/ cheap bad (dance) moves /

/

/ part one / IF YOU LOVE ME IN GROOVE CITY /

Chapter 2

Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Hadrian Skywalker

/

2 ( taladega knights: the ballad of hadrian skywalker)

Before Tom knew it, Hadrian had settled into school so effectively it felt as if he'd been there the whole time. He wasn't alone in that either; the demon had effectively enthralled the entire school. No one but Tom even noticed when Hadrian would casually disappear for days - sometimes weeks - on end, before reappearing with a cheery grin and a god awful excuse for his absence. He had no idea how Hadrian was managing to pull this off. Perhaps he really had vastly underestimated the extent of a demon's powers.

But Tom digressed.

The school year continued, Tom continued to plot his future post Hogwarts, Hadrian continued to annoy the shit out of him whenever he could get away with it. Surprisingly that wasn't very often, because it wasn't often that they had time alone with just the two of them. The downside to Hadrian's popularity was, well, his popularity. People liked him, yes, but that just meant that people also always wanted to be around him.

Everyone appeared to have some kind of opinion on Hadrian - be that adoration or just plain bewilderment - but Tom had yet to make up his mind.

He still didn't quite know what to make of the demon.

Sure, he was a trickster. He enjoyed pulling stupid stunts like this, although in Tom's opinion enrolling in his school and coercing the masses into liking him was taking it a bit too far. But then, what did Tom know of Hadrian, really? Maybe this wasn't atypical behavior at all; maybe Hadrian did this with everyone he made contracts with. Tom had no way of knowing. He might know more about Hadrian than anyone else here, but in the grand scheme of things that meant very little.

He spent a lot of time simply observing the demon, wondering if everything about his personality was truly a ruse, or truly reality. Some days it was hard to say; Tom would feel utterly certain that Hadrian was just having them on, but then later he would quietly wonder if Hadrian was really just a pathological liar, or if he was actually telling the truth. It frustrated him to no end that he had no idea.

He knew nothing about the demon, and before long he'd decided that was for the best.

What did it matter, anyway?

He wasn't here to be friends with Hadrian, for Merlin's sake.

The demon's only reason for being here was for Tom's horcruxes, and since Tom had no intentions of creating another one until this summer, that meant he really had no reason at all. He insisted he was here for Tom's sake; to keep watch over him and make sure he stayed alive for an indeterminable amount of time, but Tom didn't know if he believed that. Masquerading as a human boy, going through all this effort to integrate himself into Tom's life - it seemed like far too much effort if his only purpose was protecting him from Death. He could have just as easily watched Tom from afar.

But if he thought too deeply on Hadrian's motivations for being here, he'd run himself in circles again.

At any rate, Hadrian had no real purpose for being here, and quite frankly, there was no reason for Tom to care why he was here, or why he was helping him. He didn't need to get to know the demon prince, he just needed the demon to keep his word.

However, Tom may have sworn to remain indifferent to Hadrian's general existence at large, but that was not a sentiment shared by his classmates.

His loyal Slytherins had taken Tom's silent suffering as some kind of kinship with the demon, and had deemed him worthy of their group. And with Tom's inexplicit approval they had all taken to Hadrian like little farm ducklings imprinting on barn cats. It was awful.

He needed to do something about this, but he didn't know what.

Hadrian's presence - annoyance aside - was only helping him. Quite frankly he should just learn to ignore the demon and let him do what he wanted.

He should have known that was an idea doomed to fail.

/

/ don't call / future girlfriend /

/

Tom begins to realize he may have a problem when he finds himself irrationally furious one evening and no logical reason as to why.

In hindsight there was nothing to be furious about. The day had been predictably boring, but not overtly trying. In fact, he'd actually been in something of a good mood until he returned to the common room with his yearmates to start on their homework.

Hadrian, of course, sat in the back with that little screen of his collecting his stupid cats. Every time someone else was watching the metal screen turned into their Ancient Runes textbook, but whenever it was just Tom he could peer over Hadrian's shoulder and watch Hadrian set out pieces of trash to lure cats into his backyard. He insisted they preferred plastic bags and cardboard boxes, but that did nothing to convince Tom the whole thing wasn't anything but absolutely pointless.

However, Hadrian didn't get very far in his cat collecting game, because Carrow snuggled up to him with her own Ancient Runes book and started asking him about their homework.

To Tom's unending disbelief, Hadrian didn't just brush her off and leave for the solitude of their dorm room. Actually, he smiled at her, and agreed. Tom watched it all happen with stilted incredulity. Maybe Hadrian was just in the mood to drive people other than Tom into insanity.

But when it happened a second time, and then a third, Tom was beginning to get worried. And annoyed. (But definitely not jealous.)

"She likes you, you know." Tom says one evening as they ready for bed in their dormitory, after having to suffer through Karen Carrow's presence the entire afternoon long. She very rarely left Hadrian alone, especially if he was in the common room.

"Everyone likes me, it's part of my charm." Hadrian retorts with aplomb, as he throws his bag down at the foot of his bed. A bed he doesn't even sleep in, because he always leaves some time in the night for - for wherever he's always running off to.

"What charm?" Tom scoffs with derision. He sits down on his own bed. "Anyway, if you have no intentions of pursuing her, at the very least could you tell her off? She's starting to get annoying."

Hadrian shucks off the aggravating sweater he changed into after class; he always transfigures his uniform into something else the moment he can get away with it. This one in particular says 'RAP MONSTER' on the back of it, followed by the number 94. It makes no sense to Tom, but then, nothing about Hadrian ever makes much sense to him. All the same he very carefully does not stare in Hadrian's direction, or the long planes of silky skin revealed with the movement, and fixates his gaze very studiously on the rumpled garment as it flops onto the ground at his feet.

"Tell who off?" He asks distractedly, as he magic's into existence an equally heinous shirt to sleep in. "Wait. Who am I trying to pursue here?"

"Karen Carrow." Since he can't look at Hadrian right now, he turns his cross and disapproving look to Hadrian's discarded sweater. It's not anywhere near as rewarding or effective as turning it on it's owner.

"Carrow?" Hadrian scoffs, fishing for new pants in his dresser. "That girls more moe than Death in Lolita cosplay - I would never, that's insulting."

"I don't even know what that means," Tom scowls, closing his eyes and rolling onto his back, because Hadrian has just taken off his pants, and the temptation is too much right now.

"She is being super clingy, isn't she?" Hadrian muses aloud, before shrugging. "Well, whatever. Tomorrow I'll tell her I have crabs. That should keep her away."

Tom chokes his way into a coughing fit. Only Hadrian would find that okay.

Still, a tiny, smug smile finds its way onto Tom's lips. He pretends it doesn't feel relieving at all to know Hadrian had no intention of liking Carrow.

/

Even with Carrow taken care of, Tom had a problem. It was far more severe than any he had encountered before. In general, whenever Tom decided to change a part of himself or his personality, all he had to do was will himself hard enough.

Unfortunately, it was becoming apparent he couldn't just will his feelings away.

Every time he tried, they only reared their head at incredibly inopportune times. Like word vomit (and actual vomit) they just came out of nowhere in some kind of uncontrollable, violent fit of unadulterated horror.

He rationalized it away a part of his possessive personality. Why wouldn't he be territorial of Hadrian? Hadrian was his demon, at least for now; Hadrian was here for him. If Hadrian was getting distracted then he wasn't going to do his job properly and that would affect his overall performance, which would therefore affect Tom as well. It was a perfectly logical reaction. In theory.

In reality he found himself doing really stupid, petty things.

He always made sure to sit between Hadrian and everyone else; if Hadrian was actually still in this dimension he made sure he was either occupied with Tom or with his stupid cat game. He point blank refused to allow Hadrian to join the Quidditch team, not only because he couldn't even begin to fathom what a disaster that would be, but also because it meant Hadrian would be spending time with other people without him. He found himself getting jealous over the dumbest things - like whenever girls would come up to Hadrian, even when it was innocuous as thanking him for picking up something they accidentally dropped. He hated it whenever people even talked to Hadrian. He used to have no problem with Abraxas - even considered him one of his better followers - but these days he found himself harboring a quiet hatred for the blonde boy, whenever he slung his arm around Hadrian's shoulders or made the demon laugh with an insipid joke.

