Demon Turned Lover [BxB]

Who are you?

         A soft hum cushioned my ears from the raucous laughter, the loud phone calls, and those scudding past the two aisles. It was the day before Christmas, and confoundingly, it was busier than ever prior—evident by those ravenously searching for a last minute gift. I dropped the sharpened orange pencils into the red cup before arranging them. (I was surprised Marie hadn't already painted them.) A smile had finally become my companion again. I didn't know how, or why, but I was grateful—perhaps, it was Sol's joyful aura and humour, or Marie's glazed smile, and maybe even these boxed supplies.

        I placed the panda sharpeners in the holes of the thin plastic tray, making sure they were all in tandem nicely. I had managed to push away the thoughts of Mammon—but I knew that if I continued like this, the pods of dismay would only grow and soon, burst.

       "Luka, I need your angel blessing." I heard the tall demi say, and I stood up.

       "My angel blessing?" I laughed. "What for?"

        Victor pulled at the sleeve of his leather jacket, "I'm going on a date."

        "Isn't this your third one this week?" I gazed at him, fidgeting with the sharpener caught in my fingers.

        "Yep, but you know what they say. Third time's a charm, and with your blessing, it'll definitely work out."

        How was I supposed to give him a date blessing? I mumbled a small prayer before blowing on his forehead, the strands of black flitting away.

        "There." I smiled, "Good luck with your date, you idiot."

        "At least this idiot won't be single!"

        I chuckled whilst his figure evanesced, and continued with my work, humming away happily.

       "Psst Luka."

       I picked up the pack of indigo mechanical pencils, and pushed the hole over the white rack.

       "Luka!"

       I flinched back into astir reality, my head instinctively swerving to the spring of my name. A festive Sol was beckoning me over, discreet in manner, her brown eyes shifting between mine and another. I loped so as to approach her whilst my own perused the line of peach tables to my right—people were seated, drinking from the cups. Nothing appeared askew, so why was she calling me?

       "What's wrong?" I propped myself on the side of the counter, lest I was blocking those who wanted to order.

       She nudged her chin to one of the tables—the bells of her felted reindeer headband jingling—and my eyes perched on a man. "That's Henri..."

       His sandy hair was combed neatly, but a curled purposeful strand reached to his dark brow. His eyes hid behind the thin lenses of his glasses, lost in the winds of the leather book erect in his right hand.

       "Age, twenty-seven. Zodiac, Leo. And he has a rottweiler named Björn. Doesn't he just make convection currents rise in your face?" she added, and somehow I didn't react to the ridiculousness of her words. "You know what you should do?"

        The white shirt he wore fit to his torso, the top buttons undone.

        "What?" There was something strange about him. He was a mortal, like the ones behind him, but there was a winking glamour to him.

       "Get his number for me."

        The seemingly adamantine chain linking us broke, and I veered my head to her. "Are you crazy? I can't do that!"