Blue's Pov
"Wh--wh--who are you?" I barely manage to be audible after struggling. I feel like my throat is tight and I can't even breathe. When the demon comes closer, I realize it's in human form. Tall, neat and long black hair tied into a low ponytail.
Wait..the yellow eyes and the red robe!! I recognize the demon clan.
My fingers dig into the sheets, clutching them tightly. What's a blood sovereign doing here?
My lungs are barely functioning after realizing this demon. They are known as the second most dangerous clan in the history of demons. Now, I'm in front of one, just some inches separating us.
Wait, is it the cause of the bleeding scars on my back?
Suddenly, he starts raising his hand towards my face.
"Why is it so hard?" the deep whisper echoes through the whole room like danger. What does he mean anyway?
I watch as his hand draws near, and near..and_
"Blue??Blue?" The knock on my window startles me.
Grey?
When I turn back, the demon is no longer there. Where did it go?
"Blue? open up!"
Right. What's he doing here at such a time?
I draw the curtains and open the window for him.
"Why are you here?" I ask as I help him enter the room.
"And why are you all sweaty?" He asks with a playful smirk on his face. "Did I interrupt your sweet jerking off time?"
"ew, no" I sigh heavily, rubbing my forehead. "What are you doing here Grey?"
I stare at him, still catching my breath from earlier. The shadows in my room flicker with the faint glow of my desk lamp, and the air smells faintly of Grey—iron, faint smoke, something sharp I can't place.
"So… you're here to… study?" I ask slowly, raising an eyebrow.
Grey smirks, leaning casually against the window frame.
"Yes. Study. You do remember, right? You said we'd go over those equations together."
I freeze. "Study? Yes… you remember?" I cross my arms. "You forgot last time. You forgot we agreed we would—"
He tilts his head, amused. "I know, I know. But it's only 9 p.m. Nothing says we can't do it now."
I huff, trying to sound annoyed, but the tightness in my chest betrays me. "Fine. But this time… I'm not letting you slack."
Grey chuckles, pulling a chair up across from me. "I wouldn't dream of it."
I glance at the notebook I'd left open on my desk. Numbers, formulas, scribbles everywhere. "Alright… let's start with the Pythagoras stuff." I tap the page with my pencil, trying to sound normal. My hands are still shaky, my back still aches from the earlier incident, but… he's here. And somehow that makes everything both worse and better.
Grey leans in, his silver-braided hair brushing against my papers as he reads over the equations.
"Hmm… yes, that one's simple. But this one? You've made a small mistake here."
I bite back a retort, too distracted by the way his eyes narrow slightly as he focuses on my work. "Really? That's the mistake you noticed?" I say, trying to sound sharp.
"Mm," he hums, tapping my pencil. "The tiniest thing. But it matters."
We work in silence for a few minutes. The quiet isn't uncomfortable—it's… tense, like we're both waiting for the other to break it.
"Blue," he finally says, almost casually, "you're really into this, huh?"
I glance up, meeting his gaze. "Math isn't just numbers. It's… logic. It makes sense, unlike some people."
Grey's lips twitch, a half-smile forming. "Ouch. Guess that's me?"
"Maybe," I mutter, trying to focus back on the equations.
He leans back, watching me for a long moment. "You know… I kind of like that you're serious about it. Focused."
I chew on my pencil, "You're easily impressed, huh?"
"Not easily… selectively," he replies. His tone is teasing, but there's something soft underneath, like a secret he's not letting out.
We go back to the math, numbers and formulas blurring together, but I notice I'm no longer thinking about what happened earlier tonight. The tension is still there, yes, but now it's woven into this strange, quiet intimacy.
Time passes. The clock ticks to 10:30 p.m., but neither of us moves to leave.
"You're… actually better than I thought," Grey says, voice low. "I didn't think you'd push me this hard."
I glance at him, and my chest tightens. "I never said I'd go easy."
He smirks, leaning slightly closer across the desk. "Good. Because I like a challenge."
And for the first time tonight, I don't feel afraid. I feel… awake.
Plus, I get along with this version of him. The bullying, it's like it was in another life.
_
Finally, I close the textbook and stretch my arms, feeling every muscle ache from sitting too long. "Okay… I think that's enough for tonight. I need sleep."
Grey raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "Sleep? Already? We barely scratched the surface."
