The first few days after the trial are hard, and Stolas doesn't remember much of them.
He spends a lot of time on the couch, sometimes with the TV on, but mostly staring at the wall. Blitzø refuses to leave him alone the entire first day, which he finds both sweet and incredibly irritating, and a little demeaning, in retrospect. At the time, he was barely aware Blitzø was there at all.
But every now and then, Blitzø would take his hand, or pat him on the leg, or his tail would nudge his feathers and bury itself in them to press against his skin, and the physical touch would pull him back to the present, and he would take a moment to look at him, and remind himself that Blitzø is still alive, that he was able to get there in time, and that he cared enough to offer Stolas his couch after, too.
He definitely hadn't been expecting that. But then, he hadn't actually expected to make it out of the courtroom, so just about everything that happened after was something of a revelation.
"This cannot continue," Stolas says, talons clenching in determination, after a week. "It is... I am taking advantage, and abusing your good will."
"What? No, wait, hold on," Blitzø says, immediately going stiff, rushing over to the couch, abandoning his sandwich where he'd been building it in the kitchen so he can tumble onto the cushions and scrabble to grab Stolas' arm, squeezing almost painfully tight. "Stolas, it's fine! It's no big deal, really, you can't leave, please stay?"
"What?" Stolas looks up at him, and immediately feels like an idiot. "Oh, no, I meant—well, I cannot stay here forever. But I merely intended—I would like to try and find a way to... well, to earn my place here," he says, with a wry half-smile at Blitzø. "I... I feel rather like a nuisance."
Blitzø's deathgrip in his arm relents a little, but he doesn't remove the hand entirely, even as the rest of his posture relaxes slightly and he sits back to lean a shoulder against the back of the couch and run his fingers through the feathers he'd disrupted, smoothing them out. "Oh. Okay, um. Are you saying you want to... learn how to cook, and shit like that? Or clean?"
"Oh," Stolas says, feeling even stupider. "I—yes, of course, I should have been doing that already. But... I would also like to repay you for your hospitality. Financially, I mean."
"No," Blitzø says, sudden and firm, and at first Stolas is confused and flustered and a little hurt at the intensity of the response, wondering if Blitzø believes him incapable, until Blitzø elaborates.
"If you want to find a way to help out, that's cool. But you're not paying to stay here. I won't ask you to do that, no one should have to. Especially when... when they've been through as much as you have. You're staying here because I want you here, and... and you can leave whenever you want, too. That's non-negotiable," he says, his grip tightening again, and Stolas can feel the way it ruffles some of his feathers uncomfortably. He wonders if his arm will end up with a bald patch after the trials they've been put through over the course of this conversation.
"Okay," he says quietly, unsure what to do with the emotions tumbling and warring, crashing at his ribcage as he tries to process the enormity of Blitzø's kindness, his generosity, and how lucky he is that he still gets to be on the receiving end of it.
Blitzø lets out a sigh. "Good. Now that that's out of the way, if you want to look for something so you can have your own money, I'll gladly help you out."
"I... I would appreciate any advice or wisdom you have to offer, but... I would also like to try to do it on my own, I think," Stolas says, aware how very delusional he likely is.
He doesn't know the first thing about... about finding work.
"Sure, of course. Let's do a search."
Blitzø grabs his phone, and immediately pulls up a website—HellNo, which Stolas has never heard of before—and turns to him.
"So, what kind of job are you thinkin' about?"
Stolas stares at the screen blankly. "Um."
Blitzø just snorts. "Okay, well, let's see.... your last job was about prophecies and reading the stars, right? I bet there's plenty of—"
Stolas shoves away the sick, twisting churning he feels in his stomach, the nausea rising as he thinks about having to spend every day looking at the sky, or worse, at pictures of the sky without being able to open a portal to look at the real thing, at the stars, the ones too far to see from Hell, or the planet, without traveling thousands of lightyears in an instant to gaze upon them for himself. "No," he says, and then more softly, "um, not that. I would prefer... something else."
"Oh... Yeah, of course, that was probably a dumb suggestion. Well, what can you do? What are you good at?"
Stolas stares at his talons, and then at the floor. He'd already eliminated the only thing he actually knew how to do, because he was too pathetic to stomach it.
"Let's try a different tactic, then," Blitzø says, and puts away his phone. "Let's start with who you know."
Stolas' veins turn to ice. He can only think of two people, one of whom has not answered his calls since the courtroom, and the other he would never call in a billion lifetimes, even if his life were at risk. Especially since she's been the cause of him nearly dying already, on multiple occasions.
