Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The absinthe had him smelling… “fresh” as Blitz used to put it. If fresh meant flammable, then surely he'd been right. 

The room swayed a bit, making Stolas achingly feel like a pirate captain, holding onto door frames and practically crawling to his grimoire before he remembered he could use magic.

Tugging the book over with purple stardust, he smacked himself in the face with a hoot. 

He squinted, waving and flitting his hands in the air, pages turning like soft wind-blown grass before finding the right one. Yes, he reasoned: 

Going to the anti Blitzo party–a bad idea. 

Going home with and sleeping with Better than Blitzo–if he remembered it well enough, probably a bad idea as well… 

Doing magic while too drunk to get the actual words on the paper to stay still?...

Clearly, he made good choices when alcohol was involved. 

It didn't matter. There was no one there to stop him, anyway. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Stolas could see the gift on his bed Vassago had left him to ‘cheer him up.’ The tag barely stuck out, spilling over the purple comforter. 

Stolas sighed and took another heavy swig from a new full green bottle of liquid he didn't remember having magically floated to him. 

The well-read hellaverse newspaper clipping mocked him from the ground and he glanced at his own image on the front page, tears leaking down his feathers and beak, unrestrained, not for the first time. 

The truth was, it all hurt, and “good” and “bad” choices didn't actually make a difference, anyway. 

Sober him might disagree, but sober him wasn't here–only the aching loneliness that ate at him day by day. 

He looked through the pictures of Blitz on his phone, and once again at the opened gift on the bed. 

Smoothing out the overly crumpled newspaper clipping, he reread the headline for the hundredth time before smashing it with force under his talons. 

One last look around the empty room he'd trashed: toppled couch and bedside table. Then, he took another long swig of alcohol and finished the spell in a drunken haze. 

***

Blitz was screwed. He knew it the moment he left Ver’s party.

He really knew it when he face planted into his 3rd container of cheese whiz ice cream while Bethany Ghostfucker screamed about how cold spectral jizz was. 

He felt… nothing. 

Feelings could stay bottled up like that, dead inside, until something brought them back to life. 

That something was a newspaper article about Stolas. 

Seeing the owl’s panicked, sad face on the courthouse steps in picture form wrenched at him. Stella smugly held Octavia to her chest, the owlette looking shell-shocked. 

The headline: 

Stolas of the Ars Goetia lost in a custody battle against his wife of 19 years. Set to pay an exorbitant amount of money in the divorce. 

Big black, gossipy letters about the worst fucking moment in Stolas’ life, spread across sinstagram and every other social media website. 

It shouldn't make things worse, knowing Stolas was hurting, right? You're supposed to want to spite your exes, not feel slashed through the heart when you see them cry, even if just in a black and white photo. 

Opening his phone, he bought another set of horse plates and scrolled through the hell forums. 

He'd heard about this group at the party, people talking about letting off steam about Blitz, not just once a year, but every day like a slam book. He pretended to be an ex and stole an invite, signing in at his lowest moment. 

Anti-Blitzo-Discord: a place to talk trash about the mother fucking cocksucker in real time. 

Not very clever. 

Still, something was wildly wrong with him, because reading all the shit talk made him feel better. It was soothing in a tsunami of self hate to realize everyone completely agreed.  

Especially as news about Stolas plastered his social media feeds, flooding him with fresh waves of guilt. It was nice to have someone else call him a piece of shit, outside of his own brain. 

He'd fight them in real life, wave his pride on a banner and threaten to blow their brains out with a pistol if they talked like this to his face, but only because he fully agreed with them–

–and no one was fucking allowed to know that. 

“Motherfucker thinks he's the real shit, dresses like a hobo.” 

Blitz nodded, scrolling.

“Doesn't even listen, talks about himself all the fucking time and nobody cares.” 

Yep. 

‘heez a fuckin hoe bag’ Blitz typed. 

It got a heart.  

“The o is for obnoxious.” 

“A shit clown if I ever saw one.”

Two hours. 

Two hours of nodding, agreeing and spreading self loathing. 

Someone pointed out how destructive he was. Another one lamented that he was a hot, selfish, insufferable asshole with an IQ of 2 and the self worth of a kicked, runt-litter puppy. 

Low self esteem was pretty fucking selfish and self indulgent, if he thought so himself. He piled more cheese whiz and hot sauce onto a spoon. 

‘uhhh yeah, right there. That's the kind of cock I like… barely there and dead as fuck!’

“That's right, dick him good, Bethany! Peg him with your spirit box!” 

‘Yes, right there, Blitzy.’ 

He slammed the phantom voice from his head, knocking his horns hard with a palm and turning up the volume on the TV to drown it out. 

The sex sounds continued as his spoon dropped to the floor and he sunk deeper into the bean bag. 

His bravado was slipping. He was pretty sure everyone who knew him best would see it. 

The ache was real and the now-too loud tv wasn't drowning out a fucking thing. 

It never really did. 

Blitzy… the motherfucker. 

***

Months passed. 

Millie had a way of bringing him back to reality. He wasn't better, but at least he had someone in his life worth showing up for besides his daughter. A melt down and an electrified demon later, the voices were… quieter. 

Work went on.

Life went on. 

Everything went back to the way it was except for one big hole that no one talked about anymore. 

He was functional, but less than fine which was probably good enough. 

Even if vibrant colors just looked duller now. 

But, it wasn’t just the way things looked. It was the way everything was sort of physically hazy, too.

He drank every night, but that wasn't new. 

He’d touch things and they felt less solid. 

He’d turn on music and forget to listen to it. 

Some nights he laid on the couch upside-down, horns curling to the floor and hooves cascading over the back cushions for hours. He could see better this way, he thought–blood rushing to his head, his heart forced to beat stronger so he finally felt alive and excited again. That is, until he’d pass out and roll onto the carpet with a thunk, waking up to Loona calling him a “dumbass.” 

He was a dumbass. 

A dumbass who missed Stolas. Only a dumbass would drive away the person they cared about at the same time their very skin was itching to be near them. 

Then there was his body, which betrayed him in all sorts of other frustrating ways. His peripherals were fixated on the color grey, his head jerking up on reflex anytime he glimpsed it. 

On nights Loona was out with friends, he found himself mindlessly taking the van down familiar roads, telling himself he hadn’t actually meant to drive outside Stolas’ palace at three A.M. and definitely hadn’t spaced out staring at that stupid fucking balcony.

He never saw him, though. 

Surely, Stolas was fine. But, he didn't actually know that, because unlike after his breakup with Verosika, Stolas was a reclusive mystery.

The evidence against Blitz was all pretty damning. He was in a bad place, and his usual “go tos” to get him out of it just weren’t working.