So yeah, this possessiveness was getting a little out of hand.

This became absurdly apparent come Valentine's day, when the Slytherin table was flooded with a small snowstorm of letters - the vast majority of them for Hadrian.

The demon mimed surprise, but Tom didn't know who he thought he was fooling. He'd clearly been aiming for this ever since he got here, what with all the flirting and charming grins he tossed about.

One in particular caught his eye. Namely because it fell right onto his plate.

It was the only one with an actual gift attached, wrapped unremarkably in white parchment. Some of the other letters had candy or chocolate attached, but this was a hefty box full of… something. There was a flopping card attached to the side, unsealed, with something written inside of it.

Tom had been weathering Valentine's day fairly well up until this point.

He had of course gotten his fair share of blasphemously pink cards; at least three girls had already cornered him on his way to breakfast to confess their undying devotion to him (not the good kind that made them into minions, but the bad kind that made them into stalkers) and somewhere in the interim he managed to accumulate an incredibly heavy bag full of chocolates. The weight was fine; a featherlight charm solved that easily enough. The chocolate, though? He bet half of them were drugged with love potions, and the other half he wouldn't want anyway, because he hated chocolate. So ultimately he was carrying a bag of useless crap. He made sure to dump it onto Lestrange the moment he saw the boy.

Tom's own experiences aside, he had even struggled through Hadrian's gaggle of fangirls, elbowing their way through the crowd to hand the demon chocolates personally. A small spark of jealousy lit up every time this happened - which was quite frequently - but Tom refused to act like a jealous tool and simply sniffed and looked the other way. Of course by the time they even made it into the Great Hall that little spark had lit up into a small flame; a flame that was quickly turning into a blazing wildfire as Hadrian started getting owl gifts from all the people too embarrassed to hand them in person.

This gift in particular just happened to be the unfortunate scapegoat for all of Tom's ire.

He eyes the bland wrapping paper critically. All of Hadrian's other gifts were predictably wrapped in vomit-inducing colors. He wonders if the lack of glitter spoke of the gifter's deeper connection to Hadrian; after all, if Tom had given Hadrian a Valentine's gift (obviously he had not even contemplated the thought, not at all) he would have gone with nondescript black or white wrapping paper. He would have thought Demon's would want human hearts or sacrificial goat offerings, but as it turns out he was pretty sure Hadrian would actually prefer flowers or girl's clothing.

Despite his better judgment, his curiosity overwhelms him enough for him to turn the package around to get a better look at the card.

He unfolds it, and began to read.

Dear Hadrian,

It begins, in an unfamiliar but elegant script. Tom frowns at it. So it definitely didn't come from anyone he knew.

We've known each other for a long time now. Practically all our lives.

The mystery girl writes, making Tom's eyes widen.

Who is this?

Who would have known Hadrian that long? Certainly no one in the school; certainly not Karen Carrow.

I can't imagine life without you anymore. I think about you most of the time.

You make me laugh when I'm sad and I always enjoy spending time with you. Even though you have terrible taste in men, you have great taste in clothes.

Everyday, when I stare into your eyes, I realize I could never love anyone as much as I love you.

Forever yours,

Hadrian

Tom drops the card in outrage.

His eye twitches slightly as he took a deep breath.

"Is everything a joke to you?" He hisses to the boy across the table from him, unfathomably angry even though he didn't know why.

Actually, he did know why. The amount of feelings he had reading that card was enough to terrify even the most emotional of hormonal teenage girls. Honestly, half his anger was from his disgust over himself. What was wrong with him? Where was this jealousy coming from? Of course it was a fucking joke; everything was a joke to Hadrian. This shouldn't bother Tom at all. If Hadrian wanted to pull stupid shit like this he was at perfect liberty to do so. But for the second he had genuinely believed it, he had felt a surging tidal wave of anger, helplessness, jealousy and envy - over the apparently nonexistent person who had wrote the card.

"Just about." Hadrian quips without missing a beat, smiling down at his haul of chocolate with satisfaction.

"What's brought this on, hm?" He flips through a couple handwritten cards, looking far too smug.

Hadrian looks up then, as if sensing Tom's palpable anger.

Then his gaze narrows in on the package still on top of Tom's breakfast.

"Oh! Is that mine?" He swipes it off Tom's plate, ginning. "Perfect timing. I was wondering when it was going to get here." He enthuses, as he tears open the wrapping - without even bothering to look at the card.

He rips open the box and unearthed… at least two dozen cans of Vienna sausage.

Tom closes his eyes slowly.

He exhales calmly. "Why do you even exist."

"You'd have to ask Satan that." Hadrian returns cheerfully, and with a wave of his hand the box disappeared, probably to their dorm room, where it would then stink up the whole place forever.

"You are the worst," Tom declares, judgey as fuck. "I hope you know that."

"I couldn't sleep soundly at night otherwise." Hadrian agrees, batting his eyelashes.

Tom abruptly stands from the Slytherin table at that, a look of pure disgust on his face as he stalks off without another word. He didn't know whom he was appalled with more; himself or Hadrian. As of now, it appeared to be both.

"Get anything good, Hadrian?" He could hear Abraxas ask as he walked away.

"Yeah, absolutely!" Was Hadrian's enthusiastic response, growing father as Tom stormed his way out of the Great Hall. "What about you?"

Tom breathes out sharply through his nose.

He needed to get away from all of this, before Hadrian drove him well and truly into insanity. If he couldn't control these stupid feelings, then he was simply going to have to control the source.

He was going to cut Hadrian out of his life like the cancerous tumor he was.

/

Hadrian returns to the dorm some time later, satisfied and about the size of a beached whale, rolling his fat ass self into his bed with a sigh.

He is just about to doze off when his phone started to ring in his pocket. He answered without looking.

"The answer is no."

"So you didn't like my gift?" Death asks, sadly.

"Oh." Hadrian blinks his eyes open. "Oh no. It was lovely. Thank you. I would have preferred Spam, but I suppose it's the thought that counts."

"I was going to get you corned beef, but that damned health grocery store didn't have any."

Hadrian squinted incredulously. "But they had canned sausages swimming in MSG and trans fat?" Then again, when did Whole Foods ever make sense.

"I guess. What do I care? The more humans that die from poor dietary habits, the better for me." He boasted. And then, afterwards; "Did you like the card?"

Hadrian grinned, absolutely brimming with joy.

"Loved the card. I'm getting it framed in solid gold."

/

Hadrian was starting to get the vague impression that Tom was avoiding him.

He tended to make himself scarce on the best of days, always irritated by Hadrian's presence. Hadrian adored it. Tom's very existence made him so happy. He'd never met anyone who got so riled up over things like Tom did - Hadrian didn't even have to put any effort in.

Unfortunately Hadrian couldn't spend all day nagging Tom into an early grave - he actually has shit to do, surprisingly.

Okay, he had shit to do, he was now sitting around playing the Halo 3 campaign with Vassago, eating his Vienna sausages, not doing much of anything, unless one counted headshots.

Turns out Death wasn't just messing with him. He had some debts to collect in some other dimensions, and it was apparently enough for Hadrian's own father to tap him for the job. Buried underneath his lifetime supply of diabetes-inducing canned food was a dimensional portkey; usually he refused to do Death's bidding on general principle, but occasionally he was reminded that Lucifer and Death tended to make deals - and while he told Death to fuck off constantly, there was no way he'd ever do that to his father. But roaming about in different dimensions offing people made him feel like Master Chief, blasting around gunning down aliens in alien places, and playing the Halo campaign reminded him just how much reality fell short of fantasy.

And that was a depressing wake up call.

Hadrian stares blankly at the screen as he guns down a parade of grunts, shooting their heads until confetti explodes out of them. "When did you unlock the grunt birthday skull?" He asks, idly, as he jumps around a rock to help Vassago out on the other side of the map.

"Dunno," his brother replies, just as distracted, but for entirely different reasons. Vassago is genuinely fixated on the screen - Hadrian is half watching, half secretly having a silent existential crisis and debating his existence.

