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plush-rabbit · 1 year

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Loneliness Back at Home

TW: self-degradation

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: Can yall guess the feelings that im going through rn

Of course they were going to move on with their lives. What became frequent and everyday text messages, slowly turned to once a week, and then once every two weeks, and then once every month, and then you were given a meme, and a reaction, and you should have seen it coming. You should have prepared yourself for the breakup of a friendship.

You were a fool to believe that you would still be adored after months of separation. Even Lucifer had warned you about it when you asked for your D.D.D. to accept calls and messages from the Human Realm. He had only scowled and told you that it would be a waste, that human relations hardly ever last long distance and you fought with him, tears burning in your eyes, and shame on the tips of your ears, telling him that it wasn’t going to be like that, arguing with a man older than you could ever comprehend about something childish in his eyes. He had only relented when you threatened to ask Lord Diavolo yourself for a connection plan to the Human Realm. You cannot fathom how smug he’ll be when you tell him to cancel the phone line to the Human Realm.

Tears well up in your eyes and it’s becoming difficult to swallow whatever is lodged in your throat. The crown of your head hits the back of your headboard and you dig your nails into your palms, forcing for the tears to stop.

No, you are not going to cry over them. Friendships come and go. You always told yourself you were the least liked, the one who they felt like they had to invite, the one who didn’t really fit in, the one who thought of everyone as a close friend but no one else thought the same. You were only there to fill the gaps, nothing more. You had to prepare yourself because you knew the truth, because the others were too kind to ever tell you otherwise.

And yet, it did nothing to soften the pain of rejection and abandonment.

In the loneliness of your mind, you told yourself that when you went back to the House of Lamentation, you’d be quieter, you’d be less of a nuisance- you’d be likable.

Your friends were sitting around you, laughing and talking, and every conversation that they had were about moments when you weren’t there. They had jokes that were unknown to outsiders, and you sat there, as an outsider, as someone marring their meet-up, as an onlooker and nothing else. They dropped you off, and later in their stories, you saw that they went out without you.

It wasn’t that you wanted them to have fun without you- you much prefer if they showed the world how happy they were rather than hide their happiness to spare your feelings anyways- but it was them ignoring you, looking the other way. You’d speak up and your words would be drowned by others, and your sentence would be snuffed before it had even begun to light.

You let the sting last throughout the night and in the morning when you went to the store, you saw them at the self-checkout, and they were smiling. Their contact lit your screen and you thought about calling them, about giving them a cheeky, “look up” and waving at them- a final outreach of friendship- but you stopped yourself. They hadn’t invited you, what would make you think that they would want to say hello to you. No, you saved yourself from that humiliation, from your own desperation and walked further into the store. You walked away, buying time to make sure that they left the store so you could save each other from the awkward hellos.

Everyone that you passed in the market seemed content in their life, as you walked alone, clutching your items awkwardly in your hands. You saw the back of their clothes as they walked out the store and you replaced them where they once stood in line.

Love echoes in the walls, and you miss the way that you were once loved.

There is no notification from your phone- no goodbyes, no concerns. You’re gone from their lives, nothing more than a memory, something for them to smile about when they remember something that you once said. To you, they are still everything, you weren’t ready to say goodbye, and all the love you have for them leaks from your heart and spills itself on the collar of your shirt and stains your hands.

“Hey-” he walks into your room,eyes closed and a sort of upturned nose type of attitude, with his phone and charger, held tight in his hand- “you promised that when you got back we’d-” he looks up at you, and stops, falling silent. “Shit,” he curses under his breath, “you okay?”

You roll your lips into your mouth, nipping at the bottom, and your vision is getting blurry, the light from your lamp streaking in the corner of your vision. You hum, nodding your head, and it sounds painful- high-pitched and forced, and when he says your name, closing the door behind him, you cry.

The comforter wrinkles under you, and any of the high and mighty acts of him not loving you, crumbles as you do.

“Hey, hey,” Mammon mutters, “you okay? Who- What happened?” His arms wrap around you, and you’re pressed to his chest, the warmth burning against your cheeks.

“The trip was a total bust,” you spat out in tears. Your hands twist into the fabric of his shirt, and you try to calm down. You told yourself that you would be likable- that you would be quieter than all of this needless wailing.

“What happened?” He asks, running his hand under your shift, manicured nails running up and down your spine. Your chest shudders with every breath that you take, and you try to bury yourself deeper into him. “You can tell me-” at another pitiful attempt of choking back a sob, he quickly adds- “or not. There’s no pressure. Just uh- know that I’m here for ya, all right?” His hand stops in the middle of your back, and he traces loops and circles down your back.

“It’s like we weren’t even friends,” you murmur. “They were laughing and going out, and having fun without me and- fuck!” Your legs twist and rub themselves over each other, begging for something to swallow you whole, to have you disappear from sight. “It sounds so selfish when I say it outloud. I- I just wanted them to have fun with me.” You wish you cried in the shower where he wouldn’t have been able to see you.

