Chapter Text
‘This might be a problem.’
Is what the angel thought to himself while he examined the statue that had fallen on the Watcher earlier today, after he accused him of being in love with the demon. In LOVE with the DEMON. Like, seriously! Couldn't he tell that Angel was just messing around? Yeah, he might have been singing about her, but it that was all satire, a bit, a joke. Anyway, a while had passed since then, and it was now late at night. The moon was softly illuminating the clouds that stretched across the heavens.
But more importantly it shone light to his more recent… projects(Don't read too much into it.) Its not like it was his fault; she just happened to be the most interesting thing in his afterlife recently. The result of the mundane lifestyle of heaven finally catching up to him. And what could he say? He enjoyed messing with the do-gooder demon he was paired with. So what if he's made a couple of paintings and statues of her?
What is he even talking about?
This?
‘This isn't me.’ He thought to himself.
You think a guy would learn, especially after all the warnings that the Watcher had given him. “What's the matter with me?” he said to no one in particular. He sighed as he looked around. He treats her like shit when they're together, but then the second he comes home, all of a sudden, she becomes his muse. If there ever was a prize for rotten judgment, he definitely would have won it by now. He gazed at the portrait he was working on.
“You're not worth it.” He told it.
“Who do you think you're fooling?” It replied back. “You can traverse freely between both Earth and heaven, yet you want the one thing that belongs in hell.”
…
oh.
Now he's developing schizophrenia. Great.
He looked around, the eyes of all his previous projects gazed upon him as if they could see right through him, as if they were all waiting for him to say the words he's been avoiding. He laughed, “No chance, no way, I won't say it.”
Silence.
‘no.’
More silence.
‘No.’
Even more silence.
‘NO.’
His eyes fell on one of his earlier artworks, a watercolor painting of her holding a small duck, inspired by events that had occurred on the day he created it.
“Here you are, acting like you don't literally swoon or sigh when I’m around. Why even try to deny it?” the painting teased.
“Talk about a cliche,” chimed in one of his unfinished statuettes.
He pursed his lips together; he's not gonna say it. He won't. He's seen this before, not just in real life, but also in movies. Sure, it feels good when you start out. But it always ends with someone crying their heart out or some other nonsense. Yet not only is he hallucinating, but he’s also denying how he feels to those same hallucinations. Even the Watcher, who doesn't even seem to pay attention to things as little as attraction, saw right through him.
"Given the fact that you're hallucinating about me right now, I'd say you got it pretty bad."
"And who asked you?!?" Yelled Angel at the still-life portrait he had drawn only a week earlier. That's when he finally looks around and sees everything.
Not just the projects.
But her.
He walks around his self-made museum of adoration. The truth was staring him right in the face. Literally. He finally gazes upon his latest artwork. The now cracked statue that had fallen on the Watcher. It was the demon in all her hellish beauty; however, the only difference was that she was adorned in angel garments and playing a lyre. She was illuminated by the moon and complemented by the stars. It reminded him of that night. The night that solidified everything. He stared at the statue more deeply. It weirdly suits her, a demon who behaves like an angel. It had no face carved onto it, and he wasn't sure it ever would.
'You act exactly the opposite of a demon, despite being one.'
‘You don't put up with my bullshit.'
‘And you're the reason I'm standing here in the middle of the night, surounded by art of you that won't stop talking to me.'
He won't say it. He can't.
He stared up at her as she stared back.
…
At least... not out loud.