"Why can't my life be like Master Chief's?" Hadrian whines, exhaling noisily.

"Because you could never be Master Chief." Vassago retorts. "You're too short."

Hadrian beats the shit out of a jackal and steals his sniper rifle, moving to snipe off all of Vassago's enemies.

"You kill-stealing bitch!" Vassago swears at him, when he takes out half the platoon before running out of ammo.

"You were being slow as fuck." Hadrian says shamelessly, leaning back in his chair as he directs Master Chief down a jungle path. "Anyway, I didn't mean like, literally. It's just - I practically do the same thing as him, epic backstory notwithstanding."

"What do you mean?" Vassago frowns, inching out of the chair beside Hadrian to get closer to the screen, staring without blinking.

"You know, go to crazy places and kill people."

"You only kill people when Father tells you to," Vassago points out. "Otherwise, you wouldn't even bother because you're lazy as fuck and killing people in real life is a lot of work."

"Yeah, that's true," Hadrian concedes, stretching as they finally make it out of the fighting and into a cutscene. "But that's kind of my point! Master Chief is like, saving the world from religiously fanatical aliens - what am I doing, exactly? What is my purpose for existence?"

Vassago also relaxes in his chair, game controller dangling from his hands as he turns to squint incredulously at Hadrian. "Is playing Halo really giving you an existential crisis?"

"Everything gives me an existential crisis these days," Hadrian sighs dramatically. "Humans have it so easy. They die too fast to really start contemplating the meaning of life. But I've had centuries to do it and I can't think of anything."

"Life is meaningless." Vassago returns philosophically. "And anyway, if you're looking for purpose, that's pretty easy. You were specifically created to serve Hell and more importantly, our Lord and Savior, Satan. If you want to give yourself purpose because you crave some kind of sentimental and useless affirmation, why don't you just ask him?"

Hadrian sits upright as the screen once again returns to the fighting, dragging Master Chief around the map to loot around for better weapons.

"That's not at all what I want." Hadrian replies, once he's unearthed a rocket launcher. "I want to find something meaningful for me, I want my existence to mean something to me; I don't want to exist just because of the old man."

"This is too deep for me right now." Vassago complains blandly, as he joins Hadrian and picks up his own rocket launcher. They tear out of the building and into open space, wasting no time shooting everything in sight. "Maybe you just need a new job."

"And what, sit behind a desk all day and work here?" Hadrian snorts. "Fuck no."

Vassago scowls. "What's wrong with working here?" He asks, defensively.

It's then that the door of the conference room they've holed themselves up in wrenches open. The 24th Demon Prince of Hell, Marquis Naberius pokes his head in as he passes by. "Hey guys!" He blinks. "Oh, Hadrian. What's up man? I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

"It's a travesty." Hadrian agrees blandly, not even looking up.

"Where are you going?" Vassago at least has the decency to pretend to be interested.

"The Ops meeting in ten minutes." Naberius returns cheerfully. "Speaking of which, I should really get going or I'm going to be late."

He spares a moment to holler as he turns around, before adding rather insistently; "Oh, yeah, and respond to my evite - you're either coming to the orgy or not!"

The door slides shut.

Hadrian turns to Vassago. "You see what I fucking mean?"

/

Despite his best attempts, avoiding Hadrian was impossible.

Firstly because they shared the same dorm room and most of the same classes, even though there was a fifty-fifty chance Hadrian would even be in this dimension. Secondly because the damned demon had weasled his way into Tom's group of 'friends', so he couldn't get them to act as a buffer against him. Tom may have done that to himself though, as he'd all but banned Hadrian from hanging out with anyone but him. And then there was the fact that Hadrian was, you know, a demon, and liked to show up wherever he pleased, wards be damned.

"You know, I'm starting to think you're avoiding me." The demon startled him one day as he was hiding out in the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom scowled.

But of course Hadrian could get in here. He could get anywhere, Hell included. Why would the Chamber of Secrets be any different?

"What gave you that impression?" Tom returns, blandly, continuing to work at the desk in Slytherin's library.

"The fact that you always run away from me like little moe girls run away from the pedo bear."

"What?" He looks up sharply, brows furrowing.

"You're totally avoiding me." Hadrian summarizes, waving off his confusion and cutting to the point. "Don't even front."

"I am not - " An angry, splotchy red flush made its way up his neck.

He totally was.

It was just… it was getting a little hard to ignore, all these weird thoughts about Hadrian.

In his defense, he'd never had them before. He considered everyone to be so far beneath him, he couldn't possibly fathom liking any of them, let alone bedding them. But apparently this only applied to humans, not demons, because Tom had no trouble at all imagining all the many ways he could bed Hadrian. It was awful, actually. He'd started to put silencing charms up when he slept, just in case. He didn't think he was loud, but he'd never had those kind of dreams at this frequency, either. Once in awhile if was okay, it was even a bit of a welcomed stress reliever sometimes. But there were only so many times he could imagine the many ways to fuck Prince Hadrian, the seventy-third Demon Prince of Hell, before it started to get a little out of control.

He hoped to god it was just teenage hormones being stereotypically imbalanced, and it would go away eventually. But Hadrian's constant presence certainly wasn't helping any.

Ever since that stupid Valentine's day joke (which now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure it was a joke. Who pulled a prank like that if no one was going to see it? Knowing Hadrian, it was probably just a manifestation of his absurd sense of humor) he'd become far too aware of the demon; how he always smelled like some kind of intoxicating black magic, how his eyes were such a frightening but beautiful shade of green; how his lips curled at the edges whenever he was messing with people just for the fun of it. For Merlin's sake he was trying to avoid the demon, and yet he was thinking about him constantly. There were times when he felt inexplicably aware of each and every inch separating them, or worse, all the inches not separating them. Those times were the worst, when they were so close he could just reach out and touch the boy, a taboo he never allowed himself to indulge in, but thought about all the damn time. He'd never, not once, touched Hadrian. Not even brushing shoulders in the Great Hall, or a tap on the shoulder to get his attention, as if he thought that one single touch would spur him to lose all control and jump the boy.

The only physical contact they'd had was when Hadrian had kissed him to pull out part of his soul.

In reality there was nothing arousing about that; dementors did the same damn thing, and that was creepy as shit. But when Hadrian does it suddenly Tom wants his soul sucked out all the time.

At any rate that the kiss was bad enough. Any more and he could only imagine how much more pining he'd have to go through.

He felt like the uselessly angsty and ineffectual protagonist to a shitty romance novel. Why did he have to have all these feelings? For Hadrian, of all people? There was literally no one worse he could have picked. He didn't even want to know what Hadrian would do if he found out. Even the very thought was so mortifying he wanted to give up his immortality and turn into a pile of ash.

And there was no denying it.

He liked Hadrian.

And not in the good, feeling-feelings-is-good-for-your-mental-health positive way, but in the, I want to tie you up so you can never escape me and have my wicked way with you kind of way.

He realizes he hasn't actually finished his sentence, and the realization only makes him flush further. "I'm not avoiding you. I'm just busy." It sounds lame even to his ears.

"Likely story." Hadrian rolls his eyes, making himself comfortable on top of Tom's desk, sitting cross-legged. His obnoxious shoes are right on top of the notes Tom was reading; Tom is fairly sure Hadrian has never once worn the dress shoes required by Hogwarts. He's out of his uniform, as per usual, wearing absurdly tight black jeans that don't seem comfortable at all, and one of his outrageous jumpers with rude and/or upsetting things written on it. This one in particular just says, 'Sad Boys'.

It all looks ridiculous. This does not stop Tom from finding him sinfully attractive. It also doesn't stop him from fantasizing about throwing the stupid boy back flat on top of the desk, and ripping those stupid shoes off, burning the jumper, and peeling down those skin tight pants -

"Hey, come on." Hadrian pouts, drawing Tom's attention away from his sweater. And other things. "What's wrong? Are you sick? You're making a weird face."

"I'm fine."

Just head over heels in love with you.

And apparently incapable of handling it. He just couldn't have handled his feelings for the boy gracefully, could he? No, he had to faceplant into that shit.

