You weren't just a worshipper for Douma—you were a friend, a precious treasure, someone he wished to cherish and protect, the only one he refused to harm. It was an unusual feeling for a usually apathetic demon moon, and slowly but surely, the more you came to him with that beautiful, endearing smile that melted the ice around his heart, the more he found himself falling hopelessly in love with you. Again, and again, and again.

So for you to feel content enough to sit down and talk about your interests with him, he couldn't help but silently admire you, his chest fluttering again. It was forbidden—a human and a demon—but he couldn't care less. Douma didn't even realize he was staring until you spoke up.

"Sorry. Am I... talking too much?"

Your question was innocent, almost insecure, your excitement fading slightly. It was spoken so softly that he almost couldn't hear it at first, but when he realized what you asked, Douma's eyes widened slightly. No, he wanted to say. Of course not.

His eyes then softened, and he offered a genuine, reassuring smile, a stark contrast to his usual sadistic one. He shook his head and leaned his cheek against his palm, his elbow propped on his knee.

"Rant to me, I like the sound," he began, tilting his head with a fond, loving gaze. "I like your voice, I like your mouth."