Archive of Our Own

Art by @This Colorful Abyss

The stars had whispered warnings to him of this meeting, but after decades of listening to their voices and interpreting their messages, Stolas knew that they tended to exaggerate. They weaved a vision of a potential crisis in one of the 7 Rings, and while concerning, Stolas was more worried about the why and what of the crisis rather than his own involvement. So, he waited, unsure of what exactly he should be expecting; however, he kept alert for any signs the universe was to send him.

And then Fizzarolli died.

The public mourning of the famous entertainer’s passing was as bombastic and lavish as the man himself. It lasted for a few weeks, per Fizz’s request, and all the public milestones of his life were celebrated across every Ring – even in Greed because, for as much bad blood as there still was between Mammon and his heavily exploited protégé, the Sin still understood that festivals meant money, and money would always be the Sin’s first love. Lust’s memorial outshined them all, hosting the most extravagant events and performances the Ring had ever seen.

Fizzarolli’s actual funeral was an intimate and quiet affair, held away from the public eye with only close friends and family in attendance. Many of the faces there Stolas recognized from the many years spent with his husband and his best friend. Many more were missing, stolen by the persistent march of time. Stolas had stood by Asmodeus’ side, close enough to touch if needed, but in that moment, the Sin seemed so small, as though the life was snuffed out of him along with his exuberant lover. Few words outside of the typical rites were spoken for no one wished to break the silence. The depths of Asmodeus’ despair were almost like a physical presence, looming over the entire procession, seemingly suffocating any sense of light or sound. When it was over, Stolas placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, a silent reminder that he would be there when Ozzie needed him.

After the funeral, Stolas knew that Ozzie would need time to process Fizzarolli’s passing, to work through his grief in the way that he needed. So, he waited, with the stars whispers in his mind, reminding him that the looming crisis had yet to appear.

But as the days and weeks passed and news from the Lust Ring became more sensational and alarming, Stolas knew the stars’ crossroads would soon come to pass.

It has been two months of Asmodeus’ complete absence after Fizzarolli’s funeral before he finally resurfaces.

He walks through a portal that appears directly into Stolas’ garden, right next to the table where Stolas himself is sitting with tea for two ready and waiting on the table.

Stolas gives Ozzie a soft yet sad smile, gesturing to the seat across from him. “Please. I hope you don’t mind – the tea is a new blend, but I think it will be to your tastes.”

He watches as Ozzie slumps into the chair, taking in his friend’s features. His flaming mane burns close to all three of his heads with a morose, almost dead, look on all of them. Whether he had slept too much or too little over the past couple months, Stolas couldn’t tell, but the many signs of lack of self-care are apparent – from the way he holds himself all the way down to the absolute stillness of his body. It is eerie to see someone who usually exudes such a passion and zest for life be so silent and motionless.

He nudges the steaming cup closer to Ozzie, never letting the gentle smile slip from his face.

“Your employees are doing a remarkable job keeping your factories and other responsibilities running smoothly, though I’m sure I don’t need to tell you they’re concerned about your wellbeing. Hell has never had a Sin go missing without a trace for so long, save for Belphegor, though I imagine she merely overslept.” Stolas fiddles with the teacup in front of him, not sure exactly what to say or what Ozzie needs from him. The man has obviously spent too much time alone, trapped in his own mind, drowning in his solitary grief. The stars are urgent with their whispers, pushing him to act. Ozzie’s suffering will have larger repercussions if this continues on for much longer.

Stolas lets them sit in silence for a bit longer before addressing the real reason for Ozzie’s visit. “I know what you’re going through is so, so incredibly difficult. The loss – it feels endless, like a shadow that’s choking you from within, robbing you of your desire to move on, to live, but languishing like this-”

“How…” The sound of Ozzie’s voice cuts him short, his words sounding rough from the lack of use, “how can I… how do you-” He pauses again, taking in a deep, ragged breath as though it’s the only thing that’s holding him together. His talons tighten into fists on the table, digging shallow scratch marks into its surface. “How do you just… go on, living through every day like your soul hasn’t been torn apart?”