"You do look a bit under the weather." Hadrian continues to prod. He even tries to reach out and check Tom's temperature, which is enough to make the boy reel back out of the way before he can get too close.

Hadrian actually frowns at him at that. Tom swan dives his way through an explanation. "I've just been annoyed with classes -and school, in general. I just want it all to be over with."

"School is such a drag, isn't it?" The demon grins in agreement. "If I had to spend seven whole years in the place, I'd probably be as miserable as you."

"It's purgatory." Tom replies blandly.

Hadrian sits up, crawling over Tom's papers to lean right into his face. He flushes at the proximity, but refuses to back down. "We should do something fun then, to cheer you up. You wanna do something fun?"

He leans closer.

It makes Tom want to simultaneously lean in and get the fuck away.

He can think of a lot of 'fun' things he could do with Hadrian. In fact, he already had a few good suggestions already lined up.

Tom doesn't even know what he's saying, his eyes wide and fixated on the alarming, lovely green irises so close to his own. They're so close their noses are almost touching, and he can feel Hadrian's warm breath ghosting over his own lips, like a whisper of a kiss. The intoxicating scent of dark magic is overwhelming, and he can feel the demon's body heat even from this distance, making him wonder if perhaps demon's have a higher body temperature than humans.

Hadrian's eyes lower, his sinful lips parting, and then;

"You wanna go to taco bell?"

Then he startles back, blinking. "What?" He frowns. "What is a, 'taco bell'?"

Hadrian holds it together for a full second, before he collapses into laughter. His shoulder shake as he snickers into his hand. "Oh god. Nothing, it's nothing - I'm a horrible person." He says, grinning.

Tom doesn't even have it in him right now to yell at the boy for saying things that don't make sense again. He's still flushed in the face and too flustered for coherent thought, mortified beyond belief that the demon got to him so easily.

His grin tempers a bit, until there's nothing left but a small, almost melancholic smile. "Anyway, I totally get it. You don't have to say it out loud, you know. Sorry if I'm bothering you too much. I'll cool it down - I get you're stressed and all." He gets up then, looking like he's making to leave for another dimension, for who knows how long.

For some reason, even though this is exactly what he's wanted to happen for the past few weeks, it's the last thing he wants to hear.

"No." He blurts out, to the surprise of them both.

"You… you don't have to go." He continues, quietly, after he recovers himself.

Hadrian blinks. It's very rare to see the demon caught off guard by anything, but Tom is still a little too mortified with himself to feel smug.

"Oh." He'd like to say that the soft smile Hadrian replies with is not enough to make up for his embarrassment - except it is. It's the kind of smile that makes everything else in the whole universe seem inconsequential in comparison. "Okay then."

Hadrian is surprisingly quiet as Tom returns to his homework.

When he chances a look at the demon, he's slung sideways on a giant, neon green stuffed ball that definitely wasn't there earlier, engrossed in that screen he calls his phone. At least he says it a phone, but Tom has never seen a telephone that looks like that.

To his lack of surprise, Hadrian is once again engrossed in that stupid cat collection game, making happy noises whenever he gets a new one as he takes photos of them literally doing nothing. Tom makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head. At least it keeps him quiet, he supposes.

They stay like that until it's time to go to bed, Tom scrawling away, Hadrian occasionally coming over to gush about the latest cat in his collection. He even names one after Tom. Tom should find himself deeply offended, but instead he just smiles at the demon.

All in all it's the most pleasant evening he's had in a long time.

/

So Tom goes from avoiding Hadrian to, once again, spending the majority of his time with him. If his own mood swings are enough to give him whiplash, he has no idea how Hadrian feels about it.

He's not sure what changed, but at some point, Hadrian stopped laughing at him, and started laughing with him. Despite Tom not knowing half of his references, he still somehow managed to make the wizard feel included. They felt like… friends.

Which was ridiculous. Tom couldn't be friends with a demon.

Except he kind of was. He woke up Hadrian because Hadrian had started to actually sleep in the dorm and the demon could sleep through that racket he called an alarm; they walked to class together, sat next to each other, and ate dinner with each other; they studied together - or Tom studied and Hadrian played his latest mobile game - in the Chamber, or sometimes in the library, just the two of them. Hadrian was friendly enough with his friends, but he stopped going off with them without Tom. Okay. So maybe his idea of friendship was dangerously close to awkward codependency, but whatever. For once in his life, Tom was actually enjoying himself. He liked Hadrian, he could privately admit to himself. He even liked his stupid jokes, his stupid hair, his stupid shoes, and his stupid sweaters. He just liked Hadrian. He liked that he was a demon, the black magic that clung to him like a tangible cloak; he liked the hint of the dangerous side of him that hid in his gleaming eyes and dangerous smirk, the flaming demon sword from hell that occasionally came out to play whenever Hadrian was particularly bored.

This is why it's no surprise to anyone that they decided this weekend to go to Hogsmeade together.

And anyway, it's not - it's not a date or anything.

Except Tom had made it very fucking clear to everyone that he was not to be disturbed, and Hadrian was completely okay with just the two of them, and they were definitely going to Madam Puddifoot's, and he had specifically asked Hadrian to stick around for the weekend, when the demon normally buggered off to wherever it is that he went when he wasn't on Earth. But Hadrian never cared whether it was a big group or just the two of them, and he had specifically badgered Tom to go to Madam Puddifoot's, because frilly and tasteless interior design and towers of cake are exactly the sort of thing Hadrian approves of. So everything about it might seem like a date, but it definitely wasn't a date. And Tom didn't think it was, at all.

Predictably Hadrian orders them tea and a tower of treats, his eyes growing as wide as saucers when it arrives.

Tom wants to gag; macarons of all colors dot the edges, little tarts drizzled with caramel and chocolate decorate the interior of the three-tiered monstrosity, and assorted finger cakes and cinnamon rolls and other questionable but equally sugary confections are scattered about all three tiers.

Tom has no intention of touching any of it, so he's not entirely sure how Hadrian intends to finish it all.

He needn't have worried.

After that, the two wander around rather aimlessly, Tom content to let Hadrian lead them window shopping in pure whimsy. They zigzag around so he can peer into all sorts of shops, irrationally enamored with useless things. For an immortal demon who has lived for centuries and probably everything, he's easily entertained.

Eventually Hadrian drags them into a clothing store, eying up a particularly heinous scarf.

"It looks like the Valentine's Day cherub projectile vomited all over you." Tom comments, when Hadrian asks him if he likes it.

Hadrian smiles. "Doesn't it?" He enthuses, pulling it tighter around him as he observes himself in the mirror. Death would love it. Maybe he should return the favor for his Valentine's day present and send it for Halloween or something.

"The pattern is particularly garish." Tom agrees, dryly.

Of course Hadrian would like it - Hadrian's fashion sense was eccentric on the best of days, downright bizarre at the worst. For Merlin's sake his sneakers were mint green today, and that was of course to say nothing of their odd style.

Hadrian catches sight of something behind him, and Tom turns to see Malfoy and a few of the Slytherin girls entering the shop. Hadrian waves and flags him over. Malfoy comes like a dog bouncing back to its owner; the girls thankfully move straight for the dresses in the back.

"Abraxas, what do you think?" Hadrian is smirking in a way that means he's fully aware it's hideous, but is expecting Abraxas to say otherwise anyway.

"I think it looks rather dashing." Malfoy offers. He smiles charmingly. "But then, when someone looks as ravishing as you, I suppose anything would look good."

Which is the most ridiculous thing Tom has heard in a while. Who even uses the word 'ravishing' in a sentence these days?

Hadrian looks equally as incredulous. Then he looks skeptical. "I can't tell if you're insulting me or not."

"Not at all." Abraxas refutes, dumb looking smile still in place. "I'm telling you, you look beautiful." As if he could get any more obvious.

"Oh. Well, thanks Abraxas!" Hadrian beams, either genuinely pleased with the blatant flirting or just ignoring it. "I'd be a porn star if I didn't have so much self respect."

Abraxas merely smiles further, despite the fact he has no idea what that means. "You're most welcome." He says instead, moving to straighten out Hadrian's scarf.