Well. He also knows her cunt of a brother, he supposes.
"No one," Stolas says, the words heavy, smothering him, and Blitzø jumps up to his knees and leans in to put his hands on Stolas' cheeks.
"Hey. That's not true. Come on, you've got me and M&M now, and Loonie. Wait, there's an idea, you can just work for me!"
Stolas thinks about getting to spend all day with Blitzø, following him to work and helping there... somehow. He hopes he wouldn't just be a burden.
But then he remembers (pieces of) their walk down the street, outside of the courtroom. He recalls beverages being thrown, mainly.
"Would... would that not be a terrible obstacle, for you? Now that you are finally getting the recognition you deserve, to hire me, who has just confessed very publicly to manipulating you? I cannot imagine my addition will be a boon to your business."
"Who the fuck cares about that?" Blitzø scoffs, with a dismissive wave of his hand. But, if hiring Stolas meant that Blitzø's job became difficult again, or demons stopped recognizing him for his bravery...
"I think I would prefer.... something else." Stolas can't quite make eye contact, as he feels terrible guilt settling in his stomach. He of course would like nothing better than to be an asset to Blitzø, to help with his work... but not if it will cause him trouble. Not now.
"Yeah, of course, whatever you wanna do. The offer will always be open, though." Blitzø gives him a firm pat on the leg, and then leans in to rest his head against Stolas' shoulder and they sit like that for a moment, before Blitzø pulls back so he can reach over and pick his phone back up from where he dropped it, and he starts scrolling idly. "Maybe I can talk to Fizz—wait! Asmodeus! The big guy spoke up for me at the trial, and he has all kinds of connections. Or Beelzebub, they both seemed like they weren't total assholes. What about one of them?"
Stolas frowns. He does not truly know Asmodeus that well, but... he did seem grateful for the legal advice. Or, he had sent a "thx birdybabe 😘" text the next day. Perhaps...
"I suppose... it would be worth a try," Stolas says, and Blitzø throws both fists up in the air in triumph. "Hell yeah, that's the spirit! We have a lead," He says, and drops a hand on Stolas' shoulder, and grins at him, big and enthusiastic and full of warmth.
And for the first time since the trial, Stolas thinks maybe it isn't so hopeless after all.
*
The appointment with Asmodeus is, to be blunt, hell.
He immediately responds to the inquiry Blitzø helps him type out: yes, of course, come right over! Oh wait, I have two meetings today. How's Thursday? At first, Stolas is cautiously optimistic, and Blitzø seems convinced this is a perfect solution.
He pretends to tag along to see Fizz, and while his hovering is not remotely subtle, the idea of facing Asmodeus as a status-less, magic-less former Prince, and doing it all alone, is enough to make him feel on the verge of losing his lunch, especially because there are no protocols for this situation. How should he act? Will Asmodeus treat him differently? Should he be offended if he does, or should that be a relief? Will Asmodeus expect him to behave differently? More respectful, or quieter, or with more reverence? Will he be expected to wait for permission to speak?
So he does not ask Blitzø to remain behind, and Blitzø follows him through the portal he opens up for Stolas, right to the foot of Asmodeus' tower, his large hand wrapped tightly around Stolas' thinner one.
Blitzø keeps up a constant stream of nervous chatter as they ascend, which Stolas finds soothing. It is a relief to know he is not the only one nervous, but the sound of Blitzø's voice, his presence at his side... He makes it all bearable, and Stolas is very glad he doesn't have to do this alone.
Asmodeus greets him just the same as he did when he was a Prince, and Stolas follows his lead, mostly acting just as he used to, although perhaps with a touch less formality, which Asmodeus doesn't comment on. Blitzø is his usual self and makes plenty of jokes, which eases the tension considerably.
At least until Asmodeus begins asking a series of questions, which he insists he poses to all potential employees. Stolas has prepared no responses, and fails to answer a single one with cogency or aplomb, stuttering over his words, searching for answers that don't amount to a blatant display of I Am Totally And Completely Useless, Why Would You Ever Consider Hiring Me.
Asmodeus frowns at his clipboard, and Stolas knows that he has failed, that he has been found wanting.
"Why don't you come on a little tour with me, and we can see what looks like it might suit you?" Asmodeus asks, and Stolas feels all of his will and desire to be anywhere except for buried beneath a pile of blankets with a bowl of cereal and his soaps shrivel up into a withered pile of ash.
"I... I am not sure—"
"C'mon, a little tour can't hurt. Let's just see," Blitzø says, speaking up for the first time in a while from where he sits at his side, raising a hand from the arm of his chair to place it on Stolas' back, warm and grounding and lending him support.