Still, Blitz had enough spite left in him to deny every accusation outright, be more difficult on missions, cause more chaos, spend more money and drink more booze than before, because contrary to popular opinion, he could surely make himself fine.

What other choice did he have left? Beg? 

He fucking wished begging would work. He'd do it.

The door wasn’t just closed. Stolas had bolted it shut. 

God, he needed a new hobby–Ten new somebody’s to kill and preferably another seven, at least, to fuck. It wouldn’t fix him but maybe it’d make his brain just shut the fuck up for fucking five seconds, at least. 

But the ache wasn’t leaving. 

 …

What if it never did?

His head fell into his hands as he let the van idle. God, he was such a pathetic mess. Maybe he’d buy everyone donuts and coffee tomorrow and they wouldn’t notice he didn’t sleep again, or at least would stop asking him about it. 

He drove home and crashed on the couch and punched the pillows, kicking his feet repeatedly until all the extra-buzzy emotional energy subsided. 

Yeah… it was better this way. Close the book or whatever. 

What he wanted was for Stolas to take him back, let him comfort him somehow.  

He'd figured out that one, too late, though, and the best he could do was stop lying to himself. 

Pulling out his phone, he went back to the hate discord staring at a comment that said they wish Blitz burned in Satan’s toilet. 

He hearted it. 

Let himself embrace his fuck up and let every single hater be right about him. 

Lean in. 

That's what he deserved. 

***

More Months passed. 

Business kept him busy, and the angry self-hate eased, just a little. 

No more news of Stolas, for good or ill. 

If Blitz was still apathetic, or a problem, everyone had stopped pointing it out by now. 

Today some motherfucker wasn't able to pay for their hit and gave him a weak-ass apology and a gift card to Vox Tech. 

He crinkled it up and shoved it in a drawer, shooing him off with less-than-accurate warning pistol shots before he kicked him through a window. He forgot about the gift card until a late night drinking session after hours.   

Loona wanted to throw a house party and he told her he'd crash at the office with a bottle of scotch. He locked himself in–until the boredom set in and he rummaged through the desk drawers and pulled out the card, driving to a nearby 24-7 vox tech mart. 

He saw it in the display window–a broken glowing sign with a V.R. helmet the shelf.

He kicked in the door to the shop and the bell chimed loudly. 

“I’ll take that!” he yelled too enthusiastically, speech whiskey-slurred as he plunked the card down on the front desk and pointed a claw at the helmet. It had two circular holes cut into it for imp horns and the thing was bright red-orange.   

The manager shrugged. “Don’t give no refunds, just so’s you know. The thing works but it’s proprietary so it's glitchy sometimes.” 

“Fuckin’ big words… just ring it up, bitch,” Blitz said with a sneering smile, but in truth, he was a bit excited for the first time in awhile. 

His heart was even doing the upside-down-on-the-couch thing all on its own. 

“Feels real, right?” Blitz asked. 

“Mostly. Connects to your brainwaves so you think you're actually doing shit when you're just sitting at home on your ass.” 

The man handed him the helmet and swiped the card. Blitz left in a hurry and shoved it over his head, buckling it around his horns as he climbed into his car. 

Feeling a sense of excitement for the first time in a long time, he pressed the “on,” button. 

There was a stutter, then his vision went black. It took a moment for the machine to warm up and with a less than gentle knock of a fist to his helmet to help it boot up, Blitz was in. 

Holy Satan’s Balls was this place loud! He’d “spawned" himself into a fucking fancy looking lobby, electronic music blaring. He yelled, yanking the thing off and throwing it, the round orange curve of the helmet bouncing. . 

Rubbing at his recently assaulted ears, he stared at the helmet on the floor of the passenger’s seat. Was this thing really the solution to his apathy?

Satan, nothing worked anymore. 

Dropping his head onto the horn, he letting it wail loudly until a pedestrian yelled at him, flipping him off. Opening his phone, he stared at the picture he’d secretly taken so long ago of him and Stolas in bed after sex.

He should really have deleted it. He should delete it now. 

He wasn't going to. 

The drive back to the office was slower than usual, followed by another long drag of alcohol. He sat on the couch giving the helmet another go, this time quickly finding the volume button. 

He hiccuped, coming up with plan–he'd get virtually laid tonight. At least that'd do something for him. 

***

Seven blue glowing circles formed a platform he “spawned” on top of. The music played, more softly now in the background. The circular disk he was on lit up briefly in bright red, then, the light washed over his entire body like a scan. 

Welcome, user 1334 to the Virtual rings of hell, where you can fuck, suck, kill and debauch with impunity. NO angels allowed. 

A translucent virtual image of that horny spider Blitz had watched porn of before appeared and started a “sexy tutorial.” 

Blitz waved him off, calling him a tease. No way it was free to fuck him down here. Besides, Who needs tutorials? Blitz thrived on figuring things out as he went, anyway. 

He stepped off the platform and rewrote his username to “bigcock69” before changing his mind and typing in Blitz. He pressed the Lust Ring option and watched as buildings rose in front of him like they were time- lapsed trees growing from the ground.

He shuffled through the settings, picking the least hideous of three generic free outfits provided–a leather jacket with black pants. After pressing accept, he looked at his reflection in one of the street's shop windows. 

Not bad. He looked exactly like himself, scars and all.

The details in the simulation were pretty impressive. The whole city was the normal hellscape, but bigger, noticeably cleaner and… more;

Where there were normal signs, now they were 3d and floating. 

Where people usually walked the streets of hell, now some flew with badass dragon-like wing mods while others rode on hover boards. 

Every time he walked past a shop the music changed, a clear barrier between each property line with zero sound distortion. 

Some shops were familiar and based on real life stores like 'Cocks and Docks Emporium,’ or ‘Ozzies.’ 

Still, there were a lot of places he'd never seen top side, like ‘Jizzcuzzi spa’ or… 

Fucking wait… ‘Raymond's Rad Raunchy Ranch bar and grill’? 

“Now that's the stuff,” he said to no one, already walking towards it. 

He'd find a cowboy or become one and they'd have sex while watching Spirit in the background. Tonight was gonna be his night. 

He walked to the swinging saloon doors, winking at a tall fellow imp cowboy. Yeah, he liked ‘em tall and lanky, just like that with a set of ass-less chaps and spurs. He'd buy him a drink and have him ride all—

“oof.” 

The saloon doors swung against an invisible barrier, spitting him out on his ass. 

A few people walking the streets laughed and he flipped them off. 

Just as he was about to attempt again, a flashing status box appeared in front of him. 

Saloon entry: 5 credits. 

Well… fuck that. 

