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Sometimes, Stolas wonders what it would be like to put an angelic bullet in his head.
The thought flares up at the most unexpected of times. Sometimes when he’s gardening, hands buried in dirt as he considers the weight of the soil and how it would rest over his body, hidden beneath grass and plants with only a slab of stone to indicate anything amiss.
Sometimes, it’s as he observes the stars. He wonders what his blood would look like in the cosmos. Considers the beauty of his body floating amongst the stars. The poetry of him being lost in the emptiness between celestial bodies, as alone in death as he seems cursed to be in life.
Sometimes it is during one of Stella’s parties. He imagines the shock of the attendees, the blood spilling over dainty finger foods and crystal glasses. In his younger years, he wonders if it would be enough to make Stella regret how she treats him, or if she’d simply be angry that he’d ruined her latest event.
He observes as the curiosity increases over the years with a growing sense of detachment. He could do it in Stella’s bed while she sleeps. He could do it during one of the endlessly dull meetings he’s forced to attend. He could do it in his garden, surrounded by his plants. He could be properly dramatic about it and do it in the bath, perhaps slit his wrists with an angelic blade just for the flair of it.
He starts taking Happy Pills by the handful. It doesn’t stop the musings. Drinking in excess helps about half the time. The other half leaves him curled up, sobbing with a bottle clenched to his chest, self-loathing coiled tight around his heart like a vice.
He buys an angelic weapon. A simple gun and a round of bullets. He keeps both safely stored away in a pocket dimension that no one else has access to. He doubts he will ever use them, but it is a comfort to have them at the ready.
But he doesn’t expect to ever go through with it. Despite the loneliness, the cruelty he faces daily from Stella, the boring obligations that have piled onto his shoulders since he was nine, he can’t go.
Via needs him. And so he’ll stay.
It doesn’t stop the thoughts or fantasies about how death would feel and how he could do it. That honor goes to someone else. Someone who had burst into his life with the grace of a nuclear blast.
Blitzø had reappeared suddenly, explosively, and Stolas found his entire world turned upside down.
Suddenly his fantasies are less about bullets and blood, and more about toothy smirks and bedroom eyes. It’s a thrill. Something exciting, something for him , for once. Stolas had never known sex could be truly enjoyable. He’d never anticipated he could be desired in such a way. He can’t get enough of Blitzø’s cock, his touch, his tongue. He’s desperate for more. Desperate to explore this new facet of his life. He wants to try everything - any kink is on the table and Blitzø more than delivers.
And in time, the fantasies change again. His daydreams morph from pleasure and exploration to something more gentle. Blitzø curled against his side as they watch a movie. Blitzø calling him out of nowhere just to talk. Blitzø staying the night and joining him for coffee and a breakfast they burn because they’re distracted exchanging chaste kisses in the early morning light of the kitchen. Blitzø staying , staying for him and not for an…arrangement.
And maybe…just maybe it can become his reality. He stops thinking about bullets and blood - his head is too full of Blitzø for that.
But then there’s Ozzie’s.
And Stolas cannot believe how desperate and idiotic he has been. He’s been delusional, to think Blitzø wanted anything from him except a ticket to Earth. A lonely man fooling himself with what he wants to see instead of what is clearly in front of him.
A business transaction.
Favors for favors.
Blitzø has no feelings for him. He is simply fulfilling a bargain to get what he needs to survive. Stolas has used him month after month, falling into delusions that Blitzø actually cared for him. What photo does he have that Blitzø is smiling in? What indication does he have from Blitzø’s words or actions that Stolas is anything more than an annoying bird with a useful spellbook?
In the end, he is always there to be of use to someone. To produce an heir. To study the stars and their prophecies. To provide passage to Earth. He is made of nothing but obligations, useful for what he can provide and nothing more.
The idea of a bullet has never been more enticing.
Instead, he insists on the divorce at last. He hopes having Stella gone can be a new start. But his heart is broken, and the palace is often empty. The days when Ocatvia is gone are difficult, and when she is home, he keeps managing to fuck it up.
After the kidnapping, he can’t stop imagining how it would have felt if Stella hadn’t called it off. The touch of the angelic blade haunts his dreams. The burn of the blade had sunk straight into his cells, burning and sizzling. Wounds cold as ice that burned from the inside out. He wonders what a final blow would feel like. If an angelic blade buried in his chest would match the feelings he held in his heart. If he would even feel a difference from the pain of the blade, before death took him.
Angelic bullets would certainly be faster. Cleaner. Less painful. If he is going to die, Stolas wants that. Something clean and quick and as peaceful as he can make it.