"I... Very well," he says, because he cannot refuse Blitzø. Not when he is trying so hard, is doing so much for him.
"Excellent! Follow me," Asmodeus says, and they leave the office to descend in the elevator. Fizzarolli joins them soon after, rushing in to give Blitzø a firm slap on the back, and proceeding to poke and prod and banter with him, both of them laughing and insulting each other in turn.
He had burst into Blitzø's apartment a couple days after the trial, and Stolas suspected that the only reason he hadn't been there the moment they got back was because Blitzø asked him to hold off for Stolas' sake. Fizz had been very nearly attached to him for the duration of his visit, and he would joke like normal, but every now and then he would look at Blitzø, would twist his grip into his shirt as though he needed to feel the physical proof that he was still real and not some sort of apparition, and Blitzø's tone would soften and he would keep talking until Fizz was settled enough to release his grip and respond back with a joke or a playful insult.
It's touching, how much they clearly care for one another. Stolas sometimes feels like a monster for being a little bit jealous.
He trails after Asmodeus and listens as he explains the different roles available in his workshop; the many different technicians who build his products, the testers, the designers, the distributors, the marketing team. There are a great variety of demons here doing any number of tasks, and Stolas feels suited for... none of them.
"Hey, Stol, look at this!" Blitzø holds up a paddle with an array of extra attachments on display behind it. "I almost got this, but I was pretty sure you already had one that was similar. Look at the colors, though!"
Stolas giggles, taking the paddle from Blitzø to admire it. "You are correct, I have one with a similar design, but not nearly as beautiful. This would have made a delightful addition." As he runs his talon lightly along the paddle, feeling the wood grain, Asmodeus eyes him with curiosity.
"I wasn't aware you liked to play," he says, low, almost a purr, and Stolas feels his cheeks heat up.
"Yeah, there's probably a lot you don't know," Blitzø says, snagging the paddle out of Stolas' grip and pressing it into Asmodeus' chest. "Stolas is creative and resourceful and kinky as fuck. He would have all kinds of messed up ways to use that little toy, things you wouldn't even dream of," he says with a snarl, and Asmodeus turns back to Stolas with a tilt of his head.
"Hmm, is that so? Well, then I may have an idea."
Asmodeus leads them to another room in the workshop, one with whiteboards on every wall, with a large table surrounded by a number of comfortable chairs and a projector mounted in the center, several computer stations along one of the walls. He shows them their design process for developing new products, and invites Stolas to look over and give input on several prototypes they have in the works, and no one is more surprised than Stolas when he has ideas about potential problems they might encounter, improvements they could make, and ways to increase their marketability or versatility.
By the time they return to Blitzø's apartment, Stolas has been given a uniform and has a required orientation scheduled, followed by his first ever work shift entered into the calendar on his phone.
And he's actually looking forward to it.
*
The first week is brutal.
Stolas does not know how to fit in to the process at Asm—at Ozzie's company (he insists his employees dispense with the formality, for reasons Stolas does not quite understand. He is the top executive, is he not?). He gets lost several times on his first day, both in getting to the workshop, in finding the bathroom, and when he goes to look for a fresh pack of markers for the board. For lunch, he decides not to risk getting lost on his return, and elects to remain in the meeting room for the duration, resolving to remember to find something he can bring with him for his next day.
Once he begins to learn his way around, he finds increasingly that the other employees are wary of him. He thought it simply because he was new, but he watches an incubus and an imp who are hired in the days following him, and they are not treated with the same degree of caution or wariness that he can see. It does not appear to be fading as the weeks pass, either.
He feels his contributions are lacking, compared to those of his coworkers, so perhaps their skepticism is warranted. He begins to feel more and more as though he does not belong.
As though Asm—As though... Ozzie... hired him out of pity and guilt, rather than for a some sort of... valuable skillset.
Blitzø always arrives to portal him home, so that he can avoid public scrutiny and wearing any more unwanted beverages bestowed on him by the public. He wishes he could merely take a vehicle home without needing a shower immediately after, or risk getting spilled drinks all over the interior, upsetting his driver, or losing his ride entirely.
He wishes even more desperately that he could portal himself, and the number of times daily that he reaches for abilities he no longer has access to is—
Sometimes Asm— Oz, will visit, and will change his appearance, or pull something out of thin air, or portal himself around his tower. Stolas tries not to let it bother him.
It bothers him.