He tried again with even less success as he was thrown back on the road a second time. Was that actually supposed to hurt in VR? 

Rubbing his ass, he tried a few shops, all with the same results. 

Damn it. Should've figured that greedy capitalist sinners would wanna milk them for all their money. 

He flipped the direction of the virtual V’s tower and pride ring off specifically in petty retaliation and opened up his status window again. 

How the fuck was he supposed to pick someone up with no alcohol and no money? 

Just before Blitz was about to call it quits, a notification popped up in bright green glowing block letters–a new quest: 

Rescue the Tower Maiden. Reward: 10 credits. 

Oh, right. Games had challenges and shit. 

Well that was fucking good timing. With no one left to keep his mind occupied tonight, he pressed accept.  

When the task was officially taken on, the first set of instructions appeared in the air: Follow the lit up-pathway. 

Glowing hoofprints suddenly bloomed on the ground, leading forward. 

He started walking, turning his back on the Saloon and his cowboy sex fantasy for now. 

The trek forward led from the paved roads of lust to the grassy outskirts of the city. He followed them as the noise and hustle began to fade, the city lights shrinking away behind him, until it was only the empty, dark countryside and the yellow glowing path.

The path wound from grass into a dirt trail of glowing hoofprints, going up and down small grassy knolls and hills, taking him further and further from VR civilization. In the meantime, the sun set, blood orange in the sky. Red veins of lightning threaded through the clouds, but not a drop of rain fell. 

Blitz’s “body” felt the fatigue as the path wound on and on, despite the fact that his lazy ass was passed out on the company couch. 

After time, the sun set fully, the only light left was the path and the stars in the shape of upside-down crosses pinned to the sky.

A virtual bird glared at him as it flew by and he threw a rock at it, barely missing it and it cawed in angry response. 

“Christ on a stick, aren't games supposed to be fun? How long is this going to take, anyway?” 

Finally the path stopped as he found himself reaching a tall wall, at least 30 feet in height, grey bricked with blinking eyes scattered across and embedded into the surface. 

A new prompt appeared: climb the wall. 

Blitz groaned, pausing. 

He could log out, watch porn and pass out on the couch like every other night. Was this really worth all this fucking effort just to get some digital ass? 

But, he'd come this far, and if Blitz was anything, it was stubborn. 

“Fuckin’ fine.” 

He kicked a heeled boot right into one of the embedded wall eyes, causing it to water as he began to use his claws to scale the concrete.

It was a long ass climb. 

Out of breath, grunting as he clawed his way to the top, he used his tail to yank his body the last bit of the way before throwing himself into a sitting position atop the crest with kicking, dangling feet. He took five heavy gasps, collected himself and clapped his palms together for a job well done. 

A stupid, boring, unnecessary job when he could go to an actual fucking bar and hit on someone the old fashioned way, but he was in too deep to think that, now. 

Especially because what he saw next drove every other thought out of his brain in an instant: 

A familiar, open balcony on the south facing side of palace walls. 

A far-off haunting voice trailed from the open balcony doors which were almost the same height as his vantage point just a few feet away– so close he could jump the gap. 

Blitz froze, listening, heart starting to beat faster in his chest as he tuned in to the singing:

‘And will you remember it well? Even after it all?’

The rich curtains waved as if moved by the sound of the music, and Blitz clutched at his chest.

It wasn't fair. 

Why did shit like this have to happen to him? It wasn't fair being here unexpectedly in front of Blitz after all this time, being so beautiful, having a voice like that…

It was the first time Blitz had seen or heard from Stolas in eight months, and even if he knew he wasn't prepared for it, it was like a dam burst in his chest with the pressure of the resuscitated emotion. 

He'd missed him so fucking much. 

Every muscle in his body stilled like stone, not caring how, why, this was happening, just wanting to not be discovered so he could have a moment longer in this space where he could finally breathe again, even if his lungs were actually in total status. 

Then, as if in revenge, the crow from earlier swooped by the open doors, cawing. 

No. 

Just a minute longer, before he sees Blitz and kicks him out again. Just fucking give him ten seconds, even. He'd pray to fucking Satan himself if he needed to. 

Instead, the rich curtains were soon being parted by long, thin talons, red eyes meeting his.  

Stolas blinked slowly, with stilted and groggy rhythm, before all four of his eyes widened in surprise and recognition. He opened his beak to speak first, but it was Blitz, whose shock finally started to recede. 

His tail whipped in the air as he found his voice again, wishing it didn't sound so desperate: 

“Stolas?” 

Stolas’ top eyes narrowed in confusion, both of them frozen. 

Blitz looked for a moment longer before the shock gave way to heart-wrenching pain, then he turned away abruptly. He bit the bottom of his lip, everything in him screaming for him to go to stolas… close the gap between them. Instead, he dug his claws in the wall to still himself. 

“Blitz?”

The status window popped up once more, part-way see through, so the words appeared lightly across Stolas’ processing face: 

‘Rescue the tower Maiden.’ 

Then, like an idiot, and before either of them could even say anything more, the crow cawed again and Blitz slipped and fell off the wall to his in-game death. 

His display went dark, his chest gasping fast and ragged. It took a moment to remember where he even was, to clear stolas’s face from his mind, and a second longer to finally remember to yank his helmet off his head and throw it against the nearby wall with a thud that surely dented it. 

“Fuuuuuck.”

Chapter Text

Stolas’ plants were dying. If he thought that using his demon form to scare them into submission, even here in the “digital world” would help, he'd use it. Instead, they soaked up binary water and wilted with a sigh like they were fainting in an old timey romance novel.

Stolas frowned, turning on his balcony to the empty space on top of the wall in front of him.

He felt thinner. He knew it wasn’t literal, but the insides of him felt stringy and stretched, emotions too raw to cry anymore, even if he could.

Squeezing all four eyes tightly, Stolas gripped the balcony railings.

Why had Blitz come here, now, of all times?

To torment him, surely.

Stolas’ shoulders slumped and he pulled up a picture of Via from his scanned photo collection. He scrolled to the photos of Blitz for good measure–when one was self torturing, best to do it all the way.

His legs felt shaky underneath him.

Another tear escaped–apparently he did have more crying in him, then looked around at the virtual room that perfectly mirrored his empty life.

Void.

He sighed, pulling up his status screen. A new avatar appeared in the “meetings” section. He was hoping Blitz might have a picture of himself Stolas could view like on his Sinstagram account (not that stolas had ever stalked it), but instead he’d logged on with a blank white head for an icon.

Fitting for the ghost of his past.

He dropped his head into his hands.

Pathetic.

“You're pathetic,” he said to the pristine image of himself in the virtual mirror on the walls.