When Stolas doesn’t answer right away, Ozzie looks up at him, tears flowing from each of his six eyes, his faces crumpled in utter defeat, looking like a simple, broken demon and not one of the strongest beings in all of Hell. “If I close my eyes, I just see memories of Froggie in my mind. I can hear his voice like an echo down the hall as if he’s calling me. When my eyes are open, I just see everything that is- was his, just waiting for him to come and pick them up again…” Ozzie’s voice stays soft, but as the words pour out of him, they start coming faster, as though all the thoughts and nightmares he’s been plagued with for the past several weeks will suffocate him if he doesn’t get them out fast enough. “For over 10,000 years, no one like Fizz has ever existed. No one made me feel that pure, all-consuming lust the way he did, and the love – I didn’t know love could be like that, like you’ve found something you didn’t know you’ve been looking for your whole life, and for the first time, you’re satisfied. Like you finally have everything you’ve ever needed.”

Ozzie’s face flushes with rage, his words rasping out of him as though he swallowed glass. “I wasn’t made to love!”

His outburst echoes in their secluded space, and for only that moment, an emotion other than abject sorrow colors his words. Though just as quickly as the anger flared in him, it fades, leaving him with only the ashes of his longing. “Even from the beginning, he was the most amazing person I’d ever known, and each day with him just-…” His breath catches in his throat, choking off his words, leaving them with an agitated silence.

Stolas doesn’t try to fill the void as Ozzie works to find his words. Eventually, Ozzie starts speaking again, though his eyes are firmly fixed on his hands.

“It took me so long to find him, and then to lose him so quickly… How am I supposed to face the rest of eternity knowing I’ll never see his smile or hear his laugh ever again…?” Ozzie’s voice peters out almost to a whisper, his eyes now desperately searching Stolas’ for any sort of hint of hope. “How did you move on after Blitzø?”

Only the years of necessity from his rigid, royal upbringing prevent Stolas from visibly flinching upon hearing his lover’s name, though he still has to put effort into keeping his composure. With a wry smile, Stolas feels the tears building in his eyes along their waterline, knowing that his words are not going to be what his grieving friend is looking for.

“I didn’t.”

It had been 7 years, 3 months, and 18 days since Blitzø died. Stolas didn’t actively try to keep count, but his mind kept the tally for him, giving him the growing number every morning when he woke.

Blitzø had always said that he wanted to go out in a blaze of glory anytime he joked about his untimely death, but when the time came creeping up closer and closer, he had confided in Stolas that what he really wanted was to go in his sleep, surrounded by his family and curled tight in husband’s arms. Stolas promised him if that’s what he wanted, he would make sure it happened.

Less than two years passed before Stolas fulfilled his promise.

When Blitzø closed his eyes for the last time, his head was nuzzled into Stolas’ chest fluff with Octavia and Loona’s hands holding his own. For as much as he had feared it, Blitzø hadn’t died alone.

Stolas with his excellent memory could recall every second of that day, from the moment he woke up, hearing the stars’ whispers that only sang of despair and loss for the first time, to his own choking cries that continued well into the night, their daughters still faithfully by his side.

The time period after that day was more of a haze. Stolas can’t recall much of it, just random whisps of memory – Loona’s gentle voice checking in to see if he needed anything, a flash of Octavia on the phone telling I.M.P. the news of Blitzø’s passing. He knew at one point someone had come to take Blitzø away, and the shattered wail that tore from Stolas’ throat then felt like it left behind jagged scars.

The days after bled into one another, leaving him feeling lost and adrift in his misery. Stolas didn’t truly resurface until he watched as his love’s ashes joined his mother’s among the remains of the All-Imp Circus that were meticulously curated into a garden honoring Tilla. He liked to think it was because Blitzø was finally able to be with her again, so he knew Blitzø would be alright.

It was during the time after Stolas came back to himself that the reality of the rest of his life without Blitzø truly set in, and he suffered.