Tom grits his teeth. He would love to curse the stupid blonde, but it's not as if he has any claim on Hadrian. Abraxas is at perfect liberty to do what he likes, even if that's looking at Hadrian like he's imagining undressing him and bending him over the fedora hat display behind them.

Tom absolutely cannot stand this - this whatever you want to call it.

This thing people do around Hadrian that Tom finds so obnoxious it's almost nauseating. Flirting. That's what he's pretty sure it's called. Except flirting would infer some form of finesse - this is not flirting as much as it is blatant and ungraceful propositioning. And it's not just Abraxas committing this offense; it's literally everyone Tom knows. He's fairly sure he's seen their Astronomy professor do it once. And honestly, Tom hates it when people even look at Hadrian for too long, so he downright despises whenever people try to flirt with him.

He knows he shouldn't care. It's not as if Hadrian would ever sleep with any of them - he's a demon for Merlin's sake. Despite his reputation as a seductor, he's fairly sure a Demon Prince of all things would never deign to sleep with something they consider so lowly as a human. His beauty and his allure are all part of his manipulations. He is literally a being created to trick humans into making shitty deals, so it's no surprise everything about him is meant to confound and distract even the smartest of mankind.

The problem is - Hadrian is so much more than that.

He's clever and interesting and smart and powerful. He tells shitty jokes but still makes Tom laugh. He's always messing with people and never takes anything seriously, but he's honest and genuine with people who matter to him and takes things seriously when they truly require his full attention. He does oddly nice things sometimes, and can occasionally be very kind. He can even be rather thoughtful - almost sweet. There's so much more to him than the caricature of some evil demon whose only existence and purpose is to fool humans. And it makes Tom want. He wants Hadrian. He wants to keep him by his side forever, even though he knows that's impossible.

Maybe that's why it bothers him so much whenever people flirt with him (jealousy notwithstanding).

It's not only because he's possessive, but because he knows that it's pointless. Hadrian is something no human can have - he is above them. He is something to be coveted, but never claimed.

These people are wasting their time. As much as he hates to admit it if he thought he even had the slightest chance with Hadrian he'd probably be doing the same. But he knows there's no point, he'd only be humiliating himself.

" - We should check it out." Abraxas is in the middle of saying, looking stupidly hopeful as he smiles at Hadrian.

"Yeah, sure!" Hadrian agrees with a smile. "Sounds fun."

"You have a very interesting definition of fun." Abraxas chuckles and swings an arm around Hadrian's shoulders. It's an easy gesture that comes off as casual and natural, but Tom knows it was an intentional and calculated move. "But who am I to stop you? Let's go!" He proclaims, looking down at Hadrian with a matching smile.

"Where are you two going?" He interrupts, coldly.

It's enough for Abraxas to remember just who he is, and just what position the blonde has in the hierarchy. "Uh, well - " he stutters, his arm dropping off from where it was loosely wrapped around Hadrian.

"We're going to Honeydukes, so I can gorge myself on candy mice that cry when you eat them." Hadrian replies, deadpan. He turns to Abraxas, smile at full voltage. "You know, we don't have anything like that in Tatooine!"

Tom doesn't even bother to get annoyed about that anymore. Instead he narrows his eyes at the both of them. "What's the point in that?"

"It's just a bit of fun." Abraxas says, somewhat uneasily as he takes in Tom's mood.

"Fun." Tom repeats, flatly. "Hadrian, let's go back. There's a book I want to read in the library."

"What? That's so boring." Hadrian whines dramatically. "Look, I wanna go eat a mouse and watch it squirm in my hands as I bite its head off. If you don't want to, you don't have to come."

"That is absurd and tactless." Tom snaps back, irritated.

"Listen Tom, Abraxas and I did not choose the thug life." Hadrian retorts. "I don't expect you to understand. Go read your book if you want, I'll be back before dinner."

Tom can only fume silently as Hadrian all but shoves Abraxas out the door, overcome with such hatred and impotency he can't even come up with something to drag Hadrian back with him.

Why does it even matter, he thinks, crossly. Wasn't he just saying Hadrian could do whatever he wants? That includes torturing candy mice, even if it is with Abraxas, who would probably prefer to eat Hadrian before the mice.

/

Of course, just because Tom understands he has no reason to be upset about it, doesn't mean he doesn't still feel upset. It's irrational, illogical, and unwarranted.

Sometimes Tom wonders just how obvious he's being. Sometimes he's absolutely positive Hadrian knows, and isn't saying anything because he can occasionally show some tact sometimes. He is also far more observant and calculating than he lets on, and Tom knows he's discreet but he's not sure if he's that discreet. Hadrian is a demon, after all. He assumes they sort of know everything. Who knows, maybe he has some kind of legilimency powers that even occlumency can't defend against.

At any rate, if Hadrian knows how Tom feels about him it doesn't look like he intends to ever acknowledge it at all. And he feels like this is the sort of thing Hadrian wouldn't simply overlook out of some small kindness; no, if Hadrian knew he'd never let Tom live it down.

But it's instances like this that Tom suspects he might just know more than he lets on.

"What about you, Hadrian?"

They're in Potions class, halfway through brewing an Angel's Trumpet Drought - one of the hardest potions they'll brew this semester - when the girls bring Hadrian into their insipid gossiping.

Opposite of the two, sharing the same table, are Prince and Carrow. Both of whom are acceptable enough potioneers - or at the very least, never quite manage to blow anything up, unlike the Gryffindors on the opposite side of the room. Walburga Black sits in front of them, which has the benefit of keeping the girls' attention away from both Tom and Hadrian, which is really no small feat. The only one who is more popular in this school than Tom is Hadrian, and unlike Tom, Hadrian actually embraces the attention.

At any rate, normally this arrangement is a small blessing, but Slughorn has left the classroom to attend to two third-year girls fighting in the hall outside, and the whole class has grown rowdy in his prolonged absence.

"I'm sorry what?" Hadrian returns, distracted by his potions project that he is, for once, actually doing by hand instead of just magicking it into existence once class is over.

Walburga Black giggles flirtatiously. "We're playing a game." This sets off Prince and Carrow into their own round of giggles. She bats her eyelashes. "I asked you a question."

Hadrian only briefly glances at her, before his attention returns to his potion. "What?"

Another round of giggles.

"Okay, here's the question: who would you rather sleep with, Professor Slughorn or Professor Dumbledore?"

Tom's face twists in disgust at the very idea. Hadrian actually looks up fully at this, looking bewildered and incredulous. "Excuse me?"

But his reaction only sets them off even more.

"I said -

"I heard you." Hadrian cuts her off, looking amused. "Who would I rather fuck?"

"You have to chose one of them." Carrow cuts in mischievously. "You can't say neither."

To Tom's disbelief, Hadrian appears to be seriously considering this.

"Well, Slughorn smells like ham and a lifetime of poor choices," he considers. "But it's either him or Dumbledore, who looks like an aspiring pedophile."

"I'm going to have to go with asexuality." Hadrian announces.

"That's not allowed!" Carrow cries.

"Yeah, you have to pick one of them." Prince adds with a snobbish look.

Walburga only continues to smirk.

"That's not very fair," Hadrian reprimands. "Asexuality is a real thing, you know. You can't just discount it because it's not as apparent as other sexualities."

For a moment it looks like the girls don't know how to respond. Then Carrow and Prince look like they'll protest, but Walburga silences them.

"Fine then, but you have to answer a different one instead." Walburga tosses her hair, leaning over the table. She raises one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "If you could pick anyone in the school, anyone at all," she adds suggestively, "who would you sleep with?"

Hadrian pauses to consider this as well. In the interim he turns off the burner beneath his cauldron, the potion simmering down to reveal a perfect brew. He is either purposefully ignoring the obvious innuendo here, or just really doesn't care that Walburga is fishing for him to say he wants to sleep with her.

"Still no one." He declares, cheerfully.

"What!" Carrow gasps.

"Seriously." Walburga insists with a giggle.

"I am being serious." Hadrian returns without missing a beat.

Prince frowns. "You wouldn't sleep with anyone?"