He stared at the wilting plant, seeing the way it groaned in pain. Then, he touched it, infusing it with scorching hot magic, letting it seep through the plant, burning its life force away in purple fire.

Screeching, the plant disintegrated.

The purple mound of ashes on the potting soil haunted him.

If he'd learned one thing in life, it was that loneliness was always one closed door away--one simmering pile of ash.

Then, as if to prove himself right, he opened up the status menu and pulled up Blitz’s username.

***

It was around lunchtime when Loona finally crawled out of bed. Sunday’s could be like that.

Blitz had already prepared stacks of bright blue pancakes and an aggressively sugary smile.

Loona groaned, but took the plate to the couch to eat. With the food and coffee gone, for the first time, Loona noticed the new helmet on the floor.

“What the fuck did you buy, Blitz?”

He shrugged.

“Fucking, V.R. headset?” She spit. “Piece of shit basically designed to cost you an arm and a leg to even use, though. Everything costs shit in there.”

Now somebody tells him?

He slammed the cooking pots in the sink, trying to look nonchalant:

“Yeah, boring as shit, alright. Had to pay to even get into a fucking dive bar.”

“No shit?” Loona's ears perked up and she picked the helmet up, feigning indifference.

“So you tried it, then?”

“Yeah…” Stolas’ shocked face flitted through his mind and he shook his head comically hard to dislodge it.

“Waste of a fucking good gift card, though.”

Loona shrugged.

“Maybe there's a way to rig the system to kill some rich assholes and steal their coins.”

“Now you're talking.”

Blitz grabbed a dish and scrubbed it too hard.

Loona turned the helmet in her hands, sizing it up.

“Guess I could, y'know, try to figure this out for you since you decided to be a fuckwad and spent all our money on useless shit again. Might as well figure out how to use it.”

It was a softer, less hostile: “well, fuck you, too,” but he added it for measure anyway as she sat down, plunked the helmet on her head and yelped at the tightness.

“Yeah, well it is made for imps, sweetie, what did you expect?”

“How does this thing work, anyway? Feels like I'm actually moving. This is weeeird.”

“Don't fucking change my username.”

Loona ignored him.

“Fuck me, there's that ‘top dog’ party club I wanted to go to in pride. This is actually kinda sick.”

Blitz left the rest of the dishes and crashed on the bean bag, staring at the ceiling while thoughts curled through his brain, almost landing, but not quite.

It had only been a few hours since he saw Stolas, but already it felt like a distant memory. What the fuck was that about?

“Hey, how come we can still speak to each other, but I'm not walking into walls in real life even though I'm moving in the game?”

“If you try to move or talk outside the game, you can. I mean, wouldn't wanna get stuck in there if you couldn't take the damn thing off your head or whatever.”

“Wonder if I talk to someone if it'll still be out loud, or if it's just because I'm talking to you that you can hear it? Gonna try.”

Loona was silent for a few minutes.

“Did you hear that?”

“Nope.”

Blitz's tail whipped in mild irritation at his baby talking to VR strangers:

“Alright, I think that's enough for today. Guess I won't be waking you in the middle of the night while using this thing, at least."

Blitz reached out to yank the helmet off her when Loona interrupted him:

“Oh hey, looks like someone sent you a message! Guess you have friends after all, who knew?”

You can get mail?

“From who?”

Loona pulled the helmet off her head and tossed it to him.

“Fuck if I know, you open it. I'm already bored of this thing and it's giving me a headache.”

She rubbed at her ears, growling softly.

Blitz shoved the helmet back on, taking a moment to adjust to the bright visual color palette.

The letter was shaped like a paper airplane flying around and he had to chase it down and catch it by hand to read. Fucking stupid design.

He opened it and what he saw immediately rabbit-kicked his chest:

Blitz,

I know earlier must have been surprising. It was for me, too. Perhaps it's time to clear the air between us? Would you be willing to meet again? Perhaps tomorrow night at the same place?

Sincerely, Stolas

What the fuck?

He should say no. He even hit reply and started to type it out before erasing it again.

Why? What could Stolas have left to say? What could either of them?

Time to leave it on read and get back to the “real world.” Y’know, the one where Stolas’ memories stalked him without ever actually seeing his face, hearing his voice…

Fuck, he was so fucked. Stolas was like a phantom that just wouldn't let him go no matter how hard he tried to run.

Three more seconds of deliberation, then another impulse decision as he typed back:

Cnt tmrrow. I cn in an hr thow.

He popped the helmet off, staring at a hexagon stain on the carpet.

“So?” Loona prodded.

Bltiz didn't look up: “Oh, it was a stupid game tutorial.”

***

He wasn't nervous, why would he be?

He'd get in there, Stolas would tell him he never wanted to see him again, he'd go kill a bunch of humans tomorrow to get it out of his system, then he'd… what? Move on? Like he had been since Verosika’s party? Like he'd been pretending to?

There was nothing less in this world that Blitz wanted than to hear "face to face” from Stolas than that he was too late for them.

He already knew that much.

So, why had he said yes? Why was he not running away despite how fucking anxious he felt inside?

‘Because you miss him,’ prodded an unwelcome voice inside his head.

He was a sucker. The ones he always used to trash talk.

Still, he stood inside the opening credits lobby for 5 whole minutes starting at the floor.

Maybe he could back out. Maybe he could say something came up. Maybe–fuck, why were his feet already moving?

The virtual path was muddy this time, but he walked it in silence, anyway.

The climb up the wall was easier, at least, and he was only slightly out of digital breath when he jumped to the top.

Stolas had his balcony window and curtains open, back turned to him as he watered his plants. He turned just enough to water a particularly carnivorous plant which snapped at the air followed by stolas bopping it on the “nose” as a scolding, then tickling it lightly in apology under what looked to be a plant “chin.” It nuzzled up to Stolas’ hand in response.

From this angle, he could see Stolas’ long, thin profile, curves and graceful movements. The light from the virtual candle on the desk splashed across his feathers making his aura soft and glowing. One side of his skimpy robe was slipping down his shoulder in that maddenly sensual way while he hummed a beautifully haunting melody so quietly it could almost be missed.

Shit. He shouldn't have come here. It was like a drug relapse seeing him in his world, quiet and beautiful while the slight breeze that ruffled his feathers went unnoticed.

Then Stolas turned, startled expression quickly softening minutely.

Stolas smiled. It was hesitant and a bit shy, laced with unspoken words between them, but a smile nonetheless.

Well, at least Stolas didn't look unhappy to see him, so that was something.

“Good evening, Blitz.”

Blitz waved lightly: “Hi Stolas.”

“Do you… would you like to come in?”

