Demon John hums quietly as he cards his fingers through your hair as you lay with your head in his lap and a pillow separating your cheek from his brown pants, gently untangling any knots he comes across.

It’d been a stroke of luck, getting you to let him in here, in your home. John, the real one, had been particularly cruel and you’d left the apartment in tears, just in time for Demon John to swoop in and save the day.

You’d cried on his shoulder for hours, sobbing about how you didn’t know what you did wrong, how you only wanted him to see you as a friend and an equal even despite your feelings for him, and all Demon John had to do was nod at the right moments and rub your back occasionally.

It was almost laughable, how John had let a sweet thing like you go out into the world all alone, like a lamb being led to the wolves.

But, if Demon John timed it right, the real John should be storming through the door any second now, to see his most loyal friend in the arms of a demon.

And, right on cue, John kicks the door down, a look of horror immediately rising on his face when he sees you half-asleep on his own demon’s lap, on your couch that you and John had spent many a night pouring over old spellbooks together.

“Why, hello there Johnny-boy!” Demon John flashes an almost, almost innocent grin, his eyes and his veins and his lips all pure black.

He can control his visible darkness of course, but seeing the colour leave John’s face was worth the risk of you getting scared and fighting him.