"No," Hadrian says, looking her dead in the eye with a serious expression. "I'd never have sex with anyone unless tentacles are involved."

Tom ducks his head, coughing his way out of a choking fit. For the life of him, he can't tell if Hadrian is being serious or not.

Apparently, neither can the girls.

Even Walburga has stopped laughing.

"Sorry about that, everyone!" Slughorn throws the door open, a bit sweaty but otherwise unharmed. "Got a bit out of hand, that one. Honestly… the hair pulling. Never understood the hair pulling."

He tuts as he walks back into the classroom, doing a double take at Hadrian.

"Why, Mr. Skywalker, this is a perfectly brewed Angel's Trumpet Draught. Just magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!"

"Thanks, Professor." Hadrian positively beams at him.

Slughorn nods, before his gaze snaps to the girls behind. "Well? Come on then girls, why are you all standing around? Where's your potions?"

Suffice to say, they have no intention of bothering him about that sort of stuff ever again. In fact, they don't even know if he even likes humans, judging from their shocked and vaguely disgusted expressions. Tom of course can't help but smirk; he also can't help but wonder if Hadrian is really just fucking with them for the hell of it, or if he knows how Tom feels about other people flirting with him and wanted to make it clear to them they should back off.

Quite honestly, he's not sure which he wants it to be.

/

Hadrian's little stunt in Potions is enough to at least make most of the girls in the school second guess him, but it certainly doesn't deter Abraxas.

"Tentacles!" He laughs, once the story gets to him. "Good one, Hadrian. Good one. Shall I introduce you to the giant squid then, perhaps?"

Hadrian smirks at him, either playing along or being genuinely serious. "I'd love that, actually."

"Truly?" Abraxas blinks. Tom thinks he might make a real remark on that, but instead he only grins roguishly. "Well then, why don't we go? This is the best weather we've had in ages, might as well make the most of it."

"Sure, why not." The demon humors him with a shrug. Tom almost wants to drag him back by the ear and command him to stay as far away from Abraxas as he could throw him. But then he reminds himself he has no real reason to do that.

What does it matter, anyway? Abraxas could go on pining for as long as he wanted; it wouldn't get him anywhere.

Abraxas turns to them, grin turning wicked. "We'll be back!" He assures, as he and Harry get up from their table in the common room.

Tom notices that he didn't invite anyone else. If it was truly that deliberate, Nott and Lestrange don't notice at all.

"He's not actually being serious, is he?" Nott asks, once they've left.

Lestrange snorts. "Of course not. Skywalker's just having us on."

Oh, Tom thinks, disparagingly, you have no idea.

/ stay dandy / android52 /

The day of Hadrian's fake birthday arrives with much fanfare by the students.

Hadrian had told him he'd decided he wanted to celebrate a fake birthday - since he was posing as a human he may as well try out all these strange things humans do, like birthdays. Tom told him it was an utterly useless idea, but Hadrian tended to like useless things, so that did little to deter him. At any rate, who was he to tell Hadrian to stop playing with all the students? He more or less did the same; of course Tom manipulated them to further his goals. Hadrian manipulated them to… he actually had no idea. To genuinely fuck with them for the fun of it, most likely.

Abraxas gets him an honest to God two-tiered birthday cake, which is almost enough to bring the demon to tears. He gets an assortment of useless trinkets from the Slytherins, equally as useless chocolate and cauldron cakes from a gaggle of Hufflepuff girls, and a couple marginally useful books from some Ravenclaws. None of the mentioned gifts elicited such a reaction as the cake. Apparently it is his favorite.

Tom of course does not have a present for Hadrian, because Hadrian is a terrifying Demon Prince of Hell, and they don't have fucking birthdays.

This makes perfect sense, but still makes him feel inadequate somehow once he gets to breakfast and has nothing to give the boy.

It's testimony to how enamored Hadrian is with his birthday cake that he doesn't even use this as an opportunity to make a scene about how Tom doesn't love him enough because he didn't get a present and how betrayed he feels as a friend, and other dramatic nonsense. Abraxas is all smiles, sitting remarkably close to the boy. He is spending far too much attention to the way Hadrian's mouth closes in around each piece of cake, and how he makes a sinful, delighted noise each time he tastes it. Incidentally, so is Tom. Honestly though, can't Hadrian just eat his damn cake like a normal person?

"This is the best, Abraxas." Hadrian sighs, once he's polished off an entire tier of the cake. The remaining half already has a few bites in it.

If Abraxas is surprised - or disturbed - with Hadrian's limitless stomach, he doesn't show it all. In fact, he continuously to look smugly pleased. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." He all but purrs. "It is your birthday, after all. You should indulge once in a while."

"That's a good point." Hadrian smiles, stretching his arms over his head and giving another little sigh. "Maybe I'll take a nice long bath and play some street fighter or something."

Abraxas just continues to smile stupidly, even though he definitely has no idea what Hadrian is even saying. Unfortunately Tom does, and now all he can imagine is a very wet and naked Hadrian in the bath, yelling expletives at that little screen of his whenever he loses.

It's a perfectly sunny Saturday morning when Tom kind of low key loses his shit.

Hadrian saunters into the hall, fashionably late as usual, grinning and saying his hello's to all the assembled Slytherins. Despite the fact they have been oddly subdued all morning, they all ecstatically return the greeting, aside from Tom of course, who pretends to ignore him. This doesn't stop Hadrian from sitting in the spot right next to him, too close for comfort, his hair messier than usual.

Tom wonders if he was out in some other dimension doing something interesting again, because he had been there when Tom had fallen asleep but his bed was empty when Tom had woken up. Hadrian had all sorts of stories to tell about distant worlds and adventures, the majority of them Tom only took at face value. Hadrian could be messing with him, or Hadrian could be telling the truth; either way he'd never get to confirm so he just considered them to be interesting, if not outlandish stories.

At any rate, Hadrian is usually bursting at the seams to tell Tom all about it whenever he does run off somewhere interesting, but he does nothing of the sort today. He looks like he hasn't slept, though.

"Oh, Hadrian," Walburga says with unfiltered emphasis, after the demon has buttered his toast. "Have you heard about Abraxas?"

"Abraxas?" Hadrian repeats, bored. "What about him?"

Eileen's eyes grow wide. "His father just died, didn't you hear?"

"Why would I hear about that?"

"It's all over the Prophet." She continues, with a dramatic eye roll. "He left school earlier to attend to family matters - just to let you know." She adds, looking expectant.

"Oh." Hadrian blinks. "Um… okay?"

"Okay?" Walburga repeats, from where she was listening in at Eileen's elbow, voice rising an octave in some kind of self-righteous fury. "That's all you have to say?"

Hadrian's brow creases. "What else am I supposed to say? Sorry? My condolences, I guess. But shit, it's not my fault he died."

"But you two - " she sputters inelegantly. "You two are, are…"

At this, she darts a furtive look around them, before leaning in close. "You two are like, together, right?" She whispers urgently.

Hadrian heaves his way out of a coughing fit, choking on his inopportunely timed sip of orange juice. "What?"

"You two weren't exactly subtle." Eileen points out blankly.

"Subtle about what?" Hadrian repeats, confused.

"You know, always going off together, always talking to each other quietly and laughing…" Eileen waves her hand as she pointedly drifts off.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Hadrian asks, still looking confused.

Tom was irritated with the topic of conversation, but that was fairly par for the course when someone was talking to Hadrian. The idea of Abraxas and Hadrian made him irrationally angry, but ultimately he brushed it off.

Hadrian would never, so there was no point worrying over it.

"We're just saying, you guys are pretty close, you know." Walburga adds. She raises a suggestive brow. "Really close."

Recognition flashes through Hadrian's eyes as he frowns. "So?"

"So we're just pointing out, considering your position, it's only proper to send your condolences. Perhaps even accompany him? I'm sure he'd want you to meet his family - it would be rather appropriate, considering the circumstances." Eileen explains.

"Oh, wow, okay. I think you guys are getting the wrong impression here." Hadrian drops his fork, blinking. "Look, I know enough to fuck him, not to give him life advice. Or like, mourn his grandfather with him."