Freed from his royal obligations, Stolas had spent the last few decades just living with Blitzø, helping Octavia with her royal duties when she needed it, and still working with I.M.P. He didn’t have an official title in the business at that point, yet everyone knew that he was the boss’ husband, treating anything he said with the same authority as though it came from Blitzø himself. Plus, all the employees in the Operations Dept (and Blitzø had nearly shit himself when he realized that Stolas’ suggestion for an official Operations Department was actually necessary due the company’s growth) were forever grateful for the filing system Stolas had created and put in place. If anything, the business ran like a well-oiled machine and didn’t need his assistence, but Stolas had liked to use whatever reason he could to visit Blitzø in his very soundproofed office.

Blitzø had wanted to keep working until the end, but a major injury took him out of the field and, eventually, out of the office altogether. He put up less of a fight than Stolas, Loona, Moxxie, and Millie had expected at the time, but even he knew that his physical condition, even after recovery, made him more of liability than an asset. For as much as he had matured over the years, Blitzø had loudly and profusely declared that he would rather ‘be 12 feet in the ground, choking on a corpse’s rotting cock’ than be relegated to only desk duty, so retirement was the preferred option all around.

Though Stolas is sure that their unlimited time together in Blitzø’s retirement and their many trips to various horse ranches on Earth and in Hell certainly helped.

They spent the last several years of Blitzø’s life practically within touching distance, so when the stark contrast between some of the happiest years of Stolas’ life and the cold reality of the imp’s absence for the rest of eternity finally became real in Stolas’ mind, it nearly broke him.

Stolas expects the devastated look from Ozzie at his words, but it still affects him all the same. Asmodeus and Fizzarolli hadn’t been around to see the mess of a man Stolas had become in the immediate years after Blitzø’s passing, but considering the depth of grief the former clown was mired in from losing his best friend and brother figure, Stolas didn’t find it surprising or hold it against them. Regardless, now Stolas could see an echo of his pain in Ozzie’s eyes as the Sin’s face crumples in dismay.

Placing his teacup down with a soft clink, Stolas stands up and places a hand on Ozzie’s shoulder. He feels the shudders going through Ozzie’s form as he chokes back sobs, face buried in his hands. With a quiet trill, Stolas gently squeezes his hand until he feels Ozzie take a couple deep, shaky breaths. “Come with me. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of showing you Blitzø’s magnificent horse collection now that it’s complete.”

Stolas ignores Ozzie’s confused stare as he helps the man up from his seat, guiding him into their home.

They didn’t have to walk far; Blitzø kept his collection in the sunroom that opened directly into the backyard. Stepping through the glass doors, they enter a room overflowing with almost every kind of Hell and Earth horse merchandise one can imagine – plushies, posters, figurines, statues, furniture. If it was even slightly related to horses, Blitzø had gazed upon it with nothing but adoration and affection, but this personal collection was something separate, something special.

Glancing at Ozzie’s face, Stolas can see the tiny hints of surprise and awe in his expression as he takes in the room. The owl smiles and lets a feeling of pride color his words, “Impressive, isn’t it?” He glides his fingers against the horse lamp that has been a feature in every home he and Blitzø lived in together. “Many of these items were originally part of Blitzø’s personal collection, but after I.M.P. took off, he only placed the ones he was really proud of and wanted to show off in here. A number of them are one-of-a-kinds, some even commissioned.”

Stolas feels his smile curling down at the corners, the shadow of his lover surrounding him. His voice is quieter with a lilt of melancholy as he pulls a small, plush horse from his chest feathers. With a loving stare, Stolas strokes the mane of the brown and white mare before poking the tiny skull on its flank. He always adored that detail. “None of his personal favorites are here, though. Those he gave away.”

Ozzie looks around the room, quietly moving through the horses while being careful not to touch anything. Every piece is pristine. Stolas personally and meticulously cares for every item in this room on a regular basis. Now without Blitzø’s personal touch, it feels more like a museum than a hobby.

