Chapter Text
He couldn’t say no. She had said please, with such expectation in her eyes — ecstatic — and he had agreed, making an effort to hide his reluctance. And fear. He would be alone with this demon. The only other time he had been one on one with one of her kind was at.. Sullivan’s… house. His home.
“I-I’ll be back later guys, I promised President Ameri that I’d meet her in her office,” Iruma gave a polite tilt forward as he excused himself from the group, Alice and Clara both giving their characteristically dramatic proclaiments to his leave.
Most cells of passing demons paid him no mind as he passed, any lingering eyes only pushing him to move further down the hallway, out of their sight.
He rarely found himself stopping to take note of the spikes on every fixture; where stray, tastefully accented eyeballs may appear, or the strange amount of mundane objects had fangs, or horns.
It was second nature to sway out of the way of the roaming droves, with their synced tails sweeping the floor behind them. His anxiety of missing a set of horns, a tail and pointed ears quickly evaporated once the culture shock settled down. There weren't any strange behaviors he, as a human, had to hide, or strange costumes he needed to wear.
So, he learned to grab around the sharp points on every doorhandle. Not to let his hand get sliced on the guardrail to the stairs. The bloody screech of the bell no longer pierced through him every hour or so, and thus his fears simmered. But it was always still nerve-wracking, the proximity to danger.
Outside of her office, Iruma gave a sniff to his sleeve — trying for another time this week to try to discern the smell of his demon-y perfume — but having no such luck.
“Glad you could make it,” a voice says, peering down from the open door. The backlit office obscures the details of her expression. Impulsively avoiding her gaze.
“President!” Iruma’s voice cracks as he pulls his sleeve away from his face, feeling heat rise to his skin — her fanged smile is bright in contrast to her face, the image of her darkened grin all he can glean — “Please,” she steps aside,
“Come in.”
This is only the second time Iruma has come to the Student President-Demon’s office after his deal with her, but that doesn’t make it any more familiar than last time. The bright room exposes his eyes sharply in contrast with the dimly-lit Babyls. But how else could she see his reading?
“Do you remember what we’re doing today?” Ameri seems to twirl a little, unnaturally light in a way that unnerves him. She looks down at him from the end of the couch she’s standing at, sharp amber eyes focused on him, the depth of her intent obscuring her face like a long shadow. In the moment he makes eye contact, her wide pupils sharpen, and Iruma observes his panic flitter like a dove.
It’s just the way they look — he reminds himself — it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just the way she looks. Iruma had learned that avoiding a demon’s eyes was never going to be easy, but maybe not meeting them with his own might be feasible, at least for a little while. That was until their professor hunted him after an especially long lecture period, and promised barely restrained violence if he ever avoided his eye contact again. He had managed to shakily ask what that had been about once he was safe back in the manor;
“Tea, first I assume!” Iruma chuckles out, making a point to grace Ameri’s eyes once more. The shallowing of where her gaze reached eases the nerves that he’d been punching down at.
Instincts. Demon instincts. Much, much different from his own kind.
The tea sits cold next to him as he stands a healthy step away from where she sits on the couch, resting the book against a standing table. It’s simple enough, and he enjoys it enough to articulate the dialogue’s emotion into his enunciation. It’s the only time he can spend longer than a moment lingering on Ameri’s face, her expression bright and deceivingly innocent as he glances down to read the next line. There’s been a few times he’s wondered if it’s safe to so freely interact with something so obviously human, especially in a school like this; but it seemed innocuous enough.
He ignores how his heart flutters when he turns the page, looking down at the art. The sight of such realistic streets, of scenes he had been hundreds of times not even weeks ago flicker in and out of the panels as characters exchange dialogue. He manages to keep his eyes off of the recreations of buildings and crowds by reading ahead for his dialogue. Of the evidence of Human life. Ameri waits expectantly.
“Iruma-Kun,” Opera purrs, taking his things as he enters the foyer of the Sullivan manor. “My kouhai was threatening you?” He fumbles with his jacket. “N-no? Not really, it was my fault – he had been lecturing and asking us questions – I wasn’t looking at him enough I guess, like he, uh…” Iruma trails off as Opera slowly comes to a pause, and finds himself meeting his eye. The Demon’s gaze seems especially pointed, the sensation making Iruma feel like he’s staring down a long, dark corridor. It makes his flesh cold, but stands the feeling. Opera was home, too.
This seems to cement something in the Demon-cat as he pulls Iruma’s bag further up his shoulder with a thoughtful ‘hmm’ and closes the door behind him.
“Kaliego notwithstanding… do you struggle with this, eye-contact, anywhere else? Back in the human world?”
He shakes his head, “No? I’ve never had anyone tell me… and I never really…” Opera continues studying him as he speaks, Iruma scanning the entry to the sitting room for his grandpa. The curled iron spears that accent the living room have felt rather tasteful after seeing it every morning.
“It may be a difference of… socializing. I imagine the social instincts of Demons and Humans may not be identical. However, I do think it’s something you may be able to learn.”
