The Midnight Men (Troyler) UNFINISHED

.5

(a/n- last chapter was confusing ik, but BARE WITH ME. also it is very mildly triggering within troye's initial monologue in the v beginning)

Troye's POV
~•~•~

Ever since I was a young demon, I've always been reminded of my predetermined future. The heir to the throne, the son of Satan, the being with power that will go beyond his father's some day was walking down a path that was already set in stone before I was born. Unlike my old man, I, Troye Satan, am a flaming homosexual (literally). There will be no little tyke with features similar to my own, waiting for his dad to retire and place a crown over his head. No, I will forcibly be in control for the rest of eternity wishing my non-existent mortality will somehow sneak up on me and do the impossible but surely not unthinkable.

As I am the only mixed-blood in my family- or rather the entire dimension- my mother being a human when I was conceived, I'm not sure if I'll ever stop aging or if I'll look like a 20 year old twink for the rest of time, but I guess having cracks in the path I have yet to jump across is oddly comforting. With that said, my birthday is tomorrow, a day that I dread every year. It only reminds me that this illusion of time is making a worthless impact on my life for I will never not be celebrating a day that is supposed to congratulate my germinating age while my longevity will forever be continuous.

If I was pure-human I believe my greatest fear would be an afterlife, ironically so. Imagine living every day knowing that all your efforts and hardships will soon come to an end. That your struggles of daily life will no longer be presented to you. That soon your soul will be able to rest and everything will just be black. But then as the sounds fade and the feeling of air drains, you are transported to another plain and life continues. Your hopes of resting in piece are smashed and stomped on by godly and demonic figures, controlling you like puppets. You see your abusive father who died drunk at the wheel, or your elementary school teacher who used to beat you with rulers, or maybe your crabby, elderly neighbor marches up to you, blaming your flee-baring cat on her premature death. And now that's your state of being for the rest of this illusion of time, a depressed Spector floating through the universe, wishing for that black they thought that would consume them when they were an earthling.

But I guess my situation seems like the better choice out of the two, for I know what to expect for the most part.

"Woah, Troye guess what's tomorrow?!" My little brother Tyde, who wasn't so little anymore, came barreling towards me and leaping onto my back as I struggled to support us both.

"Um...Sunday?" I croaked, my face developing to a shade of pink slipping into the red category as my skinny arms started to wobble against Tyde's larger body. The fabric of his jeans began to slip within my loosening hold. I wasn't sure whether my knees would hit the white glass floor before his feet did but I begged for the latter.

"No silly, it's your birthday!" He exclaimed, sliding down my back, a monstrous sigh of relief and a slew of pants escaping my lips.

"Woo..pee," I huffed sarcastically between pants, my younger brother patting my back in a manly gesture, chuckling at how utterly unfit I am.

"Troye, how do you expect to rule dynasty when you can't even breathe properly!" My snotty brother added jokingly, my burning gaze baring into his soulless body, my midnight-hewed aura consuming me. He noticed my anger developing into power, he awkwardly pushed a forced laugh out of his mouth, his arm moving behind him to scratch the back of his neck. "Hey, I was just kidding, no need to send me flying or anything." I clamped my eyes shut, knowing he was right and I was about to explode for no reason. The skin where my eyebrows ended and my heavy bags began, wrinkled with how harshly my eyelids were closing. With each calming inhale and exhale, my loose epidermis slowly smoothing out. My index finger and thumb assisting my strive to calm down as I pinched the bridge of my nose.

I walked away, dismissing the reunion without the second party's approval. My platform shoes tapped on the hard, glossy floor, my brother's protest merely background noise to my day. The weary demon from the congress meeting the other day approached me with his head down but clipboard firmly at hand. He stopped before me, mumbles of words that surely weren't English attempting to form from his mouth. "Spit it out." I ordered harshly, my mood still disfigured from a feeling of irritation sprouted from my own existential thoughts.

"Y-yes sir, I was ordered to give you an assignment?" He proclaimed as if he was asking me if that was okay to bestow such a thing upon me.

"Okay." I nodded, extending my arm forward, eyeing him up and down as he reached into a brown satchel straddled around his neck. He had scruffy, sandy-colored hair that curled at the tips and black rimmed glasses that shadowed his emerald green eyes. He finally pulled out a half an inch thick packet, placing it haphazardly in my hand. I smirked. Not at the excruciatingly boring stack of papers that I already dreaded before he took out, but at the way he shifted from one foot to the other, not daring to look me in the eye. One wrong move and he probably thinks I'll put him on torture chamber duty. He reminded me of a young boy I once knew. This thought that sneakily made its way into my mind triggered a chuckle to erupt from the back of my throat.

"What's so funny, sir? Did I do something wrong?" He glanced up quickly with dewy eyes that'd make anyone melt with pity, except me of course. His fingers apprehensively twiddling together, the scabbed skin on either sides of his thumbs started to reopen, the raw flesh began to bleed the black ooze demons primarily consist of.

"Nothing. Just thought of something," I dazed off into the distance, still entranced by my thoughts, "C'mon, walk with me. Tell me about my homework." I began to pace down the vast lobby and down my department's corridor. The jittery, young man didn't start following me until I was several feet away and even then he acted as if he was walking on eggshells.

"W-Well, it's a serial killer case. He's killed over 100 people in the past year and a half." The boy- I don't bother learning his name- explained vaguely, I scoffed and continued my stroll. He took the sign of humerus irritation as a signal continue, his shorter frame at last coming into view beside me. "They call him The Reaper," I laughed genuinely at this ridiculous nickname, hoping he hadn't made it up himself and that the media just picked a label out a hat.

"Where." I inquired, my demand not sounding like a question at all. It was just cold and empty. Everything I've said to anyone lately, now that I think about it, has been nothing but harsh, lifeless words. My conversations are short and predictable, I end them so quickly and brush people off almost unconsciously. It's all my fault that I am lonely as I am, but why can't I inhibit myself from pushing everyone away.

"New York City, a-and the next transport heading that way is tomorrow, sir." I rolled my eyes briefly, a curtly sigh following that. Of course that's what I'll be doing tomorrow of all days. Of course my life is the way it is. Of course I'm in this wretched disposition I can't escape. It's as if this sullen shell encompassing me is indestructible and although my conscience understands what I truly want, this isolation tank of emotions isn't giving up.

"Great," I mumbled sarcastically. I wouldn't be surprise if my accompanied employee hadn't even caught the crude quip. "I'll be taking that route then, so I better go prepare. See ya later." I spoke louder this time, bidding an informal goodbye to the dirty blond.

"Happy early birthday, sir!" He flashed his pearly whites, his head tilting slightly to the right. His eyes couldn't help but squint with the way his rosy cheeks were pushing his eyelids to a light clasp. He resembled that childish boy I met so many years so vividly that my heart felt a strike of pain rather then the feeling his gesture was actually meant to inflict. My eyes began to gloss over and I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I spun on my heal and departed from this image of Tyler.

"Thanks." I replied back, praying he'd hear it for I didn't want his kindness to go unnoticed or unappreciated but there was no way in hell that I'd repeat myself. I kept pushing myself forward, my pace increasing with every steps, my arm moving towards my eyes to wipe away a stray tear.

a/n- my birthday was yesterday (october 25th) and i said id publish then but the day after is just as good. i turned 15 and i had a really gr8 day, just thought i'd share.

i didn't edit this so sorry if it's crappier than usual.

twitter- @ XSILLTILLY
tumblr- ominousdan.tumblr.com