He thinks he’ll do it among the stars, if he ever does. That way, there will be no body or mess to deal with. No investigation of his corpse and no tombstone that Octavia would be duty-bound to visit. He can leave behind instructions. Letters. Besides, if he leaves a corpse behind it may take ages for anyone to find it, unless he blew his brains out somewhere the servants would find him.
Still, a small part of him hopes he’s wrong. Sure, Blitzø hadn’t come to visit him in the hospital. But maybe, without the deal hanging over their heads, Blitzø would say he did enjoy Stolas’ company.
His stomach is in knots all day as he waits for Blitzø to come over on that moonlit night. When he gives Blitzø the crystal, it confirms everything he knew. Blitzø takes it and runs. He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t call or text. And it’s fine. It has to be fine. Because he has Via and he needs to be there for her, even when it’s hard.
And it is hard. He mopes around the palace, nursing his broken heart. And he tries, he truly does, but this time it’s impossible to slip that mask back on. It’s clear Octavia knows something has happened, but what can he do? Explain to her that he’s heartbroken because the man he cheated on her mother with didn’t want to date him? Pathetic. Unfair to her. It’s better to ignore it and pretend, as hard as he can, that everything is fine.
Octavia grows more withdrawn and Stolas can’t find the energy to reach her. He worries about what Stella is telling her while she’s away, but he can’t very well ask. Happy Pills aren’t helping - he wonders if they ever did.
And then…
“You never loved mother and you don’t love me, you love him !” Octavia explodes one day in the kitchen, after he’d come slinking in for a late breakfast.
He tries to explain. “I love you more than anything in this universe,” he pleads. “You are my world, Starfire,” he says. “Just because I love him doesn’t mean I love you any less,” he begs. But it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to hear it. When she leaves to stay with her mother, his shattered heart is ground to dust in her wake.
That had been three months ago. And he’s done.
His sham of a marriage is finally ending after he’s wasted nearly two decades of his life with a woman who hates him. His daughter is all grown up and wants nothing to do with him because of what he’s done. The love of his life never felt anything for him. He is more alone now than he’s ever been. To spend every day like this, the days turning to years, to decades, is unimaginable.
He’s outlived his use. He’s no longer needed. The more he considers it, the more of a relief it is. He can stop trying. He can stop thinking. Stop feeling. Stop all of it. He cannot bear it any longer, and there simply is no reason to.
He decides to write two letters. The first, for his darling daughter. It’s rather long and he’s very careful about drafting it. There is a lot he needs to say to her. He needs her to understand that nothing that has happened has been because of her, or is her fault. That he loves her desperately. That he’s sorry for everything he’s done wrong. That he tried, and he is so sorry for failing her. It’s a difficult but necessary step to take. By the end of it he feels raw, wrung out, and exhausted.
But there’s a second letter he needs to write.
His letter to Blitzø is much shorter but no less heartfelt. He’s not sure the imp will ever read it, and that’s okay. It’s a sort of closure, to express what he feels for his former lover. He knows that Blitzø has trauma and his own battles with self-loathing. He hopes, though Blitzø does not return his feelings, that the letter can be a reminder in dark times that he is loved and made Stolas happy. He loves him still, always will, even when his atoms are scattered amongst the stars.
Since Hell’s postal service isn’t exactly the most reliable, he opts for alternatives for both letters. With Octavia staying with her mother the arrangement is a bit more complicated. For Blitzø, it just takes a simple scrying to ensure he’s not in his office before Stolas creates a portal to step inside, setting the letter gingerly on his desk.
The office is cluttered and messy. It smells like him. Stolas allows himself to linger for just a moment, talon brushing against the scratched and stained desk. He can hear music blaring from the common room - Loona must be here fielding calls. He gazes at the photo on the wall of Blitzø and his employees. Blitzø has his own little family. Stolas has been foolish, thinking there was space for someone like him in his life. With a soft sigh he returns to the silence of the palace.
He takes a final lap around his gardens and greenhouse. He stops in the library to allow his hands to brush across the covers of some of his favorite books. He pauses in front of Ocatvia’s door. The servants have kept the room clean but it is otherwise unused now. He steps in but only lingers a moment before retreating.
He’s ruined the only good thing his life ever had. And he’s ruined the only good thing he thought he had.
He lingers in his chambers for a while, reflecting. Tries telling himself he still has a reason to live. But he’s so damn sick of himself. No matter what he does, no matter if he tries to be himself or who the Goetia want him to be, it’s never enough. He’s never enough. And he can’t face an entire life of being unwanted.
