Aidan swore that every time he looked at Damon, the demon seemed to have gained more muscle. It wasn't just his imagination—Damon was filling out, his once-lean frame now sculpted with undeniable strength. His skin, once ashen and sickly, had taken on a rich, healthy glow, his features sharper and undeniably more masculine. Aidan hated to admit it, but there was no trace of the gaunt, almost skeletal figure he had first encountered. For lack of a better word, he had initially thought Damon looked like a naked mole rat.
Not anymore.
His hair had become thick and lustrous, dark strands falling effortlessly into place. He never seemed to grow a beard or any other noticeable body hair, except for the small patch between his legs. Not that Aidan had been looking. But Damon did have the infuriating habit of lounging around in the nude until Mr. Albu forcibly pushed him to put something on.
Speaking of Mr. Albu, the old man had been the one meticulously trimming Damon's growing horns. Aidan had once asked why, only to receive a gruff explanation that they affected Damon's ability to think clearly, making him act on raw instinct rather than logic. Given how impulsive the demon already was, Aidan could only imagine how much worse it could get if they let his horns grow unchecked.
Still, there was another pressing matter—one Aidan couldn't ignore any longer.
"You should buy him some more clothes," he told Mr. Albu one evening, arms crossed as he leaned against the worn-out kitchen counter. "I've only seen him wear the same torn pajamas for the past few days."
He refrained from mentioning how Damon's nudity was wreaking havoc on his brain. How every time the demon walked by, his gaze was drawn, unwillingly, to the broad expanse of his chest, the cut of his waist, the effortless grace in the way he moved. It was maddening. Mr. Albu might have grown desensitized to it—treating Damon more like a strange creature rather than a man—but Aidan couldn't.
"He doesn't sweat like normal humans," Mr. Albu muttered dismissively, flipping through a book. "It's unnecessary, really."
"If not for hygiene, then at least for the sake of decency," Aidan insisted, exasperated.
Mr. Albu exhaled, stretching his legs and massaging his aching knee. "Cut the old man some slack. I can't exactly go shopping for him with these bad joints."
Aidan didn't blame him. He had seen firsthand how much Mr. Albu's health had declined over the past few months. The man could barely get up from his chair without groaning in pain.
"I can go shopping for him," Aidan offered. "I do have some experience in men's clothing."
Mr. Albu hummed, eyeing him critically. "I wouldn't say you're very good at it, but then again, your generation wears some questionable things."
Aidan narrowed his eyes. "You know, you could at least try to be subtle when you insult someone."
"I'm just telling you the truth. Here—" Mr. Albu pulled out his worn leather wallet and handed over his credit card. "Get him something practical."
Before Aidan could take it, a voice cut through their conversation.
"I want to go too."
Aidan turned to see Damon standing in the doorway, his bare feet soundless against the wooden floor. His golden eyes gleamed with mischief, and though his voice was casual, there was a hint of something more—eagerness, maybe even longing.
"There is no way—" Mr. Albu started.
"I haven't seen the outside world in so long," Damon interrupted, his expression shifting into something almost pitiful—like a kicked puppy. But Aidan wasn't fooled. The demon knew exactly what he was doing.
Mr. Albu, however, remained unmoved. "I can't allow that," he said firmly. "Aidan can't keep you in line. If you really want to see the outside world, I'll take you out myself sometime."
Aidan hesitated. He knew it was a bad idea—if things went wrong, the blame would fall squarely on him. But at the same time, something inside him was curious. How would Damon behave around others? Would he blend in, or would his otherworldly presence stand out like a beacon?
And then there was Damon himself, standing there, his eyes bright with excitement at the mere thought of stepping outside. How could Aidan deny him that?
"I think it will be fine. He has been nice all this time." Aidan hesitated. If things went wrong it would all be his faunt. But he felt curious to see him around other people. Moreover Damon looked so excited by the prospect of going out, how could Aidan not offer.
Mr. Albu arched a bushy eyebrow, his sharp gaze settling on Aidan with quiet amusement. "He's not a pet, Aidan."
Aidan's stomach lurched. "No, I didn't mean it like that," he blurted, heat creeping up his neck. The thought that Mr. Albu—and worse, Damon—might have taken his words the wrong way made his skin prickle with embarrassment.
Mr. Albu chuckled, the sound dry and knowing. "I know. Relax," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "You can take him out, but make sure he stays with you at all times. And the ring—don't lose it again." His voice turned stern at the mention of the ring, his gaze piercing.