His voice is still rough, but Ozzie pushes out his words. “How… how do you stand to come in here? How can you bring yourself to? Doesn’t all of this just make him being gone hurt more?” When Ozzie turns around to look back at Stolas, he watches him tuck the horse plush back into his chest feathers with a lost and bewildered expression. “Why surround yourself with all of… this?”

“Because Blitzø loved this room,” Stolas states simply. “He was so proud of it, and his eyes would sparkle in a way they only did when he was setting up a new piece in his collection. He used to tease that this was his favorite in the house, outside of our bedroom. It did take him years before he admitted why this room specifically had to be his official Horse Appreciation Tribute Collection, though.” Stolas shifts his gaze to the giant window facing their backyard, one that they never bothered putting any kind of blinds or curtains on. Beyond it is a completely unobstructed view of Stolas’ private garden, cultivated over the years to be a mixture of elegant beauty and ferocious monstrosity. He did love his larger, carnivorous plants.

“He used to say the view from this window was The Best in All of Hell™, the trademark being absolutely necessary. Truthfully, I think he just enjoyed staring at my ass as I bent over to work, which is why my gardening outfits contained miniskirts that I would somehow to always forget to wear panties with. A shame really.” For a few seconds, Stolas allows himself to get lost in the memory of the look Blitzø used to give him whenever he saw Stolas slide on one of his skirts in the morning. Half of the time, he never even made it out to his garden.

Stolas gives Ozzie a devilish smirk. “You would have been proud – Blitzø demanded that I never make myself look older to age with him. When I originally proposed the idea, I believe his exact words were, ‘And make that ass sag? That’s a crime against Lucifer himself.’ It was so difficult to resist his charm.” He gently touches the wedding band on his finger, allowing the memory to slip away.

Turning to face Ozzie fully, Stolas clasps his hands together, so he doesn’t keep fidgeting with his ring. “It took over 3 years before I was able to come into this room again. At that point, I felt more shame that I had let all his precious treasures get covered in cobwebs and dust. It was… healing, in a way. Cleaning up this room. It let me know that I still remember every story behind each horse in here, that remembering doesn’t always have to hurt. I know I could use a spell to keep this room free of dust, but I find it calming, almost meditative, to come in here to clean. And remember.”

He gives Ozzie a couple minutes to look around, hearing the small, choked sound when he eventually spots a small carousel with four horses, each customized to look like a pony version of Blitzø and his family when he was a boy and still a part of the circus – one for Fizzarolli, Barbie Wire, Tilla, and Blitzø himself. Stolas had that music box specially crafted for what would have been Tilla’s 70^th birthday.

Ozzie quickly looks away, glancing back at the owl. “He didn’t have any… Fizz didn’t keep any pictures of himself or the circus before the fire. He didn’t keep it a secret. He just… didn’t have any pictures or anything really, after the fire.”  Ozzie looks back at the music box with a forlorn expression, his hand slightly raised as though he were going to touch it, but he draws his hand back, clenching his fist at his side.

While Ozzie is turned away, Stolas gives him an appraising look, nodding to himself before heading toward the door. “We can move to a more comfortable space to talk. It can be rather difficult to move around in here.” He waits until he hears Ozzie following him before opening the door to the rest of the house. “My study is just down the hall.”

For the first couple years after Blitzø’s passing, Stolas slept in his study. It was the room that had been shaped by his husband the least. It was more Goetian. More him. He was surrounded by his books, his plants, and his stars, and only they fully bore the weight of Stolas’ deterioration. Their daughters and their families would still periodically come to visit, to make sure he was actually taking care of himself and not just lying to them over the phone. It helped that Stolas would always put on his best face for his grandchildren, and the little Hellhounds did bring a much-needed light to his days.

But they couldn’t be there all the time. No one could. So, while family and friends would come to keep him company every now and then, for most of the time, Stolas was alone.

Even though he spent all of his childhood and the beginning of his adulthood practically isolated from the rest of society, this time was different. This wasn’t a cage snapped closed around him from the moment he was born, separating him from the life he could have had. It was a self-inflicted punishment for daring to continue to live while his lover had already left this mortal realm. Before, the loneliness felt like longing. After Blitzø, it existed as a void, all consuming and as dark as a new moon.