He returns to Blitzø's apartment more and more tired each day, realizes he has spent no time with Blitzø beyond a quick breakfast before work in a week because he has been too tired, has arrived back to the apartment in the evening, climbed onto the couch, and fallen asleep before Blitzø can even ask how his day went.
And every time he wakes up, he sees Blitzø curled up on that tiny beanbag, and feels miserable about taking his bed away from him, but every time he has attempted to give it back, Blitzø has gotten upset, or changed the subject, or "forgotten" and climbed back onto the beanbag with a shrug and a "well, I'm here now and I'm not moving, so go to sleep. We can switch tomorrow."
Stolas is beginning to see a pattern.
The next day, work in the tower goes... catastrophically badly. He is too tired to think, to meaningfully contribute. He gets asked questions, blinks blankly back at his coworkers without responding, who then sigh and continue on with their discussion as though he is not there. He makes stupid errors, messing up simple tasks.
Asmodeus pulls him into his office at the end of his shift, and Stolas only just manages not to sob openly as he tells him he does not think he is a good fit there.
Asmodeus does not deny it, and Stolas hands over his uniform and the little badge, and hurries through the portal as soon as Blitzø opens it.
He cannot hold back the tears any longer when they return to the apartment. He feels useless, stupid, and incompetent. He feels terrible for wasting the opportunities Blitzø worked so hard to find for him.
He cries with his arms wrapped tightly around Blitzø's waist, face mashed into his stomach, likely ruining his horse-patterned shirt. Blitzø runs his claws through his feathers, and stays and comforts him until he wears himself out enough to fall asleep.
He wakes curled up, a blanket over him, Blitzø smushed behind him into the narrow gap between Stolas and the back of the couch, nose tucked over Stolas' shoulder, arms wound tightly around his middle, fingers buried in the feathers on Stolas' chest. He can't bring himself to move away, so he stays like that until Blitzø shifts and finally begins to wake, presses a kiss into his shoulder sleepily and asks, "Pancakes?"
Stolas pretends, just for a moment, that this is every day, that everything is fine, that nothing has been ruined or broken or sacrificed, and says, "yes, please."
After breakfast, Blitzø suggests looking for a more traditional starter job. Stolas has his doubts, but the burger place Blitzø sometimes orders from down the street is hiring, and if he's in the back, he doesn't have to deal with the public. Stolas agrees to give it a try.
After spending time working for Asmodeus, he actually has answers for a few of the interview questions, and it turns out the manager of the place is not big on television, or news, or anything that doesn't have to do with running his restaurant, and he offers Stolas the job.
Within three hours there is a fire in the kitchen, and Stolas is, once again, unemployed.
He doesn't cry this time, at least.
When Blitzø resumes looking for available positions he doesn't scroll past the opening at the Planetarium quite fast enough for Stolas to miss it, and he thinks about how once that would have been a dream position for him, if only he still could—
He stops answering any of Blitzø's questions or prompts after that, and when Blitzø suggests they take a break and watch something, he agrees.
He doesn't have the strength to move away when Blitzø plasters himself against his side and starts running fingers through his feathers again, making low commentary on the terrible movie they're watching that normally would have Stolas cackling, but today all he can manage is a small, tired lift at the corner of his mouth.
Blitzø takes it in stride, continuing as though he'd laughed and joking with him just like normal. It helps.
The next day, Blitzø decides they're going on an outing. Stolas is nervous—terrified, really—and can't think of a single place he can actually go without fear of having to deal with unpleasant people, or memories. But he trusts Blitzø, and follows him anyway.
He steps through the portal and is met with the smell of fresh-cut grass, purple and green and blue all around him as he looks around the overgrown, sprawling foliage that fills the glorious park, plants and greenery everywhere without another demon in sight apart from the two of them.
"C'mon," Blitzø says with a nod, grabbing his hand, and tugging him down the cobbled stone path. He isn't impatient, though, and stops with Stolas as he admires all the different species they have, although Stolas has concerns about some of the varieties they've opted to plant near each other—they look visually appealing, certainly, but they are unlikely to allow one another to flourish when planted so close together, especially the ones that do not get along due to incompatible temperaments.
Blitzø gets a look on his face, and then smacks himself in the head, loudly. "I'm an idiot!" He bursts, unnecessarily.
"I assure you, you are not," Stolas says, but Blitzø isn't listening.
"Come on, I got a great idea."
He drags him down a path, into a large building at the far end of the park. He bursts in without knocking.
"Look, I know I told you guys I just wanted an hour, but hear me out—"
"Oh no, he's back," says a hellhound behind the desk, pushing her chair away from the desk and turning toward the door. "Marielle, he's back, send help!"
