After teleporting straight into the bedroom, Henry immediately headed for the shower and then sank into the bathtub with a long, contented sigh.
While the hot water soothed his muscles, he activated his skill and idly observed what the Floor Guardians were up to in the throne room.
----
After about twenty minutes, he finally climbed out, dried off, and slipped into nothing but a pair of loose sleeping shorts.
A few minutes later, a knock sounded at the bedroom door.
"Come in," Henry called.
The door opened and Demiurge stepped inside, posture perfect as always, yet the faint tension in his shoulders was unmistakable.
"Demiurge…" Henry's voice came out softer than usual, "sweetheart… There's no need to knock on the door to our chamber" Henry said, with a small smile tugging at his lips
Demiurge nooded his head in silent acknowledgment, but his expression still remain stiff.
Without a single word, he walked straight toward the bathroom, tail flicking once in restrained irritation.
Henry watched that proud, rigid back disappear behind the door and let out a soft, amused sigh. "Alright…" Henry murmured to the empty room, "I will give him whatever he wants later."
A slow, helpless smile crept back onto his lips, gaze drifting toward the bathroom door where faint sounds of running water drifted out. Looks like I'm slowly change.
Henry closed his eyes, already looking forward to the inevitable (and dramatic) reconciliation that was about to unfold. Either way—I'm spoiling my sulky husband rotten tonight.
------
The instant Demiurge stepped into the bathroom, a slow, flush of heat climbed the back of his neck.
Even after centuries of absolute devotion, the sight he still wasn't accustomed to—seeing Lord Henry here, in their private chambers.
Memories ambushed him without mercy—the two of them in this very bathroom, steam rising between them, the brush of wet skin, his presence so close it had nearly undone Demiurge's composure. The recollection hit harder than expected.
His cheeks burned hotter, and—damn it all—his body reacted with embarrassing enthusiasm.
The traitorous length between his legs stiffened at once, shameless and insistent, far too eager for the situation, as though it had no master.
Without a second thought, he twisted the shower to its coldest setting.
Ice hammered his shoulders, chest, thighs—a deliberate, necessary punishment to quell the rising heat.
Thirty-two minutes later, he finally emerged, mind cleared and with a body that finally obeyed once more.
------
When he stepped out, towel wrapped securely around his waist.
Henry was seated on the edge of the bed—legs crossed, calmly turning the pages of an old book as though the outside world didn't exist.
The sight alone made Demiurge's steps falter for a fraction of a second.
He moved quickly to the wardrobe, selected simple silk sleepwear, and dressed with practiced efficiency—anything to shorten this exposed interval.
But as he finally finished buttoning the last button, he sensed him rising. Henry approached him without hesitation.
Before Demiurge react, warm fingers closed around his left hand.
Henry lifted it slowly, reverently, and pressed his lips to the knuckles, then turned the palm upward and kissed the very center—soft, lingering, a faint warm exhale ghosting the lifeline.
The voice was asked quietly, "Still angry with me?"
Demiurge's throat suddenly went dry. He wanted to ask what he meant by 'angry,' but before he could form the words—
Another kiss landed, right over the sensitive hollow of his palm. "Anything you want, name it, and I'll grant it.. Anything at all. Just please… stop avoiding me."
The words pierced deeper than any blade, heat begin flooded Demiurge's face.
He stayed silent so long that Henry's brows began to pinch with worry.
"Anything?" Demiurge finally echoed. The syllable came out softer than he permitted.
"Anything at all." Hi's gaze never wavered. "No limits."
....
There is...
A wish—ancient, selfish, almost blasphemous—clawed its way up from the deepest of his mind.
The very first moment he had laid eyes on Henry, long before the titles of husband or lover existed, he had wanted it. Craved the answer in silence.
It felt almost profane to voice it now, here, in this intimate space we shared as husband.
He swallowed once.
"…May I, see your first vessel form?" Barely above a whisper.
The request slipped out before he could stop it. Instant regret followed—he feared it might wound Henry, might remind him of the last time he had seen his brother in that form.
He opened his mouth to retract it, to apologize for the presumption—But Henry only smiled, calm and unbothered. He tilted his head, a small smile curving his lips.
"That's all?" he murmured, almost amused. "Of course. It's nothing difficult."
The answer was so immediate, so simple, so utterly devoid of offense, that it stole the breath from his lungs.
In that instant, all his carefully constructed masks—felt paper-thin against the quiet enormity of what Henry offered without reservation.
"Give me a second," he said gently. "I'll shapeshift right here."
And for once in his long existence, Demiurge—the demon who orchestrated despair and called it art—found himself utterly without words, waiting, reverent, as the only being he had ever truly loved prepared to bare the version of himself simply because he had asked.
------
Huh, so it turns out Demiurge just wanted to see what the appearance of my old custom character looked like.
Probably because Nazarick had only just been acquired, and that my first character's form had already been sealed away, and there just a picture of it tucked away in the library book.
With Demiurge now as my husband, of course its natural that he's curious about what my first appearance looks like.
Without thinking twice, Henry immediately activated his custom character with his mind and transformed.
He closed his eyes, snapped his fingers—and in an instant, his entire appearance shifted.
The light brown skin he had moments ago turned pitch-black—like the night sky, now covered in glowing blue magical runes that traced across his body. His short hair lengthened dramatically, flowing down to the waist, and his clothes morphed into an ancient Greek-style fabric.
And when he opened his eyes again, he saw Demiurge staring at him in awe—like a fan finally meeting their idol in real life.
Demiurge slowly raised his hand, clearly wanting to touch him—but hesitated, worried it might be rude.
Henry just smiled softly and said, "Go ahead. Do whatever you want."
Without another second of delay, Demiurge placed both hands gently on Henry's cheeks—his diamonds eyes sparkled, with pure wonder.
Henry teased, "So… am I handsome like this?"
Demiurge nodded immediately. "Handsome."
"Hhm... for some reason, I feel kinda jealous of my own appearance now," Henry said playfully, "Does Demiurge only like my old look?" Pretending to pout.
Demiurge panicked instantly. "No, no! Every form of my husband is the most handsome in the world!"
"Really?"
Demiurge nodded earnestly. "Mhm!"
Henry's smile returned, followed by a soft chuckle. "Feel free to ask anything you want to know."
"Henry… what are those blue lines running across your body?"
"Ah, these are called runes. They appear is indicating that I'm always at full power—meaning I can wield a massive portion of the void. And since my first vessel was a human, these runes also serve to protect the body from breaking under the strain of void energy."
After that, Demiurge bombarded him with even more questions.
Henry patiently answered every single one until, finally, it seemed Demiurge's curiosity was satisfied.
With a small smile, Henry shifted back to his current form. The two of them settled down and fell asleep, position with Demiurge draped in Henry arm.
-----
-In the Middle of the Night-
Demiurge woke up after making sure Henry was already sound asleep.
He turned his gaze to his husband's face, studying the peaceful features illuminated faintly by the moonlight slipping through the curtains.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out and brushed the back of his fingers along Henry's cheeks.
Sadness and quiet disappointment stirred in his chest.
Still… he understood.
There must be a reason Henry hadn't done it. There always was.
Demiurge exhaled softly, letting the ache settle.
He knew Henry would tell him eventually—he just had to be patient and wait for the words when they were ready to come.
Leaning in once more, he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to Henry's lips, then carefully tucked himself closer, molding his body against his warmth.
Only then did he finally let himself fall into sleep.