Iruma has kicked off his shoes and climbed into the nearest couch, criss-crossed as Opera puts his things away, beginning to prepare tea by the ever-burning purple-blue fire. He’s a bit put-off, however. “I-instincts? I don’t think I… Humans have anything like that…” Opera’s red eyes turn in his head to him, blue flames reflecting purple. “You are instinctual, Iruma. Very. You will simply have to learn a new set.”
“What happens if I can’t?”
“Excellent today, just so incredible Iruma! I can’t believe–” Ameri lets out a girlish squeal that makes Iruma smile, her posture rubber from exasperation. “But no, no, no – I mustn't ask you to read more till next week. I must savor this. IT MUST BE SAVORED!” Her arms shoot up to grab the sides of her head as she shouts, her excitement contagious as he reads the number on the back of the spine; three.
“Ameri, don’t you have like, a million of–”
“NO! Don’t start! I don’t need excuses right now–” She’s standing now, pacing in her own world, “I’m President Ameri, I have self control!”
A little amused at how the President psyches herself up, he turns to glance back at the comically large stash of shojo manga behind a hidden bookshelf. There has to be at least.. At least hundreds; “Ameri–”
“Iruma!” she responds emphatically, a sharp grin on her face. Her cheeks are pink from smiling, an openly playful expression in her eyes as Iruma only mildly flinches at the way her eyes dilate sharply on him. “Don’t you have.. Hundreds of these?” He asks the bookshelf, “How did you even get approval to move all these in here anyways?”
Iruma turns to look back at her, and within the two to three seconds she left his vision she had stalked a few steps closer, like a cat. She hadn’t stopped looking at him until a beat of comprehension flashes behind her eyes, turning away bashfully. “AH– that’s none of your concern… Just remember my, ah, authority has more weight than you realize, Iruma! And it has nothing to do with my father being chief of the border patrol!” She shouts triumphantly, crossing her arms. Then scrunches her nose at herself.
Deep breaths. She really was good company, silly after the emotional rollercoaster a manga volume can send someone through. But she keeps staring at him, stepping forward.
“Ameri…?” Iruma gathers his thoughts as he attempts to look into her face again, this time determined to peer down that same dark hallway. “Would you not get so close to me?”
It comes out small and unsure, but he’s certain she’s heard him as her ears flip forward, a serious expression neutralizing into her face. “Yes, of course–” she takes a step back almost instantly. Her hands fall to her sides, gaze dropping; “I-I didn’t mean to be rude!” Iruma says exasperationally, hating to see joy leave his presence, even if it had been a little scary. “I’ve just been… I’m still not used to being in school yet; you’re the only other student I’ve been alone with –” She looks at him with wide eyes as her ears go flat, rubbing her elbow. She seems very small, and it makes his stomach flip. “Iruma, no, I wish you had–” Ameri takes a breath, and seems to straighten herself somewhat.
“You should have told me that from the beginning, Iruma. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable – I never want you to feel that way – or to feel like you have to – to read for me or anything! I sometimes just get carried away as President – You’ve always been free to stop whenever you like–”
“I CAN’T LOOK AT YOU!”
He’s squeezing the volume in his hands against his chest, like the world's smallest flotilla as he looks at his shoes.
“Iruma?”
He holds the book in front of his face, turning it to block his vision of her as he speaks. And to hide the shades of red he’s turning. “I-It’s something I’m talking to Grandpa about! I-I just haven’t been around so many Demons before! SO – So, I’m not used to, ehm…”
Ameri hums thoughtfully at this, the silence giving Iruma the courage to peek around the book at her. She’s turned her eyes to a corner in the ceiling, arms crossed with a hand on her chin. “That explains…” She meets his eyes once more, thoughtful and open. “You’ve been… very clear with me. I appreciate that – that’s not easy to do. I’ll adjust accordingly…” she focuses on her thoughts for another moment, giving Iruma time to glance at the static window.
She slowly offers her open hand, “You’re welcome to ask for my help, anything you may need, any accommodations I can be certain they’re made–” he places the book in her palm, watching her manicured fingers before meeting her gaze again. Making a point. “No, it’s nothing like that, I think–” the uncontrollable sinking of his stomach isn’t as obvious this time, “I think I just need time to adjust.”
“Then they will eat you.”
“What?” Iruma gapes.
Opera pours two cups of dark green and purple tea. Iruma takes his cup as Opera sits beside him in a potent silence.
“W-why would I get eaten over eye contact? Wouldn’t I just come across as awkward– or just strange?”
“You come across as prey. Or, a challenge, more than likely.” He begins, looking down at the boy over his steaming mug. Iruma tries to understand what that may mean, trying to discern some more specific reason from the analogy as he looks into his guardian’s eyes. The dark halls of a home reflect back at him, split by a sharp darkness that discerns no end – yet feels so close it would scrape his own cornea if he stared much longer. Iruma’s eyes water.
Opera sips his tea, and strokes the young boy on the head. “You will need to speak to Sullivan about this.”
“Grandpa?”
“Yes. I believe this is something better held by you two, rather than you and I.” Iruma nods.
“Would you like to work on homework until then?” Iruma nods.