"We're sowwy!"
The kids start to wail like some sort of banshee, tears flowing down their cheeks like waterfalls. It's a fear-inducing sight, thanks to the clusters of flour following along, almost like crusty pieces of flakes being peeled off their skin. Not like the brats care.
They're in full-blown panic mode.
It leaves me speechless.
I'm not angry, I'm not screaming, heck, I'm not even scolding them for the whole goddamn mess they've made! So, why the heck are they bawling their eyes out?!
What am I supposed to do?! What do parents do when their kids have a meltdown?!
…As if I'd know that!
And yet, somehow, I've got to calm them down before their banshee-like wails alert the whole darn staff. I don't know whether these guys are the kind to tattle to Jordan or keep their noses out of what doesn't concern them, but I'd rather not find out. So, first off, I've got to pacify them however the heck I can.
"Shh, calm down, it's alright." I try to keep my voice even and soothing. Not sure if I'm managing to, though. "Accidents happen. I'm really not mad. Shh, calm down."
"B-but!"
"The p-pie's ruined!"
"It was s-supposed to be a gift, waaah!"
They talk at the same time, making it hard to understand what they're saying, but I get the gist of it. I'm floored. So, they're crying because they didn't manage to bake a frigging pie? Not because of the destroyed kitchen, their dirty clothes, or the fear of being scolded…? You've got to be shitting me. For whom was even that goddamn pie—
Ah, dang it.
The answer's obvious.
The kids are growing demons.
That means they're most likely not allowed to consume human food just yet, in case they get addicted to it and refuse to eat anything else. That would be detrimental to their growth and affect their health, as proper demon meals contain, let's say, nutritious things that aren't from this realm but wholly necessary for young demons.
So, the strawberry pie couldn't have been for them; they've lied about the snack. From what I've seen, I'm the only human in this house. No need to be a genius to connect the dots.
"…Let's just clean you up before your father gets home, ok?"
They haven't stopped sobbing and sniffling yet, but at last, they nod. Quite obediently, too. Good.
Now, I gotta find a comb, something like a wide-tooth comb or a soft-bristled brush, to remove as much flour as possible from their hair first. Or maybe we should start with vacuum cleaning it, considering the amount there is.
I mean. It's a thick layer.
It's tempting to just throw them in the bathroom, but water would only make things worse, especially warm water. I don't want to deal with a pasty mess on top of everything else.
…Sigh. This is going to take forever.
****
"You… look tired."
"No, really?"
Snapping back at my dear husband might not be the brightest idea of the century, I admit. The thing is, I'm utterly exhausted, so you'll have to excuse my grouchy temper.
It's your brats' fault, anyway.
Jordan wisely decides not to comment, loosening his tie instead as his eyes travel down to his kids, who have taken possession of my thighs. They're sound asleep on the couch, flanking my sides with their heads resting on my legs, and their arms tightly wrapped around my thighs.
Yes, I've become their de facto pillow. And honestly? I'm too spent to even give a shit now. As long as they're quiet, they can sleep wherever the hell they want. They can even drool on my thighs for all I care.
"How was your day?"
"…Hectic."
Getting rid of the flour in the kids' hair took the whole afternoon, and gosh, it hadn't been easy. My fingers still feel sore, like hellish sore, from holding onto the comb for so long and fighting with fine particles of flour entangled with strands of hair for hours.
No, but seriously. Why does Ellena have such long, curly hair?! Elois isn't any better, either. His hair might be shorter, but it's as curly.
Also, keeping these kids sitting tight for a long period of time….? That's an impossible task. And getting them to change into another set of clothing and not run around the house butt-naked? That's God-tier level difficulty.
"—It seems to have been quite an eventful day, yes," Jordan nods with a knowing smile. Oh, so the staff is of the tattling kind. Duly noted. "Don't worry about the kitchen. I'll take care of the renovation, and we can order delivery food for you in the meantime."
"I'm not worried about it. It was your kids' fault, to start with, so I'm letting you deal with the aftermath. I've done my part."
"I know, I know." The demon chuckles. Yes, sure, laugh all you want. "Anyway, thank you for taking care of them and staying patient. I'm aware it's not always easy, and they can get a little bit rowdy at times. But what kid isn't?"
A little rowdy, eh?
Whatever. I snort.
That's pretty much all I can do, as I have no idea what to say. The demon's looking at his kids with so much affection right now that I can't bring myself to be snarky. It doesn't seem proper, even for me.
So, I shut my mouth.
A silence then settles between us.
But neither of us tries to break it. Instead, after removing his vest and tie and folding them on the low table, Jordan sits on the couch facing me, pulling out yet again a pile of reports from his suitcase. It's even thicker than yesterday.
…Workaholic?
"Are you curious?"
Ah, I've been staring too much.
"No, not really."
Well, maybe a little, but I refuse to pry.
"Is that so? Anyway, I've got an update for the clothing we bought online this morning. We should receive the package tomorrow before noon. I still believe we should go shopping in person some time soon and not just—"
"No, it's fine. I just need a few t-shirts, hoodies, and pants. All these can be easily bought online. No need to drag my feet to the mall."
"Alright, if you say so."
Again, silence. It lasts until Jordan opens his mouth for the second time, his eyes still locked onto his report as he speaks.
"On another topic, Eve has decided to come over tomorrow evening, probably around dinner time, instead of Saturday morning. She sent me a text message earlier. Apparently, she's managed to free up her schedule. Somehow."
"Eve?"
"The kids' mother."
Sorry, good sir, what?!
How can this guy casually drop such a huge bombshell, and then go back to reading his reports like nothing's happened?! Oi, I'm talking to you! Don't ignore me!
Fuck it. Whatever. I don't care.
I'm too tired to worry about it, too tired to even think. I'll leave that to my future self. His problem now, not mine.
For tonight, I just want to rest, and to hell with everything else. I'm not going to overthink, I'm not going to stress over my husband's previous bed partner, and I'm not going to try to understand the kids' weird clinginess to me.
Who the hell am I kidding?
I'm not getting any sleep tonight.