"If I swear not to threaten anyone, will you listen to me for two minutes?!" Blitzø yells, before pulling back his coat to reveal his flintlock. "Because I can go back to threatening, but I think this would go a lot better if I didn't have to!"
"MARIELLE!" The hellhound screeches, and throws herself through the door to a back room.
"Shit. Stay here," Blitzø says, and Stolas hesitates, but... he does trust him.
"Please do not hurt anyone on my account," he says, just as a baphomet enters through the door the hellhound had disappeared from.
"The fuck you want now?" She says, crossing her arms, looking unimpressed as she gives Stolas a once-over before turning to Blitzø. "If you don't stop threatening my employees, I'm gonna kick your ass into the next Ring."
"Okay, so, I know we kind of got off on the wrong foot. My fault! You were gonna turn down perfectly good money because of stupid, unfounded rumors. But! I have a great idea, and if you hear me out, I guarantee it will be worth your time!"
Stolas winces as Blitzø waves around his flintlock for emphasis. "Blitzø, I would very much like to be able to return here in the future, perhaps we should just leave, before—"
"No!" Blitzø swats at Stolas as he tries to gently steer him toward the door. "I'm serious, this is the perfect place, and you know it!"
"Perfect place?" Stolas asks, and then suddenly he understands. "Oh, I—I don't know about this, Blitzø..."
"Listen!" Blitzø shouts, and takes a step toward the baphomet, who is frowning at Stolas, but she looks more thoughtful than annoyed. "This guy knows a shit ton about plants, he used to have a huge garden and greenhouse with a whole fuckload of them and they were all big and colorful and healthy and shit, it's why I wanted to bring him here. He would be a huge asset, and you should totally hire him! Just—pretend I'm not here. Look at him! Doesn't he look like he'd fit in here perfect? Look at his cute, nerdy little outfit! C'mon, you gotta at least consider it!"
Stolas flushes, mortified. "Um, Blitzø, this is... Is this really—"
"Alright," the baphomet says, staring at Stolas. "We've been looking for a new botanist, our last one turned out to be... bad. You're here, so why not. Come on in the back. You," she snarls, turning to Blitzø, "stay here. I mean it. And leave my receptionist alone!"
"You got it!" Blitzø says, bright and cheerful, and gives Stolas a little push. "Go on, wow 'em, birdie. You're gonna totally crush this!"
The baphomet is straightforward and no-nonsense, but not unkind as she asks him questions, which he finds he is actually able to answer, as they are mostly about gardening and cultivating various plants and herbs. But then she quizzes him on a few rarer varieties, some of which he is familiar with and some of which he is definitely not. There are several that he would have loved to acquire for his greenhouse, but which he could not be sure he would have adequate space and materials to ensure they grew to their full potential, and admits this to the baphomet, certain he's ruining his own chances, but he can't come up with a plausible excuse, and he doesn't want to lie to her and lead her to believe he knows things he doesn't.
Marielle. The baphomet has a name, he reminds himself.
Finally, she tells him she'll get back to him, and he feels a sinking in his stomach as he nods and smiles and is fairly certain he won't be hearing back. But he recalls the way the hellhound had fled the room when he entered, and he truly does want to be able to return to see the gardens again in the future.
"I apologize for my—for Blitzø. I hope he did not do anything too terrible to frighten your employees the last time he was here, I believe he was simply attempting to cheer me up. It has been a somewhat unpleasant week, and it was wonderful to be able to look around your park without... well, without being accosted by angry strangers."
She turns to face him before she opens the door. "Nah, we get plenty of demons just like him, and I can tell he's all bark and no bite." She hesitates, and then puts a hand on her hip. "You're that royal who was in the courtroom on TV a while back, weren't you?"
Stolas flinches, and his heart sinks further. He thinks about trying to deny it, but... what would be the point? "I—yes. That... that was me."
She hums, tapping a foot. "That imp out there was about to be executed," she says, watching him carefully. "But he's still alive. That hasn't happened before."
Stolas looks at the door, can see through the narrow window that Blitzø is leaning on the receptionist's desk, talking to her, a big grin on his face, his tail waving enthusiastically behind him, and feels a wave of fondness overwhelm him. "Yes," he says simply, because there's really no point in trying to explain himself if someone has already made up their mind about him.
Marielle hums again, and then opens the door. "Come collect your boyfriend and get the hell out of my office," she shouts at Blitzø, and Stolas flushes and forgets to thank her before the door has closed behind him.
