, Fizz?” Blitzø squeezes the smaller imp’s hands in his own. “Turned down royalty until you said it was okay. That’s huge. Oz loves you, why, I bet even now he’s probably tossing and turning in his big sexy palace while he worries about you out here alone.”
Fizzarolli’s brow furrows, gaze locked on where he and Blitzø’s hands are entwined. “You think?”
Blitzø smiles back at him, nodding. “Remember the first time you came over here? You had a whole ass chaperone right to the door and everything and he was still checking in constantly. And it was like the middle of the day, nowhere near as late as it is right now.” His eyes flit to the door, a horse-themed clock barely visible above it in the dim light. “Speaking of, were you heading back soon? Should I call someone for you? Or—”
“Oh, yeah. I guess I should get going. Confirmed you’re still alive, which is just why I came here and all.” Fizzarolli says, voice sounding a little despondent as he stands up not bothered by the way Blitzø still hovers over him.
“Do you want to come back with me?” Fizzarolli asks, face tilting up and looking at Blitzø with eyes that beg the other imp to say yes. Stolas’ heart jumps into his throat at the thought of Blitzø leaving tonight. Blitzø looks as if he considers it before his eyes slide to Stolas and shakes his head slowly.
“I can’t tonight. Any other time you know I’d love to, but— Yeah, I think I’m needed here.”
Stolas feels guilty for the way his worry lifts for a moment despite how Fizzarolli’s face crumples a bit. The jester glances at Stolas before nodding as if he understands, shoulders hiking up around his face as his fists bunch in the blanket still draped over him. “Okay, I get it.”
The jester attempts to slide out of Blitzø’s space before he’s suddenly grabbed around the waist, a small gasp slipping out of his beak.
“Wait.”
Fizzarolli freezes, looking back at Blitzø with those pretty pink eyes largely set on his heart-shaped face.
“You could stay here though.” Blitzø offers, looking so painfully earnest in a way Stolas has never quite seen before. Stolas almost questions where the jester would even stay in this already abysmally cramped apartment, Fizzarolli looking as if he’s about to do the same before Blitzø hikes his grip on the clown tighter, lifting a majority of his weight off the floor. “You’re already in your jammies anyways.”
“Blitzø, what are you doing?” Fizzarolli asks almost frantically, arms wrapping around Blitzø’s neck without thought. His tone implies resistance, but his body allows itself so easily to fall into Blitzø, as if there’s no hesitancy to trust the larger imp’s arms fully supporting him— Like they’ve done this thousands of times before.
“Check this out,” Blitzø says teasingly, spinning once tightly with the jester in his arms as one of his hooves take a large step backwards to dance them to the corner before throwing the both of them back without looking. It’s lovely, a little show all on its own. They move so fluidly together, Fizzarolli allowing Blitzø to move him as if he doesn’t even need to think, and Blitzø’s steps landing confidently down to the point where they both fall squarely into the bean bag near the windows.
Fizzarolli peels into laughter when their bodies hit the cushion, but the way Blitzø’s face splits into a grin hurts just a little bit. It’s a gorgeous scene, he looks happy in a way Stolas is not quite sure he’s ever seen before. It’s easy, no forcing or coaxing to get such an ease of intimacy. Blitzø fell into it with the same trust he fell into the bean bag with Fizzarolli, not feeling the instinct to even look before leaping.
“Pretty sweet, right?” Blitzø asks when they settle, smiles plastered on both of their faces still. Fizzarolli’s tucked to his side, both of their bodies moving like water to fit together. “Might be a tight fit, but I’d say we’re experts at that by now. You never seemed to mind before, so it’ll just be like old times.”
“Are you gonna steal my blanket like always?” Fizzarolli teases when Blitzø reaches a hand up to drag the blanket off Fizzarolli’s shoulders and settle over them.
“I never stole shit.” Blitzø barks playfully, tucking the fleece around them but Stolas can still see the way their bodies tangle together underneath the fabric. “The floor always took it, you just never believe me. Doesn’t help you’re like a furnace. I don’t even know why I’m trying to tuck you in right now, you’re just going to kick it off later.”
“I like to be cozy,” Fizzarolli says sweetly, burying his face into Blitzø’s shoulder before lifting up and the bridge of his nose wrinkling annoyed. “Take that off, that’s not cozy. Who the fuck sleeps in an overcoat?”