Blitz hesitated then nodded and used the wall as a jumping board to spring him forward and he collided ungracefully into the banister, hands and feet scrambling until he plopped onto the balcony. Stolas hid a smile behind his talons.

Blitz stood, brushed the nonexistent dust from his thighs, followed by a long pause.

Running talons through his head feathers quickly, Stolas asked:

“How have you…erm” he coughed. “Have you been well, Blitz?’

Shrugging, Blitz tried to keep his eyes neutral, keep them from wandering as he tethered his thoughts in unison.

“I guess. You?”

A long pause.

“I umm. Yes, of course. Things are going well for me as…well. I'm pleased they are going well for you, also…as well.”

Stolas voice rambled quickly, a tentative, light airy hum threading through every word.

“Yeah…” Blitz tapped his hoof, letting his gaze fall away. “So… You wanted to see me?”

Stolas looked conflicted, but more than that… tired.

He sighed, fiddled with his robe neckline, which wasn't distracting at all, then dropped his hands.

“I spent last night here thinking, still logged on. I know it's been awhile, but I really don't like the way things ended with us.”

For the first time, Blitz noticed stolas’ gaze bowed down to his fidgeting hands.

The bird was nervous. About talking to him.

If they were on better terms, Blitz would have come and laid a calming hand to help him spit it out. Even if whatever Stolas said next was probably going to be something Blitz didn't want to hear.

Guess that's what missing someone could do to you.

“Blitz,” Stolas said, bringing his mind back to the moment, his voice like a tug on a leash.

“Ya?”

“Can…. could we maybe…”

Blitz internally winced, waiting for Stolas to yell at him, call him a fuck up, tell him he never gave them closure or whatever. He'd take it, like a man, or imp, or whatever, even if his tail was frozen stiff in anticipation.

“…would you maybe consider us being friends?” Stolas finished.

What?

It suddenly felt as if the ground slightly shifted.

Did he just say he wanted to be… friends?

Blitz’ brain shorted out in untimely response.

Plink plink; Stolas blinked in panic.

“Oh, I mean, of course it's only if you want… It was probably a silly idea. I just saw you yesterday and thought perhaps it could help us move forward. I don't know about you, but I'm unhappy with how we left things before… Still… Perhaps it was a stupid idea. In fact, I'm sure it was.”

Wait, wait!!! His brain was screaming at him to catch up and actually say something because if he didn't do it quickly, this surprising olive branch would burn to a crisp in his silence.

“Please, pretend I never mentioned it–”

“No!” Shit. That was louder than he meant it to be.

“Erm… I mean, no, I want that, too, I just wasn't expecting…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Don't you hate me?”

Stolas’ shoulders dropped dramatically at that and a pained look crossed his face.

“Blitz, I was hurt and angry. I mean, I was rejected after all… but I could never hate you.”

“And… you wanna be my…friend?”

Stolas nodded. Fuck, how did he even make a nod look graceful?

“But only if you would like–”

“Okay,” Blitz said, too quickly. But, his pride died months ago. This was the new, honest Blitz. The one with zero self-preservation.

He could do friends. He could do the hell out of friends—badly? Terribly? Sure. He was toxic and problematic and… He really should say no.

But, he didn't have it in him. Not anymore when a breadcrumb felt like a fucking five star restaurant feast.

Stolas looked so tentatively relieved. Cautious, but happy, and it made Blitz feel something carefully hopeful, too.

“Alright,” said Stolas. “Perhaps we could meet up in the real world. For drinks?”

“I'm free on Friday,” Blitz said.

Stolas nodded.

“Friday, then. Do you have anywhere in particular, you…”

Ah, shit. Somewhere Stolas would like. He doubted he would enjoy most of the places that Blitz would… wasn't there a silly little prissy bar Moxx liked to go to? Ah–

“How about Velvet Inferno in the lust ring?”

“I haven't heard of it. Is it new?”

“-ish” Blitz shrugged.

Stolas nodded. Blitz was sure he could easily find it, and if not, he could certainly portal there.

“So… seven?”

“Seven.” Stolas confirmed.

And there it was. Drinks.

With a friend.

There was lingering stillness in the air, awkward, hopeful…

“Guess I'd better log out and get shit done or whatever.”

“I stayed the night as well in here when I really shouldn't have,” Stolas said. Duties to attend to, and all…”

Blitz nodded. Then:

“See you Friday, Birdie?”

Stolas always used to blush when Blitz called him that. If he did now, it was hidden in the dim lighting.

“Tomorrow.”

Blitz logged out and stared at the wall. That really just happened. No more stalking closed balconies, no more late night Sinstagram. Real Stolas. Well, kind of. It would be real him for real drinks on Friday, though. And maybe he’d wear that dressy little galaxy outfit Blitz had failed to appreciate last time, or those prissy little shorts–

Blitz quickly redirected his mind, reminding himself what this was. Stolas wanted him in his life. As friends, sure, but he'd take it.

It was more than he deserved.

***

The next morning he only half drove like a demon to work. More than once, he caught Loona giving him a raised eyebrow. Was he smiling?

What the fuck? He was smiling.

He whistled as he kicked in the office door, and slurped down his ice coffee with an extra hum and pep in his step.

“You seem like you're in a good mood, sir,” Moxxie pointed out.

“Yeah, found your mom's sex tape last night.”

Moxxie growled, wrestling him across the desks and making a mess of the office. Millie laughed and Loona groaned “can you two not? I'm fucking hungover.”

Blitz pinned Moxxie down and probably said something about his baby dick or some shit, he didn't really remember because he was still revved up and ready to work.

“C'mon crew, all smiles. Looks like today we got a full schedule!”

Blitz caressed the crystal on his arm, flicking that spot it liked so much till it gasped and opened up the portal.

He did an unnecessary backflip through, guns drawn.

“Wait for me!” Millie called, running behind him.

The next few minutes were a bloodbath of noise and screams and Millies's unsettling maniac laugh which frankly, felt like home.

Blitz wiped the blood off his pistol, smiling, genuinely.

“Wow, Moxx, you actually didn't fuck that one up, go figure.”

Moxx looked conflicted between softening under the praise or yelling at him for being an asshole, as usual.

The morning passed in a haze of death and high energy, Blitz buzzing with that anxious excitement.

He kept catching Millie giving him amused glances. She was always in tune with his moods. Sometimes it was infuriating. Now, he appreciated the unspoken energy that passed between them.

She’d probably ask him about it later. For now, though, they all just enjoyed Blitz’s seemingly good mood.

The day ended with Blitz’s shocking offer to take everyone out to a musical theatre diner Moxxie had been hyping up for ages.

“Really, sir?”

“What the fuck, Moxxie, are those heart eyes?”