“That doesn’t sound so bad. Everybody’s selfish around here, ya know.” His other hand has sneaked to hold onto your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. “We must’ve rubbed off on ya or somethin’.”

“At least people like being around you. I mean- fuck,” you whimper, twisting yourself further into him. “Is it me? Like it has to be me, right?” You croak out, eyes wide with horror, and nails clawing into your skin as a repayment, because of course it is you, and of course you have to pay for it- for being so annoying, so demanding, so unlovable.

“No, no,” he coos, twisting himself to hold you, his arms snaking around you, legs intertwined with yours, trapping you beside him, subjecting himself to his own torment. “It isn’t you,” he tells you.

“But it’s me that they’re leaving,” you say in a hushed voice. “It’s not the other way around. I’m the one that’s being left behind. Even at work, I don’t have friends- like sure they tolerate me, but they don’t like me.” Your voice starts to give, it’s uneven and wavers with each syllable. “Even with my friends from the Human Realm, they’re laughing and talking and I-” your heart breaks, and you feel the sting of rejection burn and sear itself across your body. “I felt alone. I felt-” you stop yourself. You felt like you were a child again, picked last for a group project, sitting alone at lunch, begging that the teacher would assign groups, stomach twisting and turning at the thought of gym, desperate to keep your friends by sacrificing every bit of yourself. Your tears stop for a moment, and your lungs are filled with air, expanding and too much to bear. “I felt pathetic.”

“Don’t say that,” he says softly.

“But I am. I really thought they were going to miss me the way that I missed them. But they were done with me. I was the one begging for the meet up. I was the one initiating conversations.” You let out a sigh, and rise, pulling away from him. “I- I thought I was at least someone’s favorite- that maybe they still considered me a friend.” A sob breaks through your ramble. “I held out onto some stupid hope that someone could tolerate me.”

“I tolerate you,” he adds quickly.

You let out a breath, pushing it out of your body. “You didn’t before,” you counter and he winces. “You were forced to like me and fuck, Mammon.” You intake a large breath and you’re unable to keep it in your body. “I’m sorry for how annoying I was.” You dip your head down, and feel your tears drip down.

“You weren’t,” his voice is low, and his hands cup at your cheeks, and lift you up. “I was just annoyed at Lucifer- it was never for you; it just had to be or Lucifer would’ve had my ass swinging from the ceiling.” You snort, rubbing at the tip of your nose and sniveling. Your forehead meets his shoulder, and his warmth isn’t as suffocating as it was moments before. “There ya go, got you smilin’. That must count for somethin’.

“Counts for a lot,” you mutter, turning your head to rest your cheek over his shoulder, your nose ghosting over the side of his neck. There’s a moment of silence, of you reaching your arms around him and bunching up the back of his shirt and stretching in downwards. The tag of his shirt peeks out. “I can’t believe I have to tell Lucifer that he was right,” you moan, pressing yourself closer to him.

“Yeah,” Mammon breathes out, his fingertips dancing along the line where your shirt begins along the nape of your neck, “he’s never gonna let you live that down.” His head knocks softly against yours, and you let out a humorless chuckle.

“Great,” you say with sarcasm twisted into your words. You pull away from him, and he sits tall, watching as you sit on his lap, hands sliding from the back of his shirt, across his chest, and resting over his shoulders. “What if I don’t tell him? Just you know-” you loll your head to the sides a few times- “let him waste money.”

“He’d kill ya,” Mammon says without a smile. He leans forward, the tip of his nose pressed against yours in a faux bunny kiss. “And who would I have backin’ up my ideas?”

Your eyes close and a smile stretches softly. “You could always bribe Beel, and after that Belphie would follow. Asmo would join for the heck of it, and if you twist Levi’s arm enough, he’d join too.” You pause. “Satan would just need the excuse to piss off Lucifer.”

“Ha!” He pulls away and you lean back into him, the labor of crying and self-pitying finally catching up to you. “You think about leavin’ my side often or what?”

“Or what,” you say in a whisper that ghosts over his neck. “I like thinking.”

You feel the smile on his lips as he presses a chaste kiss against yours, letting his lips flutter against your tear-stained skin. “Funny-” his lips kiss your skin once more. “Anyways,” his chest pushes out as he exhales, and you’re grateful he’s warm, or else you would have buried yourself under blankets while you cried yourself to sleep. You hum in response, and let a hand of yours fall to the mattress, and toy with the end of his shirt, your knuckles brushing alongside his bare skin every now and then. “You feelin’ better?” He asks in a soft voice. “I helped?” You smile at how eager he is to hear how he helped, and you wished he asked earlier so you could praise him and kiss him, and hold him in your arms as if he were a lifeline in the middle of the vast sea.

You nod. “You helped,” you agree, placing a gentle kiss where the soft of his skin gives away his emotions. “You helped plenty, Mammon. I’m not crying myself to sleep, so I’m counting that as a win.”

The bed sinks and you feel the dip even as you lay on him. Something soft covers you, and you don’t have the strength to open your eyes and see what it is. “Good, good,” he says quietly, turning his head to place a kiss against the side of yours. “‘S what I’m here for.”

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