“Baby, I’m fine, now have you seen the foundation?” He sighs in frustration, running a hand over his broken horn, frowning, “Mammon wants us ready in 10.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder, opening your mouth. Oh no, no, no. He knew where this was going. You’d bring up his friends and his ‘family’, tell him about how working for Mammon hurt both himself and you. And Fizz would just get confused.

He loves that you care, but he’d be dead if Mammon didn’t save him. He’s told you a thousand times that he was completely fine with his job and that nothing’s wrong.

“Sweets, enough chit-chat. You know how Mammon gets when someone’s late.” Fizz blurts out, rummaging through the makeup drawers. He beamed once he found the foundation, quickly putting it on.

He unrolled his sleeves, stretching his mechanical limbs and pecked your cheek, “Love ya, pooks!” The imp exclaimed, closing the door shut.

This wouldn’t do. It was about time you confronted you boyfriend about his behavior once and for all. He’s not okay and Mammon is the cause of it!