"I—wh—I'm afraid there has been... a misunderstanding," he says, certain his face is bright red, hiding behind his hands. "I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't intend to insinuate—"
"It's fine, let's just go," Blitzø says, and grabs one of Stolas' wrists to pull him toward the door. "Maybe I'll bring Loonie next time!" He says over his shoulder to the receptionist, and when Stolas glances back, is pleased to see her wave at them with a bright smile.
Perhaps he will be able to show his face here again, after all.
"So? How'd it go?" Blitzø asks eagerly as soon as the door closes behind them, opening up a portal back to his apartment. Stolas tries to find the energy to match Blitzø's enthusiasm, but it finds he is quite tired.
"Um, it... it did seem to go better than the last one," Stolas says, and Blitzø grins at him, and smacks him on his hip.
"Hell yeah, I bet you're getting better every time! There's no way they can pass up on hiring you, though, they'd have to be idiots."
Stolas does not reply, and when Blitzø asks him what he wants for dinner, insisting that it's his choice, that he earned it today... Stolas doesn't know what to ask for.
Blitzø takes it in stride, and ends up making a wonderful dish with some rats he acquired just for Stolas during his last shopping run, and Stolas is touched, and tries to think about how much Blitzø is doing for him, and not about how he feels as though the effort is a complete waste of his time.
And he feels guilty, because what he really wants... It's not fair, to linger, to stay here, to cling to a fantasy, but Stolas can't bring himself to leave.
He doesn't know where he would go, anyway.
So he stays, and eats the incredible meal Blitzø prepares for him, and watches his show with Blitzø on the sofa, and doesn't beg him to hold him until he falls asleep again even though he desperately wants to, down to his hollow bones.
*
Three days and several fruitless interviews later, Stolas gets a call.
It's the only call he's ever gotten on his new phone that isn't from Blitzø. He stares at it in disbelief for a few moments before pressing the green accept button.
"Hello?"
"Is this Stolas?" The voice on the other end is familiar, and Stolas is immediately transported back to the park.
"Yes," he says, his voice hoarse.
Blitzø leaves the bathroom still toweling off his horns when he ends the call.
"Hey, did you hear back from one?" Blitzø asks, running up to him, and Stolas nods, feeling numb. "Which one?" He asks, excited, rising up on his tiptoes and trying to look at the phone's screen, but it's already gone dark.
"The park," he says, and then looks over at Blitzø and tells him that they've offered him a position but he barely pays attention to Blitzø's excitement and his enthusiasm as he pulls him into a hug because all he's wearing is a tiny pair of shorts and a towel around his neck and Stolas can't look away from the miles of damp skin.
Stolas has a similar experience to working for Asmodeus his first couple days—his coworkers are polite to him, but clearly wary, and he supposes they have no idea what to make of him.
He doubts they've ever had to work alongside a Goetia before, and that must be quite strange for them.
But no one asks him about the trial, or any other questions about his personal life. They just show him around, and walk him through his responsibilities, and even chat with him a little on breaks or after close as they walk out to the parking lot together, and Stolas waits for Blitzø to open the portal for him.
He manages to go hours in a row without missing his magic so much it's hard to breathe, because he gets to feel soft dirt, and smell the flowers and grass, and puzzle over what to do with the sickly-looking ones, and he often finds himself discussing ideas with the the other demons who work there, going over what they've already tried with him, and they actually listen when he makes suggestions.
When a customer throws their coffee at him a week in, one of his coworkers—an incubus—gets between him and the customer, asks the customer to leave, and takes Stolas into the employee restroom to help him clean up, offering him a spare shirt.
Stolas has no idea what to do, or say, and when he tries to thank him, the incubus just waves him off.
"They were being shitty for no reason. Pissed me off. I only regret not swearing at 'em more, maybe waving a weapon in their face, see if they try that shit again after I'm done with 'em."
Stolas smiles, small but genuine, and stops shaking, and is able to return to work, although he stays in the back working on replanting for the rest of the day to avoid another incident.
He thinks he could probably really learn to like it, here.
*
A week later, Stolas shows up to work as usual, but when he walks to his locker to grab his apron, the room goes oddly quiet, and he looks around at the tense expressions of his coworkers, who are all staring at him.
"Has something happened?" He asks, feeling his stomach ice over, recalling the cold looks he used to get at Asmodeus' workshop, terrified he has managed to fuck up somehow, to ruin this good thing he was just starting to like.
The incubus steps forward, and he doesn't look wary or upset, he looks... sad, and worried. "Uh, boss got a weird email last night, and... she's not really sure how to handle it. You should probably talk to her."