Aidan nodded quickly, a little too eager. His heart thumped against his ribs, excitement bubbling in his chest despite himself. He turned toward Damon, only to find the demon still clad in the same tattered pajamas he had been wearing for days. The loose fabric barely hung onto his frame, the frayed hem brushing against his ankles, giving him an almost pitiful appearance.
"Do you have something better for him to wear?" Aidan asked, tearing his gaze away before his mind wandered into dangerous territory.
Mr. Albu scratched his chin, considering. "I'll have to check, but I doubt anything of mine will fit him well."
"It's fine if it doesn't fit him perfectly," Aidan said hurriedly. "Just give him something—anything—that covers his nakedness."
With a resigned sigh, Mr. Albu disappeared into the back room, returning moments later with an old, worn-out suit set that had clearly seen better days. The fabric was faded, the jacket slightly moth-eaten at the edges, and when Damon put it on, he looked less like a well-dressed man and more like someone who had just walked out of a decade-long exile in the woods. The sleeves stopped awkwardly above his wrists, and the trousers clung too tightly around his thighs while being too loose at the waist. It was a disaster.
Aidan ran a hand down his face. "You look... distinguished," he said, struggling not to laugh.
Damon grinned, entirely unbothered by his appearance. "I feel fancy," he declared, stretching his arms before following Aidan to the door, excitement radiating from him like a child about to visit a theme park.
Aidan tried not to stare as they stepped outside, but it was impossible. He had seen Damon nearly naked countless times—hell, the demon practically paraded around the house in nothing most of the time—but seeing him fully clothed, standing beneath the bright light of the morning sun, made something tighten in Aidan's chest. He looked... different. More striking, more real. Maybe it was the way the wind tousled his dark hair, or the way his golden eyes gleamed with barely restrained enthusiasm.
Whatever it was, Aidan knew one thing for certain—he was in trouble.
Aidan never saw the need to own a car. The city's public transportation was efficient, and he was used to navigating its winding streets with ease. But as he stepped onto the crowded bus with Damon, he suddenly wished—desperately—that he had a car.
Every single passenger turned to stare the moment Damon boarded. It wasn't because of his tail—Damon had dematerialized it before they left. Nor was it because of his horns, which were shaved down and hidden beneath his dark, tousled hair. No, the reason for their gawking was far simpler, yet far more dangerous.
Damon looked otherworldly.
His features were too perfectly balanced, too symmetrical, as if someone had taken the best aspects of every human race and sculpted a flawless hybrid. His complexion was a warm, deep olive—not quite Caucasian, not quite Middle Eastern, not quite anything that fit into a single identifiable category. His sharp cheekbones, strong jawline, and intense golden eyes gave him an ethereal beauty that was impossible to ignore. And then, of course, there was his sheer presence.
He was tall—absurdly so—towering over most of the people on the bus. But it wasn't just his height that drew attention. There was something magnetic about him, an unseen force that seemed to pull eyes toward him no matter how much Aidan wished it wouldn't. The stares weren't subtle either; some passengers whispered among themselves, others blatantly ogled, and a few even tried to snap pictures on their phones.
Aidan clenched his fists, an irrational urge rising in his chest—an urge to shield Damon, to pull him close and hide him from the scrutiny.
For someone who had spent most of his life in seclusion, Damon certainly didn't seem fazed by the attention. If anything, he looked amused, his lips quirking in a knowing smirk. Aidan, on the other hand, felt his nerves fray with every passing second.
This part of the city was known for its student population, with four major universities attracting people from all over the world. It wasn't uncommon to see foreign exchange students wandering around, speaking in different languages, wearing clothes from different cultures. Damon could easily pass as one of them—at least, that was what Aidan told himself to calm his nerves.
The bus ride felt both agonizingly long and unbearably short. By the time they reached downtown, Aidan was practically dragging Damon off the bus, exhaling sharply as they stepped onto the bustling sidewalk.
"I have never seen so many people together," Damon said, his voice filled with childlike wonder. His golden eyes darted from one person to the next, taking in the flashing billboards, the vibrant storefronts, and the sheer energy of the crowd with an almost unsettling level of fascination.
Aidan, on the other hand, felt like crawling into a hole. He had never been great in crowds—too many people, too much noise, too many unpredictable variables. He swallowed down his discomfort and focused on Damon instead.
"What about..." Aidan hesitated, suddenly aware that Damon's past might not be something he wanted to discuss. "What about your—uh—your home? The place you're from?"
Damon turned to him, a teasing glint in his eye. "The small town in the Himalayan mountains?" he asked, tilting his head. "That place barely had a population."