Tom's own fork clatters onto his plate.

Fortunately no one is paying attention, more concerned with the matter at him.

"Father." Eileen corrects almost absently, her eyes growing wide.

"Sure, whatever."

Eileen and Walburga look horrified and somehow insulted. "How can you even say that?" Walburga hisses. "Have you no shame?"

Hadrian blinks. "...No?" He hazards, looking confused.

Tom can't even process this. His mind has gone numb.

"You slept with him?" He asks, toneless, without looking up.

"I mean, he was there." Hadrian confesses with a shrug. He leans in closer to Tom. "And to be totally honest… the sex was not only just weird, but oddly uneventful."

That is the last thing Tom wants to hear. If that was supposed to be some kind of consolation, it really wasn't.

Tom doesn't want to know anything about Hadrian having sex - not unless Hadrian is having sex with him. Which he isn't. Clearly. No, instead he's off fucking Abraxas, who literally sleeps with anyone.

Tom stares blankly at absolutely nothing, still in some weird and numbing state of shock.

Hadrian slept with Abraxas.

Hadrian slept with a human.

A human that wasn't him.

/

Those three thoughts, in that order, continued endlessly in his head for the rest of the day. He couldn't think about anything else, and by the time dinner rolled around that numbing shock had turned into absolute anger. It was sort of a directionless fury, but right now there was only Hadrian to be upset at and he was attracting Tom's anger like a lightning rod right now.

Hadrian, of course, is dense enough not to realize why Tom is in a bad mood, but observant enough to recognize that he is.

"Why are you in such a bad mood?" Hadrian asks, puzzled. "You were fine earlier."

That was before Abraxas started trying to get into your pants - and then succeeded, he obviously does not say aloud.

There were probably a lot of better ways to handle the situation, but of course Tom choses none of them. Much like his own journey to accept his feelings, Tom does not handle the situation with any sense of grace at all.

"I'm perfectly fine." Tom snaps.

Hadrian spares him an incredulous look. "Who are you trying to convince here?"

Tom sneers. "No one's making you walk back with me, Hadrian. If you would prefer the company of your new lackeys, by all means go back to them. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to accommodate you."

"My lackeys?" Hadrian scoffs. "Don't tell me you're jealous; is it because your minions like me better now?" He bats his eyelashes.

Tom shoves him away.

The demon snickers into his hand, before realizing that Tom is actually fucking furious.

"Is that really what this is?" He asks, frowning. "Look, they definitely still follow you. I'm not trying to steal your followers away from you or anything."

"No," Tom spits back, furiously, "you're just trying to fuck your way through all of them, aren't you?"

Hadrian reels back. Realization crosses his face. "Oh. Is that what this is about?" He actually has the gall to look amused, even relieved. "Look, that's not going to change anything about our deal. What I do on my own time is my own problem."

"Yes, apparently so." Tom replies, stiffly.

Hadrian catches his frosty tone, frowning again. "... Is there a problem here?"

"There's no problem here," Tom retorts coldly. "Who you spread your legs for is your own business. If you want to lend yourself out like a whore, what do I care about it?"

Hadrian blinks. "Are you trying to say you think I'm a slut?"

"Think? At this point, it's fact."

Hadrian reels back, surprised.

He's never really understood why humans consider their basic instinct so shameful. Life procreates. It's a great thing for their species, and the act of procreating is pretty great. Demons have a reputation for being all about carnal desires and general debauchery - most of the time it's pretty damn warranted. Hadrian is certainly not the most promiscuous of all the Princes, but he's slept his way around, that's for sure.

If Barbatos called him a slut, he'd either think he was being affectionate or complimentary.

But he's pretty sure in this instance Tom meant it as an insult.

"Maybe we should calm down," Hadrian says, apprehensively. "I don't really get why you're so angry, but -

"You don't know why I'm angry?" Tom retorts, sounding pretty fucking angry. "You don't get why I would be angry that some fucking demon shows up at my school, starts to mess with my life and everyone in it, does whatever he wants whenever he wants to without any care about repercussions, is self-serving and self-centered and thinks everything is a fucking joke - maybe the better question is; why wouldn't I be mad?"

Hadrian blinks, a little stunned at the outburst.

Everything he said was pretty spot on, true, but Hadrian still felt - he didn't know. He didn't know what he was feeling, he just knew it felt bad. He felt surprised, which was silly, because he knew all of that about himself already. He just - he thought Tom liked him. He hadn't realized the boy had felt this way.

"Oh." Hadrian says, in a small voice.

"I think it's about time you leave, demon." Tom continues, coldly.

Hadrian is still staring at him with big, wide green eyes, looking completely lost.

Tom tosses something at him. Hadrian catches it blindly, looking down to see it's that breath mint he'd nabbed from a chinese takeout restaurant, and then promptly gave to Tom as a summoning key.

"Do what you like," he dismisses with a look of pure hatred. "I don't really care anymore."

He turns around and keeps walking, leaving Hadrian blinking in bewilderment.

/

/ groove city / soul bells /

/

Hadrian spends an unnecessary amount of time moping around in the lap of luxury, also know as his brother's stately mansion.

It was apparently built by enslaved humans who were cursed to an eternity in Hell. But from the classiness of the architecture he's going to assume it was actually just bought from Sotheby's. At any rate it is large, opulent, and filled with people who are contractually obligated to do his bidding, and it's the perfect place to be miserable.

Hadrian's brother, Count Furfur, the thirty-fourth Prince of Hell, is just as fabulous as his name would imply.

He also tends to dote on Hadrian and lavish him with attention, which is another reason Hadrian decided to seek refuge here at his brother's mansion rather than one of his own.

"It's unlike you to be so sad and miserable." Furfur points out. "Especially for this long. What is it, you can tell me, I promise. Is it one of our miscreant brothers? Death getting you down? Love troubles?"

Hadrian pulls a face at that last one.

Furfur makes a triumphant noise. "It is, isn't it?" He gasps. "Hadrian, you naughty boy! Who did you go off and fall in love with, without telling your favorite brother first?"

"It's no one." Hadrian grunts, rolling over on his lounge chair.

"Lies!" Furfur cries with delight. "This is the look of a man angstily pining his life away!"

Hadrian scowls, but says nothing.

"What happened?" His brother scoots closer, swiping his martini off the table between them to fix him a suggestive look over the rim of the glass. "Lover's quarrel? Was he cheating on you? Did he buy you gaudy jewelry? Not all diamonds are created equally, you know."

"Nothing happened." He protests, but it's muffled by the towel he's laying on. "There's no one. No cheating. No shitty jewelry. There was an argument - but there was no love involved! It was just a deal, is all."

"Oh! Now this is getting interesting." Furfur comments, eyes twinkling. "What do you mean, a deal?"

"We have a contract." He pauses. "Had. Although even then we kind of didn't. I was really just doing it to entertain myself."

"Oh, Hadrian." Furfur says, empathetically. "I'm so sorry."

Hadrian lifts his head at this. "What for?"

"You do a lot of things for entertainment; helping people is not one of them." The Count points out with a pitying look. "You must have really liked him if you helped him without a contract."

"I mean, I liked him. He was entertaining, and fun to mess with. But I wasn't in love with him." Hadrian adds with a narrowed gaze. "Definitely not. Anyway he's a total douchemonkey, as it turns out, and not worth my time anyway."

"That's the spirit." Count Furfur nods sagely. "He's definitely not worth it."

At that the demon downs his martini, puts his glass down and leans over to cuddle him. Hadrian would throw him off, but the head massage is actually kind of nice. They lay like that for a while, until Hadrian almost feels like he's about to fall asleep.

"Listen, Hadrian," Furfur says, stirring him out of his light dozing. "The key to love is finding someone who loves you like Kanye West loves Kanye West. You just can't settle for anything else. You deserve only the best, you know." He advises solemnly.

Hadrian nods. "Yeah, you're right." He sighs.

"Of course I'm right!" He gets up at that. "When am I ever wrong?"

He shakes out his mane of golden curls, frowns imperiously, and then claps his hand. "Servant!" He barks. A couple of the pool boys jump at the sound. "Where are those mojitos I wanted? They're not going to serve themselves."