“So, you’re staying?” Stolas feels torn on finding the way Blitzø perks up cutely, suddenly undoing all the nesting he’s done to drag his heavy coat off his shoulders and throw it to the floor, or if the whole show makes him sad— Upset at how quickly Blitzø folds to Fizzarolli’s commentary. He lands somewhere more positive, considering how it’s probably better for Blitzø to not be sleeping in something so heavy and stifling.
“Yes, you already said I could.” Fizzarolli says in a way Stolas can tell he’s trying to play off as bored. The jester sits up just a bit looking down at Blitzø’s boots, turning his head to look at the larger imp unimpressed. “Those too, jackass. I’m not having those kick my shins in the middle of the night.”
“Always the princess.” Blitzø gripes playfully, but leans down to slide his boots off and throw them into the middle of the floor. As soon as that’s done the imp flops back down into the beanbag, throwing an arm across Fizzarolli’s shoulders to drag him along. They collapse into a quite sweet pile, Blitzø reaching to grab the edge of the blanket to hike up over their shared form again.
Blitzø’s face turns to bury in the side of Fizzarolli’s neck, the jester’s head easily tilting to rest atop the crest of his forehead. It looks so natural and simple in a way that has Stolas’ already shaky world falling a little further from beneath his talons. The name Fizzarolli is undeniably one Stolas has heard, especially from Blitzø. But to actually see what that means, the way the two wrap around each other as if nothing else matters— Stolas almost wants to cry feeling so stuck between two very waring feelings.
They complete each other in a way that has the romantic in Stolas’ heart sing, but it’s muddied by an envy that he would really rather not deal with tonight. It’s not even exactly envy, the confusion that’s stuck with him this entire interaction is loud and undeniable, feeding into his miasma of feelings.
“Fuck, your hooves are so cold! I regret this.” Fizzarolli jumps when Blitzø’s legs slide underneath the blanket again, one of his knees tenting the fleece from where Stolas can imagine he’s pressing an offending hoof against the jester’s thigh.
“Oh, please.” Blitzø gripes and squirms tighter against the other imp. “There’s no way you can feel that through your twinky little pants.”
“It’s a phantom pain.” Fizzarolli jokes flatly, tightening his grip around Blitzø when the larger imp tries to pull away in distress. “Nope, you’re staying here and letting me make jokes about it. I’m a clown. You can’t escape my profession or me ever again, Blitzo.”
Stolas’ breath hitches at the older and violently unpreferred pronunciation of Blitzø’s name sliding from Fizzarolli’s lips, expecting a retaliation against it that never comes. He’s not entirely sure if Fizzarolli has a special pass with the name Blitzø has burned into the ground, or if Blitzø is just entirely too soft on the jester to yell about it. Stolas isn’t even sure which option would be better, both having his chest clench uncomfortably.
But they keep bringing up things Stolas has no context for, that nobody in Blitzø’s life would seem to have any understanding of. As far as Stolas was concerned, he was the only person from Blitzø’s past the imp has dragged with him back into the present.
“Never wanted to escape,” Blitzø mutters into the skin of Fizzarolli’s neck, Stolas barely able to see the flush spread across his face. He’s not entirely sure if this is normal friend behavior, finding the whole thing much closer to his ideal fantasies of romance. But he’s never really had many friends, let alone close ones, to compare to.
“Sorry, still getting used to that. Doesn’t quite feel real sometimes…” Stolas’ heart fractures just a bit at the emotion leaking into Fizzarolli’s response. This suddenly feels far too intimate for him to be a part of, feeling much more like a voyeur than any type of casual onlooker.
Stolas grabs the blanket still on his lap, fluffing it over his legs as he slides them back on the end of the couch and collapses into the cushions. He tries not to look at the couple as he does so, not wanting to gauge how much his movements alert them for fear it’ll be absolutely no reaction. The Goetia folds his hands politely over the hem of the blanket tucked against his chest, closing his eyes stubbornly.
He will fall back asleep, and none of this will be much of an issue later. He’s tired, and exhausted mentally, physically, and every other type of way a bird could be. Thankfully the pair lulls in conversation enough for Stolas to not fixate so hard on them for just a brief moment. It’s painfully short-lived though.
