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This world wasn't bad. Terrible? Definitely not. But, Iruma thought, it was almost laughable how human the demon world is. Children still laughed with their tummies, and even without the word, still found friendship where it shouldn't even exist. Adults were still stubborn, childish, and responsible. Still, only some parents took care of their offspring. Only a few chose others before themselves.
Everyone was still terribly, horribly selfish.
Iruma shouldn't complain, he couldn't. Not when he now can eat whenever he wants. Not when he can dig his teeth into all the dessert he can handle, tear into juicy meat, fill his stomach like he never could before. He had a bed, shoes, clothes, a shower, and blankets. Everything he ever needed. As a human, he should be grateful for every breath he takes. As a demon, he should be grateful for every breath he takes.
The night owls screeched. They didn't scare him anymore, he was used to the light terrors of this world. Iruma tossed and turned, rolled and rolled, jumped from position to position yet sleep kept slipping from his hands. These days, sleep has started to become difficult. No longer did he sleep instantly as a survival instinct, he didn't need to be ready for anything. Life has become easier.
On nights such as this, Iruma lets himself get stuck in his head. The pity party starts as his tears start gliding down his face, the celebration starts as soon as he hears, ‘I want my mom; I want my dad.’
His heart squeezed and twisted, it hurt so, so bad. Feeling his soul frantically search for a way for this to stop; Iruma knows this feeling will never let him free. Forever, he will be in this awful state of anguish and grief. No matter how many friends he has, no matter how many people love him. It doesn't matter because his parents aren't here to hold him.
The human world nights were crueler. When he couldn't sleep because he had a job to do, he had to stare into the pitch black night so he didn't get mauled, where the ground dug into his skin. But, at least his parents were still in the same world. They could get him, save him, whenever they wanted.
It didn't matter that they never showed. Iruma just loved the scenario that one day they will come. He knew that the stars above him were the same that were above his mom. His father was held by the same sun that burned him.
Now, he was alone under the stars. The only human in the demon world.
Alone.
He was all by himself.
Tears made his face itchy, whimpering through the oncoming headache, sinking further and further into his bed. Iruma sobbed. He cried into his pillow, muffling all years of sorrow sewn into his flesh.
“I-” he choked on tears and snot, “I want my.. m… my mom.” When he was younger, sometimes, his mother would pat him on his head. Tell him what a good boy he's being. Letting them travel and go on adventures while he learnt how to read and write from the new papers. Iruma was never good, but he was only ever just a boy. Another cry fell from his lips, “and dad.. Please, God.” His dad loved to make sure he never felt alone during the cold nights. Reminding him that even if they weren't there, they were in the same world walking the same ground.
Even with the existence of God being plausible; Iruma would never believe in God. After spending half of his nights on his knees, begging for some release so he could finally breathe. His only sin was being a child, yet still, he wanted to repent. Repent that awful immaturity right out of his frail body. He wanted the chance to burn in the pits of hell just to have a chance at living. Alas, it was all in vain. All that praying and pleading just for him to be sold to a demon by the ones he loves the most.
Iruma clutched his pillow and bit into it so hard it tore holes. Silk slid between his teeth, soaking up his spit and hurt. A thick, ugly feeling started in his heart and raced through his veins. It burnt and itched and throbbed. Healing wounds reopened, bleeding, staining him with a deep red. He stunk of perfume, of demons and sin. A choking rage clawed its way up his throat, blocking his lungs from breathing.
He couldn't breathe.
And, in the moment, he was relieved.
Had he repented enough? Enough to deserve the sweet solitude of death. Though his mind knew this was fair beyond God's resolution, out of God's hands. His heart happily slowed down, gently lifting Iruma from his unfulfilled body. Willingly letting his soul wander far and off into the stars, and into his parents arms.
“Iruma?” a voice sang. Forcing its way through the boy's initial peace. “Oh my! Sullivan! Hurry!!” Opera scampered beside Iruma, diving into the bed half haphazardly throwing the light on his nightstand. “Master Iruma, you need to breathe, come here.”
At an instant, the night was no longer so cold. A hand, slender and melting, touched his shoulder. Another slid his bangs out of this way, “Follow my lead.” His hand was guided to the other's chest, pressed so heavily that Iruma could almost feel his heart. “Now,” their chest extended, “breathe.”
Inhale. Iruma still felt like he was dying and he didn't know if he wanted to let go of his chance. Finally, this was his time to let both of his worlds go, let himself fade from the universe entirely.
Exhale. His head became light, the room spun violently. Opera’s eyebrows were furrowed, Iruma clung to the image knowing this may be the last person he sees.
Inhale. His lung burned, his hands twisted and shook in Opera's hold.
Exhale. Iruma felt tears in his eyes.
Inhale. Iruma felt heavy.
“I just became a grandpa, please stay a little while longer.”
Exhale. Iruma wanted to breathe.
If not for himself, then for his new life. If not for his parents, then for his grandpa. Oxygen ripped itself into his lungs. Lunging at Opera, they both fell onto the bed with a soft thud. Like an animal, he clawed at their nightgown, fighting to catch his breath. This newfound want to live was powerful, unlike anything he has ever felt before. Just hearing his grandpa’s voice reminded him that he wanted to live a little longer. He wanted to be held a little longer.
Opera held his head close to their chest. His hair was pet, sweat covering every crevice of their hand.
“Good boy,” his grandpa soothed, “thank you, you did so well.”
Iruma sobbed openly. He screamed into their embrace. All his feelings fighting their way out, he threw his arms and legs about, knocking his head every which way. Yet, Opera and Sullivan held him through it all. They let him cry out his sorrows, let their child curse and scream, because in the end, they loved him.
“I,” Iruma sharply inhaled, “I’m sorry!!”
“Iruma,” his grandpa looked him in the eyes, “I love you.”
“As do I.”
And, through his hiccuping, he sent them a weak smile. It would be okay, he will be okay.
“I love you both, too.” Two kisses forever molded themselves onto his heart.