I give him a flat look. "It's 11 p.m., Grey. I need actual rest. We can go back tomorrow. So..you can leave."
He groans, draping himself across the desk like it's a personal tragedy. "Seriously? You're sending me off at this hour? So late? Plus—you know I haven't finished explaining the proofs. And—you should know that."
I roll my eyes. "Fine, fine. You can sleep here, whatever. But… you're not sleeping on my bed. Somewhere else. Got it?"
Grey smirks faintly, but doesn't answer immediately. He just watches me pack away my stuff, the way he always does when he's sizing me up.
I glance at him again. "Okay… goodnight then, genius."
"Go on. Sleep first," he says softly, sitting back and opening his notebook. "I still have to work on some math."
I shake my head with a smirk, grabbing the blanket from the corner. "Fine, genius. You do your work. I'll be in the other corner."
I crawl under the covers, letting the quiet of the room wrap around me. Grey's pen scratches faintly against paper, the numbers flowing effortlessly like they always do. I close my eyes, feeling the calm settle… but it's not complete.
A soft sound of him moving catches my ear. I hear Grey adjust, just a little, and then silence.
A flicker of movement in my peripheral vision makes me open one eye. Grey's gaze is sharp, flicking toward a shadowed corner of the room. Not angry exactly, but… focused. Protective. Slightly tense.
I stare back, but he doesn't speak. Just a quiet, calculating glance that says he's aware of everything, even what I can't see.
Then he goes back to his notebook. Numbers. Formulas.
Calculations.
What was he looking at? Maybe thinking? Whatever.
_
I pull the blanket tighter around myself and finally let my eyelids droop. Grey's pen scratches softly in the background, the numbers and symbols flowing like their own quiet rhythm.
Somehow, the sound is calming.
"Mm… you're still here," I mutter, voice half asleep.
"Mm," he hums without looking up.
I let out a small laugh, muffled into the pillow. "You're like… a math night guard."
"Something like that," Grey replies, tone neutral but… I swear there's a flicker of something sharper in his gaze. I feel it from the corner of my eye—a subtle shift, his eyes glancing toward the shadowed side of the room. Not anger… not fear… but caution. Like he's sensing something I can't.
I squint in the dim light but see nothing. Must be my imagination.
Wait, or is the demon still here and he can actually see it? No.. he's human, he can't. Maybe he's just scared of the dark, like fearing something might be in the dark corner.
"Mm… you don't have to stare at the corner like it's gonna jump out, you know," I mumble, half-teasing, half-curious.
Grey doesn't answer. Just keeps his pen moving and his eyes occasionally flicking that same corner. Quiet. Calculating. I can feel it—even in sleepiness, even with the ache in my back.
I sigh and roll onto my side, letting the quiet wash over the room. Grey's still working, numbers and formulas filling the space between us. It's… nice. Safe, in a way.
And somewhere in the back of my head, I realize: that corner isn't the only thing he's watching.
_________ ____________ ____________
Author's pov
The kitchen smelled like herbs and roasting meat, a warm comfort in the otherwise cold stone walls of the mansion. The long, narrow room glowed softly from the lanterns Grey had lit, their flickering light casting shadows that danced across the walls. Steam rose from the pots on the stove, carrying the faint scent of garlic and rosemary—tonight, he'd prepared Ruelle's favorite: roasted chicken with golden, crispy skin and honey-glazed carrots, the way she liked them.
"Smells amazing, Grey!" Ruelle chirped as she slid a chair across the floor. Her small hands clutched a plate as she looked at the steaming food with wide, innocent eyes.
Grey allowed himself a small, rare smile, his dark eyes softening as he placed the last tray on the table. "I know. That's why I made it. Thought you'd appreciate it."
Ruelle's lips curved, delighted, as she sat down. "You always do this for me," she said, voice muffled slightly by the edge of the table. "Even though you're… you."
Grey tilted his head, amused at her wording. "Even though I'm… a genius?" he asked lightly, but there was warmth beneath his teasing.
"No," she said seriously, tapping his arm with a small finger. "Even though you're… scary sometimes."
"Scary? Me?" Grey raised a brow, letting a chuckle slip. "I'm a very polite, very charming gentleman, Ruelle."
"Yeah, yeah," she waved her hand dismissively, clearly not convinced. But she reached for a slice of chicken and dug in, and Grey's gaze lingered on her as she ate. Watching her laugh and chew with unrestrained delight—it was moments like these that reminded him why he maintained some semblance of humanity, why he allowed this fragile warmth to exist amidst the chaos of his life.