Moxxie blushed. “No! Of course not.”

Blitz threw the bloody rag he was using to clean himself into the trash can and winked. “Suuure. Had to take you there, though, didn't I? How the fuck are we supposed to properly make fun of you for your shit taste in hobbies if we never see any of them?”

“Like you and your virtual reality?” Moxx said smugly while looking at the claw beds on one of his hands.

“Loona!”

Loona didn’t respond or even look up from her phone and simply shrugged.

“What’s the sex on there like?” Millie chimed in, smile half quirked.

Blitz shrugged: “Better than watching you two go at it like you’re beezlejuice whores.”

Moxxie fumed.

Before he could retort back, Blitz grabbed his jacket slung across the back of his chair and started toward the door.

“Well, are you all coming, or not?”

Millie pushed Moxxie by the shoulders and he shuffled forward with a scowl. She leaned in to whisper something as they walked and he let out a little chuckle, shoulders unwinding and his face beginning to relax.

Yeah, it was a fucking good day.

***

The diner was surprisingly less corny than Blitz had thought it would be, and all around more corny at the same time. Everyone in the place wore tacky costumes but the songs weren’t terrible, and the food was pretty fucking good.

Moxxie’s tail flicked like a helicopter all night, eyes sparkling as he slowly got buzzed.

The waiters asked for a volunteer to sing a duet. Moxxie got picked, hand shooting up the fastest, and Blitz made sure to film it for future blackmail.

Even Loona was surprisingly in a good mood, despite the fact that she kept her earpods in to drown out the show tunes. Blitz was surprised she’d even come, but he wasn’t complaining. This place did have a reputation for amazing food.

“To I.M.P.! The best fucking killing business in all of hell!” Blitz said, raising up a glass. Millie clinked her glass first then helped Moxxie tap his tumblr into Blitz's which he’d already missed more than once.

Moxxie giggled and plopped his head on Millies's shoulder: “I'm soooo drinky.”

God damnit, Blitz would never admit it to his face but Moxx was adorable.

Millie, seemingly thinking the same thing, gave him a fox-kiss, rubbing their noses together.

Running an arm along the booth behind him, Blitz sighed contentedly. He'd fucked up a lot of things, missed his chance more than once, but for the first time in a long time he couldn't help but feel like his timing was right.

He smiled at Loona’s peripheral and noticed the slight twitch of her tail in approval, even if her face remained passive. He clicked his glass to her stationary one and downed the rest of his first, and only, drink of the night.

Moxxie’s contented snores lulled the evening to a close.

“C'mon gang,” he said, slapping down a wad of bills on the lacquer countertop to pay for everyone. “Let's get you all home.”

He dropped everyone off, laying on the couch for a bit with an honest-to-god smile on his face. In a few days he'd see Stolas for the first time in eight months…

Maybe he really could do this friendship thing.

***

It wasn't a date. It was NOT a date. So why the fuck was he fussing over his horns and putting on four different outfits before picking his best one?

He didn't like photos, let alone mirrors, but he smiled at his reflection anyway, giving corny finger guns as if it'd hide how nervous he was. Friday had come entirely too slowly, and now that it was here, he partly wished he had another day to mentally prepare.

Practically e-braking his way into the parking spot, he rolled out of the car, old cans and trash spilling onto the pavement.

It was too dark to see his own hooves, but he followed the red lights to the bars's entrance, the door shaped like a glowing heart.

They hadn't exactly said whether they'd meet inside or not, but it was a small joint, and Stolas would be able to find him, so he walked in and let the hostess guide him to a booth, giving him a drink menu to start.

“Something light,” he said in a self-satisfied tone, stretching both arms across the back of the booth. “I'm waiting for someone.”

Okay, that felt good to say.

The place was entirely too fancy for him. He picked up a fork, squinting an eye into the fragmented reflection of himself. Real silver, probably. Fuck, he should have checked the price ranges before he picked this place. Still, he wanted somewhere nice when he finally… rekindled their friendship.

If there was any tiny flame inside him that hoped for more he snuffed it out. Surely it was enough just for them to be talking again.

It had to be.

Soft jazz music played in the background. A taller, beautiful imp played the cello by the stage.

He closed his eyes. Stolas was going to love it here. This was the right choice.

His cocktail arrived and he sipped it while his tail unconsciously started to tap to the rhythm of the music and tried to relax as he waited.

Five minutes…

Ten…

His tail turned from keeping the beat to thumping and thrashing anxiously.

Stolas was rarely late.

Maybe something kept him caught up.

He waited twenty more minutes, devouring two baskets full of rolls and another drink before the wait staff started to send him looks.

He picked up his phone, hesitating, then called. It went straight to voicemail.

30 minutes….

50.

5 phone calls, an hour and a half, and a full glass of wine down the hatch and they kicked him out.

He stood on the curb, staring at his phone, willing it to ring.

Was this punishment for Ozzies's?

Had Stolas changed his mind and realized Blitz was a piece of shit he didn't even want to be friends with?

It started to rain and he watched the droplets slide down the screen of his very silent phone.

It took another 15 minutes before he finally gave in and drove home, sopping wet and swearing at himself, because somehow, some way, he must have already fucked this up.

Loona was thankfully in her room as he drew the curtains and faceplanted on the couch, pulling out his phone again.

He kept checking his call log like a neurotic twitch, then finally pulled up his last text chain with Stolas.

He hadn't looked at it in so long:

S: If you're not up to it or too tired, that is perfectly fine. No pressure. I don't have anything with the grimoire till next month.

B: Mae Bee

S: Maybe instead of our usual arrangement on the full moon we could properly catch up this week?
S: Maybe Monday?

B: I mite b bsuy

S: I wouldn't want to bother you.
S: You can always drop off the book on the full moon and I can leave it for you if you are too tired to do anything.
S: But I would like to see you.

B: K

Bliz scrolled down, the old memories feeling ancient and far away, yet still hot enough to the touch to still burn.

He stopped scrolling on the last text message he'd sent Stolas four months ago… The one that had never been acknowledged.

Never answered:

B: Eye messed up, stols. Mis u so muuch. Pleez tel mee im not 2 layt.
B: I luv u.

Blitz clutched his chest, feeling the constricting emotional bars wrap around him, tightening.

Shit.

They could never be friends. What the fuck was he thinking? That was always going to be a pipe dream.

He wiped the tears forming at the creases In his eyes and started typing to Stolas again for the first time since that night:

B: I get Y u dint sho up 2day. lets just furget it.

–message undelivered

Had he fucking blocked him, already?

He let his phone fall to the floor with a clunk.

Shit. He'd really thought things could be different between them. He contracted in on himself into a tiny ball of self-loathing.