"Um, yes, of course. You... are not going to tell me what was in the email?"
He looks back at the others gathered in a huddle, and then sighs. "I don't have all the details, but... it sounded like it was from anoth—uh, a royal."
Stolas feels a chasm of despair opening in his chest, threatening to pull everything into it, into the void, all his hope and his good mood and his progress and his potential future.
"I see," he says, and walks past them toward Marielle's office.
He knocks, and hears a soft, come in, so he opens the door, and Marielle grimaces at him.
"Stolas, good, you're here. Have a seat."
Stolas sits and listens in despair as she explains that Andrealphus' house has threatened her, has suggested that all business with his family will cease unless she fires her most recent new employee, that they refuse to be associated with a business which employs a deviant traitor.
She does not use those words, exactly, but she does not have to. Stolas speaks politics.
He wonders how Andrealphus found out about his new job so quickly. He thinks he probably has the resources to find any job he could possibly be hired for, though. Employment records are not exactly top secret, certainly not when you have Andrealphus' wealth and resources at your disposal.
"I will leave," Stolas says, and unties his apron. "His threats are very real, and would be devastating to your finances."
"Stolas, wait, you don't have to—"
"Yes, I do." Stolas takes a deep breath, shoves down his mess of despair to deal with later, and looks at Marielle. "You all have been incredibly kind to me, and I deeply appreciate it. I will not see you suffer for the consequences of my actions. I will be fine, but you will not if you lose a significant portion of your Goetian clientele."
"Hold on, Stolas—"
"No. My decision is final. I quit," Stolas says, and stands up. "It has been a pleasure working here, however briefly."
Marielle stares at his apron, chewing on her lip. After a few long moments, she looks up at him, determined.
"I better see you back here," she says, jabbing a finger at him. "You hear me? And if I can help in any way—"
"Thank you," Stolas says, touched at the kindness of the gesture. "I will certainly visit, but perhaps I will keep a low profile, just in case."
"Whatever you need," she says, and circles around the desk to shake his hand, firm and warm. "I mean it. This situation—it isn't right."
Stolas' throat is too tight to respond, so he just holds her hand for a moment, and hopes the gesture will suffice. The rest of the employees gather to tell him how much they're going to miss him, how they all are infuriated at the unfairness of the circumstances, and Stolas has to admit he agrees.
And he is going to miss them terribly, despite how little time he's had with them.
He texts Blitzø for an early portal, and is relieved when it opens in front of him a short time later, Blitzø standing impatiently on the other side, the heel of his boot tapping the ground nervously as he holds out a hand to help him through.
"Hey, you're back early. Everything okay?"
Stolas looks at him, and can't quite stop the tears from spilling over, and also can't seem to summon the words to respond. The whole scene is familiar, and he is torn between despair and relief that at least Blitzø won't have to endure it a third time.
Blitzø pulls him into a hug without asking anything further, which Stolas appreciates as he melts into the embrace. Blitzø takes him to the couch, gathers several blankets and pillows, and then gets ice cream from the freezer, and they eat it curled up on the floor, limbs sprawled across one another, backs against the couch, Stolas resting his head on Blitzø's shoulder, the TV droning in the background but neither of them really paying attention to it.
"There is nowhere out of his reach," Stolas says, finally, after he can finally talk enough to give Blitzø the short version.
"Bullshit. We'll find somewhere," Blitzø says, but Stolas can't think of a single place.
He pulls out his phone, flicks through the texts from his fellow—from his former coworkers, all expressing how much they will miss him, and is both touched and feeling worse than ever.
He thought he'd finally found somewhere. Somewhere he could actually be a benefit, could do something right, could be an asset instead of a burden.
Perhaps he will always be a useless, pathetic man. He wonders how long Blitzø can keep going, can keep carrying his weight, before he gives up.
"You know," Blitzø says, and holds out a spoonful of ice cream, which Stolas opens his mouth to accept before humming a wordless question at him. "There's one place where, whatever your dickhead ex-in-law tries, he can't do anything about it. Won't make fuck-all difference."
Stolas frowns, lifting his head to look at him, and swallows his mouthful of ice cream. Blitzø is grinning, looking like he's just caught some really elusive prey, or took down a high-profile target and knows it's going to result in a huge payday. He looks... confident. Stolas feels burning heat twist in his belly, and lower, and has to stop himself from adjusting his clothing.
"Um. Where?" He finally asks, mortified at how breathless it comes out.
"My business! Duh," he says, poking Stolas in the side, and Stolas gives a chirpy squeak.