He sighs dramatically as someone scurries off to go get them, tossing his hair. After a moment a servant returns with a tray of drinks. The Count makes a pleased noise, grabbing them both before sauntering back towards where Hadrian is still collapsed face-first into his lounge chair.

"I know what will cheer you up." Furfur reveals, once a mojito is in hand and the world is righted once again. He hands Hadrian his drink with a delighted smirk. "Let's go to Vegas, and roam the deserts in search of strippers and cocaine."

Hadrian takes the offered drink, scoffing. "What roaming? Neither of those will be hard to find in Vegas." He takes a sip of his mojito. "And anyway, I don't think I want a repeat of the last time the two of us went out."

"Oh come on," Furfur guffaws theatrically. "It wasn't that bad."

"I guess," Hadrian replies, unconvinced. "If you overlook the fact we started the night playing bingo at church and somehow ended up at the strip club."

Still, he goes along anyhow. Does he really have anything better to do than drink and gamble away his life right now?

/

Three hours later, Hadrian and friends have managed to crawl their way out of the Venetian to nearby Caesar's Palace, all the while getting progressively drunker as they bum free drinks off Barbatos as he continues his endless winning streak across every blackjack table in the strip. It was a great idea to invite him. But that probably isn't fair, because Barbatos is also the Prince of luck and good fortune; still they've yet to be kicked out so they may as well just stick around for the booze.

"But did I fuck him?" Hadrian cries, once they've gotten bored of watching Barbatos swindle the hotels out of their cash and retired to the nearby bar. "No! Instead I fucked his friend, who quite honestly wasn't nearly as attractive. Although he was blonde."

"You and the blondes." Furfur nods, solemnly.

"And he got me a cake for the birthday I totally bullshitted." Hadrian adds. He pauses, blinking as a thought occurs to him. "In hindsight I'm not in the least bit surprised I whored myself out for Tiramisu."

Furfur rubs his cheek against Hadrian's shoulder in that endearing way only drunk people can manage. "It'll be okay, little Prince."

"Yeah, we always knew you had shit taste in men." Vassago agrees.

"I would argue that point, but apparently I officially fuck people who own bucket hats, so I can't talk shit." Hadrian throws his hands up in defeat.

"He owned a bucket hat?" Furfur marvels.

"Yes. God. How much lower can I go? Manbuns?" He pulls his phone out of his pocket with a surprised look, before the expression turns to one of utter disgust. "And what's with these self-help emails? Why the fuck does Kimaris keep sending me this Confuscious ass bullshit?"

"I think he's trying to tell you something." Vassago says blandly.

"Yeah, well, he's an ignorant slut and can go to hell." Hadrian bitches, tossing his phone into a nearby trashcan. Nevermind the fact that they already all live in Hell anyway.

"You just got that thing!" Vassago protests on principle.

"Whatever it blows up anyway." Hadrian retorts crossly.

Hadrian flags down one of the servers. The waiter swoops by with a vaguely impressed eye, sizing up the amount of empty glasses Hadrian has collected. "Are you sure you should be having another?" He asks, cautiously.

"Just keep the Mai Tai's coming." Hadrian insists. "I feel like being a trashy hot mess, and quite frankly, I'm already halfway there."

"I thoroughly disagree with the idea of getting trashed over men on principle, but I would like another as well." Furfur requests. "Actually, make that a strawberry daquiri. May as well go all the way, balls to the wall and all that."

Vassago gives him a flat look. "I'll stick with water." He says, flatly.

"What does it even matter, I'm at perfect liberty to sleep with whomever I want." Hadrian continues, moody and already on a role. "Shit, I could sleep with anyone here if I wanted to!"

Furfur nods along solemnly. "Very true, very true."

Hadrian looks around, before sighing noisily, slumping over his drink with defeat. "Except I don't really want to. God dammit, I wish I had low self esteem and no standards; then I wouldn't care."

"You do have low self esteem and no standards." Vassago points out.

"Hadrian is too vain and narcissistic to have low self esteem - but I agree he has no standards." Barbatos adds as he walks up to the bar, hopping into the empty seat by Vassago.

Hadrian has nothing to say in his defense.

"They finally kick you out?" Furfur asks as Barbatos settles in and hails the bartender.

Barbatos shrugs. "They would have eventually. I decided to save them the trouble. And the woman next to me looked like the Michelin man and smelled like Chef Boyardee. It was getting overwhelming."

Furfur scrunches his nose. "Tragic."

Suddenly a shrill noise pierces the bar.

Vassago blinks, looking up. "Is that Katamari?" He wonders aloud, bewildered.

Hadrian's head pops up, as he looks around blearily. "Is that my phone?" He asks, equally as bewildered. He turns to the trashcan he threw it into, eyes widening when he realizes it is.

With some poor coordination he manages to jump off his chair and stagger over to the trashcan, fishing out his buzzing phone.

He stares down at it, blankly. "He's calling me."

"He's calling you?" Furfur gasps, sounding delighted at the turn of events. Furfur was all about the drama. "Well, what are you waiting for? Answer it?"

"What? Don't answer it." Vassago cuts in, exasperated. "Let that fucker get hit by a car or something."

"I don't even think they have cars," Hardian continues, still half-wondering if he's drunker than he thought he was.

Finally he just decides to answer and figure it out from there.

"...Hello?" He hazards, as he all but stumbles down the marble walkways to a quieter part of the casino.

There's nothing from the other line. Hadrian pulls the phone away from his ear to see if it disconnected, but it says the call is still going. He manages to slump down by a closed storefront, lost somewhere in the monstrous indoor city inadequately named Caesar's Palace, squinting out into all the chaos and wondering what the fuck was going on with his life.

"Hellloooo," he calls again, just in case.

Another long pause.

"Hadrian," he finally says, making Hadrian sit upright in an odd moment of lucidity. Oh shit. This isn't a hallucination.

"Tom?"

"Who else would it be?" He all but snaps.

"How are you even calling me?" Hadrian asks, perplexed.

"What do you mean?" Tom replies, annoyed. "I'm using a phone."

"Yeah but - what? How?"

"I don't know. I just punched the numbers you gave me in this sequence."

"What phone?"

"The orphanage has a phone in the office." Tom explains, sounding impatient. "What does it matter?"

Hadrian pulls the phone away from him, stunned. So Tom was somehow transcending space, time, and reality using an antique landline? He'd seen a lot of stuff that made no sense, but this was particularly stunning. He looks down at his Galaxy in absolute wonder. Damn, Samsung.

"Huh. Well, okay." Still, returning to the matter at hand, "But - why are you calling me? Are you making another horcrux?"

There's a long moment of silence.

"Not as of yet, no."

This time it's Hadrian's turn to be silent. He frowns out in the distant casino, all the flashing lights and tinkling drinks and laughter filling up the silence on his end, making it all the more overwhelming.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, faintly.

"I… didn't mean what I said." He grits out, sounding as if it physically pains him to actually have to admit to wrong.

Despite the fact they're not facetiming, Hadrian can practically see his jaw clench, the pulse in his brow and the stern frown on his face as he unwillingly forces himself to apologize.

"I still have need of you." He admits, begrudging.

Hadrian isn't even sure what to say. Someone wins jackpot at the nearby slots, causing a riot of blinking lights and noise.

I'm too drunk for this shit, he thinks, miserably.

"Oh. Well, cool." That's about the best he can manage right now.

"You'll be here tomorrow, then." For the life of him Hadrian can't tell if that's a question or a statement right now.

"Sure?" He says cautiously, before blinking away some of the fog around his brain. "Uh - yeah, sure. Whatever's good for you man. Anyway I have to go - strippers to see, blow to snort, all that."

He hangs up before that conversation could get any more disastrous, holding out his phone away from himself like it's a pipe bomb or something, as if waiting for it to go off again.

When there's nothing but the sounds of people winning and losing their entire fortunes at two o'clock in the morning, he decides he's safe. Then he promptly decides he's a little too drunk to figure out what the fuck that was about, and he'll just leave that for the morning. For now, there really are more strippers and cocaine to be had.