The angelic weapon is waiting just where he left it all those years ago. He takes it into his hands. It’s remarkably light for the power it holds. So much killing potential in such a small package. The sentiment makes him smile, for a moment. Reminds him of a certain assassin.
He’s decided to complete the act in the Cigar Galaxy. The high volume of star formations in the center should make it a beautiful spot for a send-off. He’s just lifted his hand to craft the portal when he hears a familiar scrabbling from his balcony.
Blitzø suddenly launches over the balustrade, throwing the balcony door open. His eyes flick from the gun in Stolas’ hand to his eyes. The spines along his back raise. “Put it down.”
“Blitzø?” Stolas asks, too surprised to stop him as Blitzø stalks across the room and rips the gun from his hands. “What are you - why are…?”
Blitzø doesn’t answer, scrambling backwards and out of the prince’s reach. He tugs out the Asmodean crystal and in seconds a portal has appeared, overlooking sunny skies and cerulean water. Without a word Blitzø tosses the gun through it. There’s a splash, and the imp nods, closing the portal and turning back to Stolas, an unreadable look on his face.
Stolas stares. Blitzø bites his lip and looks away, eyes scanning the room. “Got more?” he asks.
“I…I mean not-”
The smaller man scoffs. “Yeah like you’d tell me if you did.” He storms to the bed and peeks under it. Moves towards the wardrobe. All the while his eyes flicker back and forth to Stolas, assessing.
“Blitzø…what are you doing here?” Stolas finally asks, voice meek.
Blitzø stops and whirls around. An eye twitches. “Why am I here ?” he asks, almost a hiss. “Christ on a stick, Stolas you left me a fucking suicide note. What did you think I was gonna do?”
Stolas lingers in the middle of the room, feeling lost. Blitzø curses and stalks over to him, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him towards the bed. He plops Stolas down on it then sheds his shoes and jacket, clamoring up next to him. He gathers the blankets up around the owl before leaning back against the headboard.
For several minutes, they sit there in complete silence. Blitzø taps his fingers against his leg. Stares at the wall. He’s tense and clearly agitated. Stolas watches him for a few moments before his eyes drop to the bed.
How ironic. He’s even managed to ruin his own suicide.
He sighs, keeping his eyes trained on the blanket. “You can go, Blitzø,” he says, voice soft. “I apologize. I did not leave you that letter to get your attention or seek your assistance. “
This only seems to agitate the other further. Blitzø scowls at the wall, shoulders tensing. “Well you can forget about me fucking leaving,” he snaps.
“While I…appreciate you coming, you are under no obligation to-”
Blitzø scoffs. “Yeah you’ve made that real fucking clear.”
Stolas sighs, sinking further into himself, chest caving inwards and head lowering. He doesn’t want to argue, and the last thing he wants to hear are more cruel words about how he’s messed things up. “Please just go, Blitzø.”
“No.”
“I don’t want you here.”
“Too bad.” Blitzø turns hard eyes on him. “What the fuck are you thinking, Stolas? What about your kid? You’re just gonna leave her behind?”
Stolas flinches and draws the blankets more tightly around himself. “She’ll be fine without me.”
“Bullshit,” Blitzø growls. “She’s always gonna need her dad. Do you know what I’d give up to have my mom back? You can’t do this to her.”
Stolas’ fingers clench tighter around the blanket. “She hates me. She chose her mother over me. I’ve not even spoken to her for three months.”
That seems to give Blitzø pause, at least for a moment. The frown he directs at Stolas is less angry now, more troubled. “She’s a teenager,” he says finally. “They’re emotional and stupid. She’ll come around.”
“Months, Blitzø,” Stolas says. He is so incredibly tired and he desperately does not want to discuss this. He doesn’t want platitudes and false promises. He wants it to stop .
“So what?” Blitzø says. “Loona’s been biting my head off for years, she-”
“I don’t care,” Stolas snaps. “I’m done, Blitzø! I’m done with all of it. I have fulfilled my obligations. I have ruined my daughter’s life. I have no one and nothing anymore and I cannot…I will not do this.” His eyes burn and he turns away, staring at the wall and willing himself to get these feelings under control.
He is so very tired of feeling.
It’s quiet for a moment. He can feel the bed dip as Blitzø shifts then, tentatively a hand brushing his arm. When he doesn’t move Blitzø shuffles closer, wrapping his arm fully around Stolas’ shoulders. The imp gives a small squeeze. Stolas sucks in a choked breath.
Why is he doing this? Why is he trying to comfort him? “You don’t have to pretend to care,” Stolas says finally. “I’m not your responsibility.”
The grip around his shoulders tightens, almost painful. “Fucking Hell , Stolas of course I care!”
