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Kirio had known Azu for a couple weeks, and learned only that he was crushing hard. That was too nice a word for it. The way he was hesitant to touch, to ask for anything, but altogether too eager to declare Iruma’s greatness to anyone foolish enough to mention him. Fools abounded.
And after enduring weeks upon months of this useless flattery, Azu's verbal bludgeon had been reduced to asking him for the tiniest, tiniest favor, which involved Going Away for a few minutes, please, I hope I'm not troubling you, thank you so much.
Of course they were both fools as well.
Iruma sighed, slumping into the table and tangling his hands in an already unruly bout of hair. Kirio would continue to play the role of the reliable senpai. He sat down, glancing at the top of Iruma’s head, and asked unintelligibly, “Hmm?”
“Augh,” Iruma replied. He moved his hands to peek up through his fingers, hesitating, and took a long time to say something essentially straightforward. “Azu-kun and Clara are really really nice, and I… I’m glad we’re friends.”
He hadn’t asked Kirio to be his friend, officially. Perhaps he forgot, or perhaps Kirio just didn’t qualify, existing mainly in their batraroom and nowhere else. Iruma sounded like someone was going to come snatch his toys if he didn’t play nice. Iruma's idea of nice was a touch cloying. It was odd that he wasn't snapping at certain people to lay off already.
“And?”
“And it’s not like it’s too much of a good thing, it’s just,” Iruma gestured, failed, and gestured again, “yeah,”
“Yeah,” Kirio agreed. Two sycophants taking a break.
***
“I just want to be useful to him…” Azu whined. The problem with their relationship was becoming obvious: Azu was completely forthright all of the time and trampled all over Iruma’s attempts at saying anything. Kirio didn't need to help this trainwreck. Still, it was rather sad.
"Have you tried talking to him?" Kirio suggested, not looking up from his textbook. He didn't plan on being there for test season, but one never knew.
Azu did not acknowledge this helpful piece of advice. "Iruma-sama never changes with me after gym class, which is another five to seven minutes a day we're apart… we've never visited the demonic hot springs together… I've never even been to his house."
Kirio wondered whether those were first date activities. He wouldn't know. He hummed noncommittally. "Hm."
"O—of course I don't mean it in a weird way," Azu insisted, in a rare burst of self-consciousness. "I just admire him! So of course I want to know everything about Iruma-sama…"
He trailed off again, sighing wistfully, and Kirio wondered whether it was normal to say someone else's name that much. It sounded like it was melting in his perfect mouth. Disgusting. "Mh."
Kirio turned a page, and set the text down to flip to another page in his spiral-bound notebook as well. His notes alternated between neatly color coded in horrible handwriting and 'got thrown in the sink' in horrible, half melted writing, interrupted occasionally by toxic rants he really should remember to rip out and burn. Death to society, and all that: perfectly normal thesis for a teenage demon. Posers.
He wondered whether he'd have time to catch that one akudol channel before bedtime. It seemed like the shows he liked kept getting pushed back to the midnight slots, for some reason. Surely impressionable children had seen worse. And he didn't have anything better to do on deMondays—was Azu still talking?
"...So I suppose I can accept your suggestion," Azu said. What? What??? "As an Asmodeus, I will win him over by intellect!"
Concerning.
***
“Senpai,” Iruma said, smiling erratically. “I’m not here. You didn’t see me. Okay?”
“Okay,” Kirio agreed. “I’m just talkin’ to my desk.”
Not that he never thought about doing so, but this was the first time Iruma decided to hide underneath it. Kirio did not think he was quite that pathetic. They all sank to new lows, from time to time. Maybe someone threw his bag in the sink for him.
“Is someone chasing you?” Kirio asked. He probably wouldn’t be much help.
“...Not exactly."
Iruma stayed like that for another minute, but no one came. Kirio resisted the urge to kick him for no reason. Today's notes were even more tattered than the last, covered in admittedly-terrible sketches and wandering blue ink. Uneven times-tables. Iruma uncurled himself, looking around like a scared little akumouse, and grabbed the leg of the chair to stand up.
"So," Kirio prompted.
"So," Iruma agreed, fidgeting, saying nothing. Pulling on his fingers, then rocking back and forth slightly, then looking for something else to mess with and realizing he'd have to rip off his tie, which was not proper. "It's just—Clara."
Kirio was inspired to look up. "Clara-chan? What's wrong with Clara-chan?"
Sure, she was annoying, and hyperactive, and her habit of bribing people was evocative of a feudal state, but she was alright.
"Sometimes," Iruma stated, with great gravity, "my ears hurt."
They weren't good ears; they were missing their points, so it was a relief to know they worked.
Kirio shouldn't have asked. He couldn't quite help it. "Anything else?"
"Azu-kun thinks I need to study more… he's always teaching me obscure facts about history and warfare, and feudal romance customs, and I really appreciate it, but… first thing in the morning? And the texts— he sent me several paragraphs on the importance of choosing a proper warhorse."
Was this the meaning of intellect? A mindless regurgitation of facts devoid of any communication, nay, in bold defiance of it? How were they this stupid? Kirio hated everything. And yet the distilled agony of this conversation had him struggling to hide a smile.
Iruma looked aghast. He pulled at the tie, then set his head in his hands, and dropped the whole package onto the neighboring desk with a quiet thunk of despair.
"How's your headache?" Kirio asked.
"Terrible," Iruma replied.
"Hm."