Pathetic.

Chapter Text

When Blitz woke up the next day, he was mad.

Big mad.

He was mad enough to kill almost 90% of the clients the second they made it through the portal causing Millie to sulk about him ‘stealing all the fun.’

In a rage, he ordered a new set of wacky owls and spent an hour in his office hacking them to bits with Millies’ borrowed axe.

He knew he was starting to go too far when he yelled at Loona with enough force to make her yelp and cower.

“I'm sorry honey, daddy's sorry.” She rolled her eyes at him when he clung to her with apologies which was enough to know he was mostly forgiven, even if she did steal his office and lock him out of it for the rest of the day.

This left him to man the phones and annoying customers, which went about as well as expected with the storm cloud energy wrapped around him.

One client walked in, saw him and immediately left, and if he wasn't so deeply seeing red he might have regretted driving away a customer who frankly, looked well-off.

At the end of the day, Blitz stewing, Loona still wouldn't open the door.

“Hey Loona, ya comin’out?” Millie asked.

“Is the shit-bag still being ridiculous?”

Millie shot him an appraising look and Blitz growled at her.

“... yes?”

“Then tell him to get his shit together while I sleep at Gigi’s house tonight!”

“Blah blah blah, whatever. Who needs you guys, anyway?” he mimed talking hands and rolled his eyes.

Outside, the daylight felt too loud, too red, if that was a thing, and he slammed the car door hard, putting the van into gear and lurching forward with a screech.

The drive home passed in a blur and he threw his keys on the counter, missing as they clattered to the ground.

‘Hell Pony Adventures’ and some canned cheese and ice cream was enough to soothe the ache in his chest… for a little while…

He kicked the V.R. helmet lightly with his toe and it rocked back and forth on the carpet. He was taking it out on the wrong people, he knew that. So, he shoved more ice cream in his mouth and turned back to the tv.

Satina Rainbow pony was in a petulant, dramatic fight with Gonzola-three-horns pony.

“You were supposed to be there for my birthday party but you never came,” she sobbed.

Gonzola nudged a unicorn cupcake her way in apology.

She turned, her tail swiping it swiftly off the table. The cupcake smashed into the ground and she spoke with a sniffle, staring at the icing wreckage: "You're too late! I waited, and you never showed."

Dramatic music played and both Gonzola and Satina sobbed as she galloped into the sunset.

And for some fuckin’ reason, that, and the fact that he was somehow now out of cheese whiz, finally broke him.

“I'm a fucking good friend!” he screamed at the tv, standing on the couch and stomping his hooves into the cushions, and, before he registered fully what he was doing, he was grabbing the VR helmet.

“Asshole didn’t even send me a text. I deserve a fucking explanation, that’s what! Gonna smash his cupcake! That'll show him!”

Before he could talk himself out of it, he plunked the helmet onto his head and sprinted to the familiar Rapunzel-fucking-tall wall and scrabbled up it like drunken quievies.

He didn't care if it was bad timing. If Stolas wasn't there he'd… trash his place or something, he didnt know, who fucking cares? He'd figure it out when he got there…

Elbows latched around the top of the wall, he peeked his head over, offering what he hoped was a vicious expression.

Stolas was logged in. Good. He'd wanted to say it to his face, anyway.

“What. The. Fuck. You. Rich. Pompous. Asshole?!”

He flung himself onto the balcony yet again, this time barely taking a stride before pointing an accusing claw right into Stolas’ feathered chest. Stolas had the nerve to look startled.

“Blitz? What–?”

“What am I doing here?” Blitz snarled, straightening his back to mimic a posh posture and a fake british accent: “Oh, Blitzy I deign to say I’d thoroughly enjoy us being friends. Mayhaps do you want to?”

“Blitz, what–?”

“I’m talking about our ‘friend date,’ asshole, or did you already conveniently forget?” Blitz hated the way his eyes were mildly wet, tail snapping in the air in anger.

Stolas’ blinked, opening and shutting his beak with a confused clack.

“Trying to come up with a good excuse?” Bltiz said, folding his arms tightly. “Don’t even try it, I'm not some sucker who'll fall for your cupcake twice!”

“Fall for my what–?”

Blitz’s tail whipped like a hurricane.

“Classic Geotia. Did you just want to humiliate me? Get me back for everything and show me you don’t need me? Well, I’m not putting up with your bullshit! This time I didn’t do anything fucking wrong, this time the issue was YOU!”

Blitz pointed at Stolas accusingly. His heart was beating at an insane pace, the loud shrill of his own adrenaline buzzing in his ears.

Stolas held up a talon. Blitz ignored it.

“And another thing! Did you somehow rig the system to lure me here–rescue the tower maiden? What the fuck was that about, huh? Friggin’ diabolical mastermind, this one.”

Stolas gave a soft squawk of surprise, then stepped back a moment, crossing his arms in fury.

“Blitz, I have no idea what–”

Blitz jumped on the railing again, this time to make himself bigger, and maybe even louder, if possible, as he paced along the edge of it like a circus tight rope, finishing his tirade.

“I'm an amazing fucking friend, just ask Millie! She looooooves being my friend, even said so to my face, so It's you who’s losing out, not me. It’s your loss–”

“BLITZ!” Suddenly the room went dark, virtual lights flickering as black feathers floated around the room in a menacing aura, Stolas’ shadowy eldritch form filling up the whole of the room and towering with a booming, multi-tiered demon voice. “What. The. Fuck. are you talking about?!

The room felt physically cold.

Blitz didn't even realize an eldritch form would work in virtual reality, let alone still exude that chillingly cold, dark indescribable aura. He'd found it spine chilling the only other time he'd seen it. Terrifying, the way a tiny speck of dust would feel next to a meteor, and also there was a very small chance he’d found it kind of… sexy? Hmmph… not the time. Better bury that boner deep down.

As if out of steam, Stolas allowed his dark form to fold in on itself, slinking back into the recesses of his magic. He gathered the specks of himself back until his owl form emerged, everything regaining color and warmth instantly. He stared at Blitz with a dumbfounded expression.

The transition was jarring… terrifying ancient beast to incredulous wide owl eyes, gazing red down at Blitz with disturbed feathers fluffed in a semi-dorky halo.

Blitz’s eyes narrowed. Surely Stolas wasn’t going to try this bullshit with him.

Against his wishes, Blitz’s shoulders fell, fury draining from him.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Blitz’s voice felt too soft, and frankly, pitiful. “You said you wanted to be friends.”

He sat on the balcony ledge, letting his feet and tail dangle. ”Why?”

There was an uncomfortable pause and Stolas tentatively stepped forward.

“When?” he said, carefully.