From the cage in the corner, the soft rattle of scales accompanied by a low hiss reminded him of the other presence in the room: his mother. The serpent, coiled neatly within the gilded enclosure, her golden-red eyes fixed on him, the faint heat of her aura rippling outward.
"Mother," Grey said quietly, inclining his head toward her. "Dinner's ready."
Her tongue flicked across her fangs, tasting the air. A faint shimmer rippled along the bars of her cage. She hissed softly, and the sound was almost like contentment.
Ruelle tilted her head toward the serpent. "Mommy… do you think she'll ever… be like she used to? Human again?" Her voice was small, almost afraid of the answer.
Grey's gaze softened as he reached over, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "One day," he said firmly, voice gentle, soothing. "I promise. She'll come back, Ruelle. She's just… healing, in her own way."
Ruelle's eyes lit up with hope, and she leaned into him, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. "You promise?"
"I promise," Grey murmured, his hand resting on hers atop the table. He let the warmth linger between them for a heartbeat longer than necessary, allowing her to feel safe, to feel cared for. Moments like this were rare, fleeting, and he treasured them quietly, like a secret stored in the recesses of his mind.
Dinner was slow, careful. Grey served himself little, more as a gesture than for hunger, watching Ruelle eat with small smiles and soft chatter. Occasionally, his mother would hiss or flick her tail, and he would glance toward her, responding with a small nod or a flick of his eyes—acknowledging her presence without breaking the gentle atmosphere with fear or tension.
After the meal, Grey helped Ruelle clean up, laughing softly as she tried to carry a tray too big for her small arms. "Careful, little whirlwind," he teased. "You'll drop it all."
"I can handle it!" she protested, stubborn and determined as always.
Grey shook his head, amused, letting her struggle for a moment before gently taking the tray from her hands. He ruffled her hair lightly as she scowled at him, pretending to pout.
Finally, he led her to her room. She crawled into her blankets, yawning as her eyes drooped. Grey tucked her in carefully, brushing the hair from her forehead. "Sleep tight, Ruelle. Dream of something nice."
"I will," she murmured, voice already half-asleep. "Thanks, Grey… for tonight."
He pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "Always, little whirlwind. Always."
Her eyes fluttered closed, and Grey lingered a moment longer, just watching her breathe. Only when he was sure she was asleep did he rise, silent and purposeful, moving back to the main room.
The lanterns cast long shadows across the marble floor as he approached the cage. His mother's eyes met his, glinting in the low light.
"I gotta go to Pen's place later tonight" he started, "I'm really hungry "
"Haven't you been having her soul?" His mother hissed behind the bars.
Grey shook his head, "I've been occupied lately"
"How is he?" her voice hissed, curiosity and danger lacing the sound.
Grey leaned casually against the edge of the cage, arms folded. His expression was calm, but there was a dangerous undertone beneath it. "The little Vard?" he said, letting the name slip off his tongue with amusement. "He's… slowly wrapping around my finger."
A faint hiss of approval—or was it warning?—rippled from the serpent. "And if he realizes what you're doing?"
Grey's lips curled into a small, sharp smile. "Then it won't matter. By the time he realizes, it will be too late. That boy… he's curious, clever… and entirely unaware of the danger around him."
"You enjoy toying with him," she said, her voice low and serpentine.
Grey's gaze sharpened. "Not just toying," he replied. "I'm… teaching him. Guiding him. Letting him think he has control. And when the time comes, he'll do exactly what I need. The little Vard has no idea how deep he's sinking."
He's way too kind. Grey thought to himself.
The serpent hissed softly, a ripple of her tail brushing the cage bars. "Do not fail me," she warned, voice almost threatening.
Grey stepped closer, letting the warmth of the lanterns brush across his face, his eyes gleaming darkly in the shadows. "Fail? No," he said, voice low, smooth, deadly. "I don't fail. I never fail."
He lingered there a moment longer, watching the flicker of light across her scales, the faint hum of power in the air. Then, turning away, he moved back into the shadows of the house.
Outside, the world was dark, chaotic—but inside, he had control. Inside, he had his plan. Inside, he had the little Vard… slowly learning, slowly bending… slowly his.
And that was enough.