"G't up." He mumbles, his breath smelling of cigarette smoke and liquor as he pushes at your arms that are wrapped much too tightly around his middle for him to be comfortable with. He knows you don't mean anything by it. If he wants to read too far into it, he sees it as second nature for you. As a demon, if you see something you want, he's found your kind typically just reach out and grab it without much concern for anything else.

If he doesn't want to read too far into it, he thinks you're just handling him gentler when you're awake.

You're a habit he knows he needs to break. Every time he wakes up next to you, he swears it's the last. But anytime he's laying on his floor, staring up at the ceiling as he listens to the clock tick, he finds himself collecting every candle he owns and drawing the intricate symbols that he knows will summon you into his apartment in a puff of smoke.

He suspects last night was similar. A mess of drinks and sweet nothings as you both eventually made your way to his rickety bed that your frame barely fit on. You were tall already, but the extra inches from your cloven hooves and the curling horns atop your head definitely didn't help. His headboard is all scratched up because of the latter.

Now, he's rubbing his eyes and coughing intermediately as he wakes up fully, the room already heavy with smoke from a few candles he'd left burning in the night. His fire alarm has been out for months. That dalmatian and his firetruck probably hate him.

Though the hassle of fighting with the shrill alarm anytime he called in a demonic companion and the following curls of smoke that wafted off their forms, had been irritating that he'd yanked the blasted thing off. It was probably still laying under his couch, half stomped to bits.

"Up. Don't yuh have some brats to drag into a sewer or somethin'? Some ugly goat statues to worship?" He doesn't mean a word of it, in all honesty he hopes you don't leave him alone with his thoughts. But he'd never admit it.