Going through the motions while no one was watching somehow felt more soul crushing than all the years trapped under Stella’s wrath, and most days, remembering to eat was the only accomplishment of the day.

When he wasn’t entertaining guests, Stolas would portal himself between his office, the kitchen, and the guest bathroom. Walking through the house meant seeing all the pictures and tchotchkes that were littered throughout their home, and Stolas couldn’t bear to see them, to feel Blitzø’s presence in every photo, every horse figurine, every surface where they made love.

The only item that was truly Blitzø’s in the office was his Asmodean Crystal, back in its original case, and even then, Stolas had the crystal’s box closed and tucked away where he couldn’t see it.

Eventually, he moved a TV into his study and lived within. Since few ever came into his space, it took over a year before Loona caught on to how he was living. One day, she barged into his office when he wasn’t expecting her visit and gave him the most fierce glare he ever received from her. She didn’t yell or lecture him, knowing it would trigger his trauma response. She didn’t have to. He knew why she was upset with him. But she helped him clean up his study, changed the bedding on the couch in the room, forced him to take a bath, and gave him a preening so thorough that the last time he received one like it, it had been when Blitzø last preened him, the imp’s claws and tongue gently running through his feathers.

As she preened him, she explained that she knew something was seriously wrong when Blitzø’s scent was fading too quickly from Stolas, not to be covered by something else, but to just disappear altogether. Neither needed to mention the reason why.

Loon’s intervention probably was when things truly started to take a turn for the better.

After Loona informed Octavia of his deception, at least one of them came to check up on him in person every day, making sure he at least ate a decent amount and preened him when needed. Slowly, Loona and Octavia began introducing a personal item of Blitzø’s into Stolas’ sanctuary, one at a time to help him with his self-imposed seclusion when they came to visit. To show him that he didn’t need to push everything that reminded him of his partner away. That he could take as long as he needed to with his grief, but he couldn’t let it consume him.

The first one they gave him was BQ, the little mare Blitzø used to carry with him everywhere. She still looked like she was in mint condition, and maybe that was due to a spell he cast on her after a time when she almost got damaged on a hit. He never told Blitzø of the protection he gave her, though not for any specific reason. He didn’t feel like he needed to with the way Blitzø would smile at her whenever he saw she was unharmed.

Upon seeing the tiny horse, the tears came immediately, pouring out of him as though they never stopped, but he saw the empathy in Loona’s eyes, the way she gently stroked Tilla’s necklace that was clasped around her own throat. But when he finally calmed down and his breaths were more under his control, he took lovely, little BQ into his hands and smiled at her as he would a long-lost friend. She’s never left his side since.

After that, the memories and reminders gradually became easier to live with. A few items or pictures would still cause his heart to feel as though it broke again for the first time, but overall, it did get easier. Most of the items went back in their original places, though quite a few stayed in the study, but he made sure to proudly display Blitzø’s Asmodean crystal next to his beloved Grimoire in their bedroom.

It isn’t as grand as the one he used to have in the palace, but Stolas truly made his private study his own. There aren’t any opulent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling or gilded staircases leading up to a second floor. Even his books only cover one wall, though the bookshelves are fully recessed and go from floor to ceiling. Stolas also made sure that there was plenty of light for all of his indoor plants with Blitzy III settled closest to the grand window (Blitzy II eventually grew far too large to fit inside, but he so missed having the company in his office – a cutting that grew into Blitzy III now has the honored spot indoors).

Stars mapping out every horse constellation and nebula cover the ceiling, a small reminder Stolas put up there not too long after he moved back into their bedroom. Other than that, the only reminders of Blitzø in this room were small trinkets that fit on some of the shelves and the posters Blitzø used to have in his office at I.M.P., adding a bit of color and life outside of his usual aesthetic. They were the ones that didn’t hurt as much when the ache of missing Blitzø became too much.