“He loves you so much, Fizz,” Blitzø whispers softly in a way that makes Stolas wish his hearing were a little worse, that he hasn’t been steadily logging all of Blitzø’s inflections and intonations in the hopes of reading the man a little better over their turbulent relationship. Because for a split second, Stolas isn’t quite sure if Blitzø truly is talking about the clown’s Deadly Sin, something much more personal in his delivery. “Don’t let me come between that, alright?”
“You couldn’t even if you tried,” Fizz responds quietly, his voice still rough around the edges but so incredibly soft. “You’ve always been my best friend, Blitzø.”
He shouldn’t be listening to this. Stolas’ eyes stare up at the ceiling, willing himself to try and tune out the gentle sounds of the imps still whispering to each other on the bean bag. It’s as close as he can get to giving them privacy without completely leaving, and in all fairness, he thinks they may have forgotten he’s only a few feet away anyway.
“What about Oz?” Stolas hears Fizz huff back, the tone drawing the owl’s attention back.
“Does he know you’re staying?” Blitzø asks quietly, and the clown lets out another little huff.
“No. He can freak out about it all night. Left me freaking out all day, seems fair.”
“Fizz,” Blitzø’s tone is almost chastising, but then he lets that subject die there. “Want pancakes tomorrow?” Stolas misses the reply, thoughts still circling around Asmodeus. Clearly Fizzarolli and the Sin had fought before he’d arrived here, to the point that he’d refused an easy portal travel to hammer home his point. It must’ve been very serious.
It’s understandable why he would want to leave his lover in the dark, but something about it makes Stolas ache. Perhaps it’s because he can see the other side. If he was worried for Blitzø and had no clue whether the imp was somewhere safe, he’d certainly like to know he was even if they’d had the worst fight of their lives.
He feels around in the couch as inconspicuous as possible, coming up victorious moments later as his hand closes around his phone, wedged between the cushions. He pulls it up, hiding it under his blanket to smother the light, and pulls up Asmodeus’ contact.
Their messages are sparse, almost completely empty aside from a few pleasantries sent out of obligation after they’d crossed paths during parties. He takes a minute to consider what to say before his fingers swipe over the keyboard.
>>Good evening, sire. I just wanted to advise you that Fizzarolli has arrived safe and sound to Blitzø’s home and will be spending the night here. I am as well, please feel free to ask if you require anything from me.
It’ll do. He sends it off and is shocked to see the receipt change from delivered to read almost immediately. Never has he had someone open a message so quickly. There’s the three dots forewarning of a response, and then they disappear. A minute passes and they show up again, only to vanish once more. He’s about to accept that Asmodeus seeing it is reply enough when a message finally comes through.
Does he look better?<<
Stolas stills, pressing his phone to his chest as his eyes flick back over to the bean bag. Fizzarolli and Blitzø are still pressed together like two peas in a pod, snuggled tightly under their shared blanket. It looks like Blitzø might be almost asleep, his eyes shut but his mouth still moving, mumbling something too quiet for Stolas to hear anymore. Fizzarolli smiles at it, whatever it was, murmuring something back. Something shifts low to the ground and Stolas realizes it’s their tails, poking out from under the blanket, completely entwined with each other. His breath catches in his throat and he pulls his phone back up.
>>Yes.
He shoves it back into the couch, eyes half-lidded as he settles back in. He’s exhausted, truly, it won’t take long for sleep to overcome him once he stops letting himself get distracted. The sound coming from the imps is no longer words, but instead a soft, steady purr. He’d heard it before, in the rare full moon nights Blitzø would stay and sleep for a while after they’d laid together. It’s louder than normal, and it takes only a moment to realize it’s because they’re both purring, their gentle noise filling the room. It’s beautiful, and even from his space on the couch, he can feel its calming effects starting to lull him back toward sleep.
“Stolas?” Stolas hears whispered over the quiet living room. “Are you still awake?”
Stolas’ gaze turns in the direction of the bundled imps, the vibrant magenta and green glow of Fizzarolli’s meeting his. He doesn’t respond, but it’s enough to signal he is very much still awake.
“Thank you for saving him.”
“Always.” He feels himself breathe, meaning it more genuinely than he expected. The smile Stolas can barely make out in the darkness does funny things to his heart, it’s gorgeous and soft in a way Stolas can vividly feel in his hollow bones. He can see it even as he settles back in and shuts his eyes, the clown's expression his last thought before sleep finally overtakes him.