"W-What? But I told you, I can't, not if it would—"
"I don't give a shit, Stols. We did fine before, we made a name for ourselves, we can handle hiring one social-pariah employee. Business has been great, and we definitely need the extra help. Besides, most of our clients are Sinners, which your cunt ex-brother doesn't have dick-all influence over and can't threaten. Come on, it's perfect."
Stolas stares at him, at his easy offer, the lack of any hint of reservation. The way he's so determined to find a solution, how he's been right by his side this whole time, even sometimes putting Stolas' job hunt ahead of his own work.
He can't turn him down again, he doesn't think, even if there were another choice available. He doesn't have the willpower.
"Okay," he says softly, barely daring to speak louder than a whisper, afraid the universe might find a way to take the option from him again.
"Fuck yeah!" Blitzø wraps his arms around Stolas' neck, and presses a kiss to his cheek. "I knew I'd get you eventually, just took that popsicle bitch eliminating all my competition for me. I'm not bitter about that, by the way: being your last choice and all."
Stolas can barely follow the words, mind still entirely preoccupied with the feeling of Blitzø's lips pressed to his cheek. Blitzø seems to realize what he's just done, and his cheeks darken, and he looks away.
"Uh, sorry if that was—"
Stolas raises a talon to Blitzø's jaw, holding him gently, and leans in to return the gesture, pressing a kiss to Blitzø's scarred cheek, and Blitzø freezes until Stolas pulls away slightly and he turns to look at him, wide-eyed.
"Thank you," Stolas says, looking into Blitzø's beautiful red eyes, hoping he can manage to convey at least a fraction of the depth of his gratitude. "You are... amazing, and far kinder than I deserve."
"Hey," Blitzø says, and he looks like he's trying to scowl, but he gets distracted when Stolas can't help glancing down at his mouth, because he's still thinking about the kiss, and Blitzø goes still, both of them breathing in, tension thick in the air.
Stolas can't believe how badly he wishes Blitzø would close the distance again, but maybe aim a little more to the center of his face this time. He aches for a time when he thought it was still possible, when he thought Blitzø might actually want him that way. But now, words flash in his mind, shouted at his back as he tries desperately (and fails) to withhold tears:
you pompous,
rich
asshole!
He feels the prickly sting as the tears threaten to return, and he swallows, trying to shove them down, away, willing them not to fall.
"Stols?" Blitzø asks, and rests a hand on Stolas' cheek, and Stolas leans into it immediately, eyes falling closed as he revels in the warmth, the contact, the comfort.
"Sorry," he mutters, sniffling.
"For what?" Blitzø asks, leaning in, resting his forehead against Stolas'. Stolas wraps a taloned hand into Blitzø's shirt, pulling him closer, unable to stop himself.
"You... still haven't given up, even after... after all of this, and I—"
"Of course I haven't given up. Stolas, I'll never give up, not ever."
"I... I don't know why," Stolas says, voice thick with unshed tears as they threaten to spill over again.
"Dummy," Blitzø says, rubbing his forehead against Stolas', nuzzling gently. "Because I care about you." Blitzø lets go of one of Stolas' cheeks to wipe at a tear as it slowly trails down Stolas' face. "I'm... sorry I was too afraid to say it, before."
Stolas shakes his head, dislodging his hands. "No, I wasn't clear, I... it must have been so easy, to assume I was just... using you, and I was so selfish—"
"Stolas, no, I never thought that. I knew you weren't. That you wouldn't. You're not." Blitzø presses another kiss to Stolas' forehead, and then tugs him in, guiding Stolas forward, so his head presses into Blitzø's neck, and he wraps his arms around him, rubbing Stolas' back in soothing circles, smoothing down his feathers and then digging claws between them to scratch gently at skin. "You gave up everything for me. You do realize that is the opposite of selfish."
"I didn't have a choice," Stolas says, voice quaking as he remembers the fear, the desperation. "They were going to execute you. I couldn't let them. Not... not if it meant losing you."
Blitzø squeezes all the air out of him, holding him tightly. "Yeah, the feeling's mutual."
Mutual.
Stolas will take it, will take whatever Blitzø offers him, will savor it as preciously as the last drop of water in the desert, or the last star in the night sky.
"Thank you," he says, the words beyond inadequate, but they're the only ones he has, for now.
"Always," Blitzø says, and Stolas lets himself be a little selfish, when he asks Blitzø if he'll stay on the couch with him, just for a little longer.
They fall asleep pressed close together, wrapped in blankets, and Stolas has no idea what the future is going to look like but he knows that if Blitzø really does stay...
Everything will be okay.