The rest of the room was all him – plants, stars, tomes. Everything he loved about being a Prince of the Ars Goetia is here in some shape or form, and here is where they stay, separated from the rest of their home. Stolas isn’t ashamed of who he is, not anymore, but his work and the parts of him that belong to the rest of Hell stay in here where they belong. Everywhere else in their home is solely for their family.

He motions for Ozzie to sit in one of the plush chairs in front of the study’s fireplace as he sits in the chair opposite him. A small table with a nearly overflowing candy dish lies between them, and Stolas cannot help but smile to himself as he recalls the first time he found himself sitting across from the Sin of Lust like this. Back when Blitzø still had to use his Grimoire for his business and Stolas was desperate for a way for Blitzø to succeed without having to be dependent on him. It feels like a lifetime ago. It feels like it happened yesterday. How many centuries will pass before he can’t even remember it at all?

Stolas brings himself back to the present, glancing at Ozzie who stares into the flames. He wonders if this is how he looked to others when Blitzø finally passed – small, hollow, like a wraith barely holding on to their form. Stolas already knows the answer.

After letting them sit in silence for a few minutes, Stolas finally speaks to his friend in mourning. “I wish I could say something, anything, to make this easier for you, that I could give you a silver lining or a metaphorical ray of hope for you to cling to. Time has taken from them what it will never take from us, and there’s no way to change that.”

He pauses for a moment, waiting to see if he’ll get any reaction from Ozzie before pushing on. “There isn’t a single day where I don’t long for his presence, to hear his laugh, to feel his warmth surrounding me. Sometimes, I’ll still find myself talking to the room as though he’ll answer, waiting for a response that will never come. I still wake up from nightmares and instinctively reach out for his touch, though they plague me less often than they used to…”

“And you still wake up each day,” Ozzie asks, his voice holding almost no emotion, “you wake up every day and go on anyway.”

“I do.” He lets Ozzie sit with his answer, not wanting to assume his experiences are identical to what one of the oldest beings in Hell is going through. He cannot force this part.

Stolas doesn’t know how much time passes as they sit together in silence. It’s not pleasant per se, but it’s not wholly uncomfortable either. They’re simply two immortals, gazing into eternity knowing they no longer have their beloveds by their sides.

When Ozzie does speak again, he sounds the same, but Stolas can sense the difference in his words. “I know I’ve been slacking on the job. I have responsibilities that can’t be put off forever, and things at the factory must be-”

“Your staff has been performing remarkably in your absence and still will. No one expects you to continue with your life as though nothing has changed. All of Hell, and you in particular, have suffered a great loss with Fizzarolli’s passing. No one is questioning why or how you’re mourning him. Let yourself grieve. Know that it is a process that is cyclical with highs and lows and memories, both good and bad, that will come to you in moments when you least expect it.”

Reaching out, Stolas places his hand on Ozzie’s forearm, making the Sin look up at him. “There will never be another who can take Fizz’s place. You don’t need to find a way to fill that void, you don’t even have to find another lover if you so choose, but don’t let this sorrow drown you. This is not what Fizz wanted for you.”

“Fizzie left a letter, you know, for me to find after he was gone. I’ve known about it for a few years, but he threatened to never haunt me once in the shower if I opened it before it was time. He didn’t explain what that meant, but he knew I’d figure it out.” Ozzie pulls a piece of paper from his pocket that somehow managed to look both brand new and well read at the same time. He doesn’t open it or look over the words, simply holding the paper in his hands, letting a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth before it fades again. “He told me to come talk to you if I couldn’t see a way out. That at least I wouldn’t be alone.”

“He made me promise that I would be here whenever you needed someone to talk to, to remember. He needn’t have forced me into a vow, for I would have been more than willing to do so anyway, but he wanted the assurance of it being binding.”

Using his magic, Stolas portaled the tea set from the garden into the study, warming the pot and the cups again to the proper temperature. He pushes Ozzie’s cup toward him once more. “You can stay here as long as you want. I certainly won’t mind the company, but whether or not you choose to talk, I’ll be ready to listen.”

Asmodeus picks up his cup of tea without a word, staring into the liquid for a long moment.

