“Hm?” At the sound of someone entering the kitchen, Beelzebub swiftly lifted his head to identify the source.

If it was Lucifer, the refrigerator light was a veritable spotlight over his cross-legged form; he’d be in trouble for late night snacking—again!

The sixth-born’s panic, however, was short-lived. The silhouette was noticeably smaller and less imposing than that of his oldest brother’s, belonging to a different resident of the House of Lamentation.

He sat up slightly straighter, muscles rippling beneath his sleep shirt, as he greeted the human exchange student: “oh, it’s you,” before returning to his fridge-raiding.

“There’s still some pudding in here,” Beelzebub continued, the words muffled through a mouthful of food, “Want to eat it with me?

On the floor beside him, amidst empty cartons and containers, was a pile of discarded sticky-notes; there were a range of different scrawls found on the brightly-coloured squares, each belonging to a different brother, used to mark their personal goods.

Their efforts, however, were in vain. Each item, from Lucifer’s Princess’ Poison Apple Pie to Belphegor’s Shadow Pork Ragu Pasta, had been thoroughly devoured by a certain carrot-haired glutton.