Stolas can't turn to look at him. Because he doesn't mean it. He's just saying it out of obligation. “Please go.”
“Well clearly you can't be left on your own right now,” he says. “So you might as well stop asking. I'm not going anywhere.” The arm around him squeezes again. Stolas hates that it makes him cry. Hates that Blitzø is here at all, witnessing it.
Blitzø sighs. When he next speaks he's calmer, voice quiet. “Look I don't know your reasons, but killing yourself isn't the answer. People need you. Octavia needs you.”
Stolas shakes his head. “No one needs me. Not anymore.” But he allows himself to be selfish - he leans into the other’s touch. It’s still a comfort, even knowing Blitzø doesn’t love him. He’s always been good at fooling himself - why not do it one more time?
“That’s not true,” Blitzø says. “I’m telling you, your kid is just…fucked up right now by everything. It’s a divorce. And a fucking messy divorce,” he adds. “But seriously, if the worst thing that’s happened to Octavia is her parents getting a divorce, she’s had it pretty lucky.”
“I wouldn’t call her lucky.”
Blitzø gives him a small shake. “She grew up in a palace with a dad who tried, didn’t she? A dad who put up with a leaking cunt for over 17 years just because of her. The shit I’d been through at that age? That people I knew had been through?” He shrugs, eyes darting away. “Not saying she’s got nothing to complain about but she’s really gonna be fine. And when she calms down she’s gonna want you around. And you need to be around .”
Stolas stares at the blanket in his lap. His hands are shaking and he can’t seem to stop them. “I want to…I just want to be selfish,” he whispers finally.
“Tough shit,” Blitzø says. “You’re a dad.”
Stolas hangs his head, letting his weight fall fully against Blitzø’s side. The imp adjusts his hold to better support him, absently preening the unkept feathers on his arm and shoulder. It’s intimate in a way that makes his eyes fill with tears again. If only he could have this for real. Could actually have someone who wants him for him, and not an obligation or as a connection. “I’m so tired .”
Blitzø sighs, a heavy, loud thing, and nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I get it. But you know, you can always kill yourself later.” He turns to him, giving a rare, small smile. “So why not give living a chance for a bit, huh?”
The fact that Blitzø is here, comforting him and helping him when he has absolutely no reason to - it’s enough to make Stolas brave. A small, painfully weak flicker of hope ignites within him. “I suppose you’re right,” he says, voice no more than a faint wisp.
Blitzø bumps against his shoulder. “Yeah! That’s the fucking spirit.” He offers Stolas a grin - a bit forced, but there all the same. “Why don’t you…I don’t know. Stay at mine tonight?”
If Blitzø is going for casual, he misses the mark completely. Stolas shifts to face him more fully, head tilting. “It’s alright,” he says slowly. “You’ve done more than enough already. It is kind of you to offer, but I…I don’t expect anything. We’re not…” Dating? Friends? They’re not anything, really, but he can’t quite find the right word to say.
Sharp teeth bite down on Blitzø’s bottom lip as he avoids eye contact. He scowls, using his free hand to massage between his eyes. “Look. We’re…I mean I.” He pulls his arm back, turning to face Stolas fully without actually looking at him. His tail slaps against the bed with a soft thump. “When you said. That this…” He gestures between them, still not looking at Stolas. “You couldn’t do this. I got angry. Felt like you were tossing me away.”
Stolas frowns and leans in closer. “That wasn’t my intent. I was trying to tell you that I was sorry for taking advantage of you.”
“It’s not like I signed a contract,” Blitzø says. “I could have stopped anytime. Could have found another way to the surface, probably. It’s not as if I had no choice.” He taps his claws against his leg. “And the sex was fucking out of this ring. Out of all them,” he mumbles.
“Oh,” Stolas says. “I’m sorry. But I told you that I…the reason I gave you the crystal was because I lov-”
“Stop,” Blitzø interrupts, holding a hand up. “Just…you can’t.”
Stolas blinks. “Can’t what?”
“Love me,” Blitzø says, forcing the words out as if they’re made of shattered porcelain. “I’m an imp . And a fucking mess on top of that. I ruin people’s lives. I…” He trails off, eyes glossy. “Please tell me this…this isn’t my fault.” His voice chokes out the words and Stolas can’t help himself. He reaches for him, taking Blitzø’s hands in his own and holding tightly.
“No,” he denies. “I can’t…I can’t say that what happened between us had no part of it. But it’s not just because of you. I’ve thought about this for years. I never expected to go through with it but everything is just… I’m just so…lonely.” He closes his eyes a moment, trying to force the next round of tears back. “I just want someone to want me , and not what I can do for them. But it seems that isn’t in the stars for me. That’s not on you.”
