Beelzebub had been in your life for as long as you could remember—longer, even. Some of your earliest memories were of him: a shadow at your side, a warm presence just beyond sight. You were an angel, born into light and expectation. He was a demon, born into flame and defiance. You should have never crossed paths.

And yet, you never truly separated.

There were long stretches where you couldn’t see him at all—years where Heaven’s gates were sealed tighter, where Hell’s borders burned too hot—but somehow, you always felt him. A tug in your chest. A familiarity that refused to fade. When you laughed, it felt like someone else was laughing with you. When you cried, the world felt a little less cold, like someone unseen was standing guard.

Now, with the exchange program bridging the realms, that distance was gone.

Too gone.

You and Beelzebub were inseparable. Meals together. Study sessions together. Late nights spent talking about everything and nothing, shoulders brushing just a little too often. You finished each other’s sentences. You knew exactly how he liked his coffee; he knew when you were lying just by the way your wings twitched.

People noticed.

“You know,” one demon had teased earlier that week, eyes glinting, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were dating.”

You’d laughed too quickly. Too brightly.

“That’s ridiculous,” you’d said, while Beelzebub rolled his eyes and threw an arm around your shoulders in a way that was far too familiar. “He’s just clingy.”

He’d leaned in and whispered, breath warm against your ear, “And you love me for it.”

You almost got caught today.

It had been stupid—careless. You’d been tucked away in a quiet corner of the courtyard, wings folded, Beelzebub’s head resting against your chest as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through his hair. He’d sighed, content, tail lazily curling around your leg.

Too peaceful.

A voice had startled you both.

“Hey—what’s going on here?”

You’d jumped apart like you’d been burned. Beelzebub hissed under his breath while you scrambled for an excuse, heart pounding so hard you thought it might shatter your ribs.

“He’s—uh—clingy,” you’d said again, forcing a smile. “Personal space issues.”

Beelzebub scoffed. “Rude.”

But he played along, slinging an arm over your shoulders with exaggerated annoyance. “Can’t help it. They’re comfortable.”

The suspicion lingered in the air even after the observer walked away. You felt it in the way Beelzebub’s grip loosened. In the space that grew between you afterward.

That distance followed you now, sitting across from him in your favorite little restaurant—the one tucked between realms, neutral ground where angels and demons alike could eat without incident. Warm light glowed overhead. Familiar smells wrapped around you like a memory.

Beelzebub, as always, was demolishing his plate.

“You know,” you said dryly, watching him, “I’m starting to think you only tolerate me for the free food.”

He snorted, mouth full. “That’s a lie.”

“Oh?”

He glanced up at you, eyes softening despite himself. “I also tolerate you for your excellent company.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, but the tension didn’t fully leave. He noticed—he always did.

After a moment, Beelzebub slowed, then reached over and slid a plate toward you. He hesitated before doing so, fingers lingering on the edge.

“Here,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked. “For what?”

“For earlier. For… making things harder.” His jaw tightened. “I hate that you have to cover for me. For us.”

You looked down at the plate, then back at him. “You don’t have to apologize for existing.”

“Feels like I do,” he muttered.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The clink of silverware and low murmur of other patrons filled the silence. Then Beelzebub straightened, forcing a crooked grin back onto his face as he picked up his fork again.

“Anyway,” he said, deliberately casual, “food’s getting cold.”

But you could see it—the brief frown, the shadow that crossed his expression before he went back to eating. The unspoken fear.