Blitz’s claws tensed.

“What do you mean, when? Yesterday, when we said we’d meet up for drinks, or was that all just bullshit?”

Stolas’ beak opened, closed, then opened again.

“Blitz…” he started. “I haven’t seen you months.”

The setting VR sun beat down feeling red and cruel.

“Months?”

Stolas nodded.

“I—You— what the? What do you mean, months?”

“It’s as I said, I haven’t seen you since Verosika’s party months ago, and I find myself utterly confused as to why you’ve decided to come find me in V.R. and scream at me about things I don’t even remotely understand.”

“Come scream at you… but you… but I…”

He froze, scrutinizing. Shit.

If anyone knew Stolas’ earnest face it was Blitz…. Or at least he'd learned to read it the hard way finally, after fantastically fucking everything up–

“You mean you're actually… telling the truth?”

“Are you… Blitz are you okay, did you maybe injure yourself? Hit your head?”

“That's what I'm asking,” Blitz said dryly. Stolas opened his beak quickly, then Blitz held up a hand: “just… hang on a fucking second, okay? I just…”

Stolas pulled his robe tighter around him and nodded.

“Okay,” Blitz continued. “Please, just… answer some questions for me, alright?”

Stolas nodded again, small amounts of masked frustration and confusion seeping through his expression.

“Did you and I speak yesterday?”

“As I've told you before, no.”

Blitz started to gnaw at his claws with stress–a habit that Stolas used to gently steer him from. He wondered if Stolas was reminded of that, too, as Blitz watched his talons flex.

“Stolas, what day is it?”

“Saturday.”

Correct.

“What date?”

“February 1st, I believe. Blitz, can you please explain to me what's going on?”

Blitz’s eyes wandered briefly to the bookshelf, a book on pirates and a book on plants shelved next to each other, looking similar under the violet light that bathed the entire room.

“Stols,” Blitz said, accidentally slipping into the nickname. “You better sit down.”

Stolas did, looking pissy, long princely legs folding together as he swung the flaps of his robe one over the over like closing a fancy cloak, then glared.

“Well, I'm sitting. Kindly explain why you're here, yelling at me out of the blue, then thoroughly confusing me?”

Fuck.

On instinct, Blitz put a calming hand on Stolas’ leg, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit when Stolas tensed. He removed it quickly.

“Stolas, it's June 16th. We hadn't seen each other in eight months until yesterday, when we bumped into each other here.”

Blitz's words were slow: “Which… apparently you don't remember.”

Stolas was quiet, looking in disbelief.

Blitz continued: “How long exactly have you been here in VR?”

Stolas locked his jaw defensively.

“A day… Only a day, and surely you're wrong, I'll show you.”

He pulled up his status window, blinking at the frozen date: February 2nd.

“See? Maybe something is wrong with you!”

Not bothering to answer, Blitz pulled up his own status window and pointed to the ‘real date.’

For thirty seconds, Stolas just stared long and hard, as if he were buffering.

Then, he panicked.

Blitz should have seen it coming.

Stolas shot up into the air like a champagne cork, arms flailing wildly, robe flapping behind him.

He viciously and nervously tugged at his feathers, wringing them out like wet rags.

“Is this real?”

Stolas marched frantically across the room.

“Oh, dear lord, Via! How could this have happened?”

He spun in a circle as if looking for something, but was unsure of what.

“Something is sincerely wrong with this place. I must go see her at once and tell her… I well, something, and we can figure this all out later. I need to go this instant!”

“Stolas…. not to be insensitive but didn't you lose custody?”

Blitz didn't know birds could growl. Stolas practically pulverized him with a look, making him genuinely worried for a second he was about to turn to stone.

The curtains fluttered in response.

“Blitz, I'm sure there is quite a bit more for us to discuss and to figure out, but I'm sure you'll understand me asking to revisit this later.”

Then, without another word, Stolas pulled up his status window, and before Blitz could reach out to stop him, he pressed ‘log out.’

***

It felt like sitting still at the opening of a vacuum. Then, the virtual world mimicked water down a spinning drain, colors swirling into one another.

Blitz panicked as he watched Stolas’ avatar collapse in on himself like a black hole. Reaching out to grab him, Blitz grasped through the melting image, any sensations or form slipping through his claws and away like sand…

At last, the room reset and Blitz was staring at an empty space in front of him, hand still outstretched and gripping nothing but air.

Stolas had… What, died? Disintegrated? Slowly, Blitz let his hand fall before he finally heard a sound that calmed him.

Shallow, drawn out breaths pulled Blitz from his panic as his eyes turned to where Stolas lay soundly in the bed, as if just tucked in.

The comforter curled around Stolas’ sleeping form and he lightly clutched the ornate trim as he dreamed. Soft, and once familiar hoots and sleep sighs met Blitz’s ears in a nostalgic way.

He looked so… peaceful.

Gone was the panic of a moment ago, tempting the irrational part of Blitz's brain to leave him there in his blissful slumber, all the worried creases fully relaxed.

Blitz chided himself. Stolas wasn't here as an exile. He was clearly… well, Blitz didn't know enough about this kind of shit to know, but clearly he was trapped here.

How long had it been? 4 months? Satan’s taint, how was this not the headlining news? Stolas’ divorce certainly had been.

It's not like a prince could just… go missing.

Except, it seems like that's exactly what had happened-a prince exiled to a virtual tower.

On their sex nights, just before he snuck out, Blitz had often snuck one last look at Stolas, passed out from exhaustion, calling him ‘sleeping beauty’ in whispers.

Even once he’d left with a kiss to the cheek… Something he'd never have fucking owned up to… at least not back then.

And here Stolas was, trapped in his tower, waiting for a prince to wake him up.

Instead, he had Blitz. A fuck-up of an imp who'd, as always, arrived way too late.

Real fucking tragedy, to be honest.

With one last hesitation, Blitz gently shook Stolas’ slim shoulder.

“Stolas,” he said softly. “It's me, Blitz.”

With a sleepy smile, Stolas opened his eyes:

“Mmm blitzy?"

The in-between world haze lasted only a moment.

Then, Stolas eye's went wide. He pulled the covers to his chin.

“B-blitz, what are you doing here? Wait, is this virtual reality? Did I fall asleep here?”

All four of his red eyes blinked one at a time in a rapid circle as he pressed his back into the headboard.

Blitz pulled his hand back as an apology, taking in the next words as his already weak bravado started to strain.

“Why are you here, Blitz?”

Shit.

Of course.

Blitz forced a gentle, calming smile, and yet his head felt underwater.

“Hey, Stolas. I know it's been awhile… months,” he practically coughed over the word. Then, as a more steady request:

“Can we talk?”