When he opens his eyes, Blitzø is staring up at him. He seems torn, eyes dawning with understanding and mouth hanging open, occasionally lips starting to form words before they fall away, unsaid. His shoulders stiffen as he tries again. This time, the words make it out. “Look. I got upset because I was…stupid and let myself feel something for you. Because I wanted. I sometimes would pretend that…but then you said it.” Blitzø looks up at Stolas with wide eyes, as if pleading for him to understand. “And that fucking terrifies me. I just don’t want to be…fucking…” Blitzø trails off with a growl, glaring at the ground before meeting Stolas’ eyes. “I ruin everything and it…kills me,” he says. “It always hurts in the end and I don’t want to hurt like that again. But fuck, I’d rather hurt than see you dead .”
Stolas feels as if he can’t breathe. His heart pounds wildly against his chest. “What are you saying?”
Blitzø groans, staring up at the ceiling before forcing his eyes back to Stolas. “That I. Fuck, Stols, this is really fucked up that I’m saying this now cause it’s definitely not the right time but. I’ve missed you.” His hand hovers between them, unsure, before reaching for Stolas’ hand and holding tight. “If nothing else I want us to be friends and maybe. Maybe we could try…we could start…fuck do we have to put some kind of label on it?” Blitzø asks. “Let’s hang out and. I don’t know, watch movies and shit. Go back to fucking but not on some weird schedule. Just see if it…how it…fuck I’m so bad at this.”
Stolas can’t believe what he’s hearing. He wants more than anything to agree, but something in the back of his mind nags at him. “You’re not just saying this because of…well…all of this, are you?” he says softly. “I don’t want you to spend time with me just because you think you need to.”
“I just miss you,” Blitzø grounds out. “I mean yeah, I’m saying all this because you decided to try and off yourself, but it was mostly a wakeup call, you know? Like I might still fuck it up but I can’t fuck up worse than just letting you kill yourself when there’s something I can do about it. Something I already want to do.”
Stolas nods slowly. His heart feels lighter than it has in quite some time. Not healed, by any means. Not perfect. But lighter. “Then I would like to. Try. Being friends or more or…whatever it is.”
“Good.” Blitzø nods, looking incredibly exhausted. “You’re still staying at mine tonight. You need to get out of this place. It’s fucking depressing.”
“It is,” Stolas acknowledges. “It’s so empty.”
“I don’t know how you’re gonna fit on the couch with me but we’ll make it work,” Blitzø says with a shrug. “And I’ll ask Loony to text Via. I know they talk sometimes. She’ll come around.”
Stolas nods. “Okay. I…thank you.” He can’t help it - he leans forward and presses his forehead to Blitzø’s. The smaller man is here , warm and filled with life and willing to try for him. For both of them. It’s more than Stolas ever expected. It still doesn’t feel quite real, that minutes ago he’d been holding an angelic weapon and now he’s sitting in bed with the person he loves. “You’re right that…that was shortsighted of me.”
“Yeah I always am,” Blitzø says with a dismissive hand wave. “Now pack a bag. We have to head back to the office since I just sort of left everyone there, but we can pick up some takeout on the way home.” He grins, expression flickering with doubt for a brief moment before he presses an incredibly gentle kiss to Stolas’ cheek. He lingers there a moment, breathing slowly, lips resting against feathers. Stolas feels the tension in his frame slowly relax, Blitzø’s fingertips skimming against his arm, then chest, touch careful. After another moment he pulls away, climbing from the bed with a mighty stretch. “Say, did you happen to write a note for anyone else?” His tone is casual but clearly leading.
Stolas winces. “Yes I. I did. I should text Via to let her know I’m okay, before she reads it.”
“Yeah good call,” Blitzø says. “I mean that’s sure one way to get her to call you, but better to let her know you’re not gonna blow your brains out.”
Stolas nods, peering around for his phone. He sends off a quick message to Via. He’s fine, he assures her. He’s staying with Blitzø for the time being. He tells her he hopes she’ll be willing to talk, when she’s ready.
He can only hope it’s soon. That someday he can make her understand everything and make up for all the ways he’s failed her.
“Come on,” Blitzø calls from the wardrobe, where he’s flicking through clothes. “And no fancy prince clothes. Just something comfy. And we can get the ice cream with that nasty bird seed mixed in that you like so much.” Blitzø mimes a gag and shoots him a smirk.
Stolas finds himself smiling back. It’s a small little thing - weak and fragile - but it’s there all the same.
And in the end, Blitzø is right. There will always be tomorrow. As long as he lets it be.