And then he begins to talk.

If he hadn’t been so lost in his own grief, Stolas would have realized how long it took for Fizzarolli to come visit him. The former jester arrived on his doorstep one day almost three and a half years after Blitzø had died. They had shared texts and a few calls during that time, but Blitzø’s memorial was the last place Stolas had actually seen Fizzarolli face to face.

He wasn’t young for an imp to begin with, but the grief from Blitzø’s passing noticeably aged him. Even his signature smile seemed worn and faded with time. The energy and exuberance he was known for was still present though tempered by loss. Stolas had let him in without a word.

They didn’t talk for the majority of the time, neither feeling the need to fill the silence. Some trashy soap opera was on the TV, a third spinoff from Hella-Novela with Alajandro and Gabriella’s secret grandson as the main character. The plot mattered little when the emotions and drama always landed the way they should.

When Fizz finally did speak, Stolas wasn’t sure if it was to him or to himself, but the words flowed out of the former clown, telling his perspective of his life with Blitzo who became Blitzø. He weaved tales from their childhood, filling in the blanks that Blitzø’s stories hadn’t, offering secrets not even his lover knew. He talked about his time after the fire, those 15 years without his best friend/brother/first crush, about Cash’s continued manipulation before he ran from one type of exploitation and abuse to another. Meeting and falling in love with the Sin of Lust, reconciling with Blitzø, reuniting with Barbie, the bonds of the three imps who managed to survive the All-Imp Circus.

He spoke for what could have been hours, telling Stolas his life’s story in a way the owl wasn’t sure anyone else had heard. Every moment of hope, fear, despair, elation, and love. So much love, despite everything Fizzarolli had lived through. And that love brought him here – to ask, beg, hell demand that Stolas makes sure that Ozzie will be okay after he’s gone. He saw the fear in Ozzie’s eyes that started upon hearing about Blitzø’s death. He felt the way his lover held on a bit tighter, kissed him a bit more desperately.

No one knew better than he did how limited their time together really was, and after seeing what Stolas went through after the loss of Blitzø, Fizz knew he couldn’t sit back and let Ozzie go through the same suffering. He could have used all the logical reasons, Ozzie’s place as a Sin, his duties as the Ruler of Lust, his role as the CEO of his own company. Other people would still need him after Fizz eventually passed, but more than anything, Fizz just didn’t want the love of his life to go through the same seemingly endless anguish Stolas had. Ozzie had a support network, of course, but none of them would understand, not in the way Stolas would.

The whole time, Stolas did not interrupt. He asked no questions and offered no insights. The first time he spoke was when he recited the words of his cursed vow to be there for Ozzie in his time of need after Fizzarolli was gone. A vow sealed with their blood.

Art by @This Colorful Abyss

Even after the deal was set, Fizz stayed for a little while longer, no longer feeling the need to fill the space with his words. So, they watched horrible television together in a heavy but still somewhat comfortable silence.

Before Fizz leaves to return to his lover’s side, he asks Stolas if he thinks his family, Blitzø, Tilla, Barb, and all the other imps at the circus would be waiting for him in the end.

Beyond what existed in the three realms, Stolas only knew of what the stars were able to show him, but even their messages were wrapped in secrets and vague possibilities. He doesn’t remember exactly what he ends up telling Fizzarolli in that moment, but it eased a small portion of the tension within his body.

And with the flash of a portal, Fizz was gone.

When Stolas retired that evening, it felt like the last piece he was missing before he could truly let himself heal had finally slipped into place. He laid in their bed with the horse plushie Blitzø made to look like himself cradled between his talons, his eyes glancing longingly at the full moon glowing beyond his window.

He still felt Blitzø’s absence in every breath, every moment, a never-ending ache living inside of him, but when he allowed his eyes to close for the night, he could almost hear his light’s sleepy yet content purr right beside him.

‘One day,’ he promised himself as he held Blitzø’s horse cuddled against his chest.

One day, he’ll see his love’s brilliant smile again.

Art by @45meatballs