They wove their way through the bustling walkway, passing storefronts illuminated by neon signs and flickering advertisements. The scent of roasted chestnuts and freshly baked pastries mixed with the damp smell of rain on pavement, a scent Aidan had always found oddly comforting. But just as they reached the heart of the market, the sky darkened, thick clouds rolling in like an ominous curtain.
A deep rumble of thunder growled across the heavens.
Aidan looked up, frowning. Shit. He should have checked the weather forecast before dragging Damon out on a shopping trip.
"I should've brought an umbrella," he muttered under his breath, kicking himself for the oversight. Aidan hated getting wet.
A single fat raindrop splashed against his cheek. Then another. Within seconds, the sky opened up, and sheets of rain poured down with an intensity that caught even the most seasoned locals off guard. The wind howled between the narrow streets, sending loose flyers and bits of trash swirling through the air. The storm had turned the busy road into a chaotic mess, people scattering like startled birds, clutching their coats over their heads as they dashed toward any available shelter.
Aidan instinctively grabbed Damon's arm, steering him through the downpour. The demon was already drenched, his wet shirt clinging to his body, making his sculpted form even more defined. Aidan barely thought before reaching up—standing on his tiptoes—and placing a hand over Damon's head in a futile attempt to shield him from the rain. His palm barely covered anything, a ridiculous gesture given Damon's towering height, but Aidan didn't question it. It was instinct. Damon was new to this world, and Aidan wanted to protect him.
By the time they found a storefront with a small overhang, Aidan was completely soaked, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He shook the water from his arms and ran a hand through his dripping hair before turning to check on Damon.
But instead of shivering or looking annoyed by the sudden storm, Damon stood there, watching him with an expression Aidan couldn't quite read. Amusement? Annoyance? Curiosity? Whatever it was, it sent an odd flutter through Aidan's chest.
He forced himself to focus, his eyes flickering across the street where a bright Men's Fashion sign beckoned.
"There," Aidan said, motioning toward the store. "We're going to make a run for it."
Damon gave a single nod, unfazed. "Okay."
The rain hadn't slowed. If anything, it had gotten worse. As soon as they stepped off the curb, Aidan felt his foot slip against the slick pavement. His breath hitched as he lost his balance, bracing himself for impact—
But before he could hit the ground, Damon's arm shot out, catching him effortlessly.
Aidan's face heated. "I'm fine," he mumbled, quickly steadying himself. Embarrassment curled in his gut. I'm the one who's supposed to be looking after him, not the other way around.
Damon merely chuckled, a low, knowing sound, and shook his head as if he found the whole thing amusing.
The moment they stepped inside the store, warmth embraced them, along with the crisp scent of new fabric. Aidan was still catching his breath when he noticed the receptionist behind the counter.
Her mouth had fallen open.
She stared at Damon with wide eyes, her fingers frozen mid-typing on her register. It took her a full three seconds to blink and remember to breathe.
Yeah. Not surprising.
Damon wasn't exactly the kind of customer she was used to seeing. He was a freaking Incubus, sculpted to be irresistible. Even in damp, ill-fitting clothes, he radiated an effortless allure that turned heads without even trying. Aidan could only imagine the effect he had when he actually wanted to seduce someone. Damon's very existence was a temptation—a whispered invitation to break rules, abandon reason, and run away into the unknown.
Aidan swallowed.
The receptionist tugged a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks tinged pink as she quickly stepped out from behind the counter, smoothing down her blouse.
"H-how can I help you?" she stammered, her voice just a little too breathy.
Damon turned to Aidan expectantly, as if waiting for him to speak.
Aidan blinked. Oh. Right. That's my job. When was the last time someone had actually given him that kind of authority?
He cleared his throat. "Clothes. For him," he said, gesturing to Damon.
The receptionist nodded rapidly, her gaze flicking back to Damon as if she had to force herself to look away. "What kind of clothes are you looking for?"
"Something casual. Everyday wear. Something that fits him properly."
"Of course." She offered Damon an award-worthy smile. "Come this way."
Aidan followed as they were led to the casual wear section. The woman barely spared Aidan a glance, too preoccupied with the living Adonis in front of her.
"I have something perfect for you," she said, her voice dropping slightly, eyes scanning Damon like a predator sizing up its next meal.
She handed him a few items, her fingers accidentally brushing against his. Aidan saw her face flush deep red before she quickly scurried off to grab more options.
Aidan exhaled sharply. He wasn't sure why, but something about the exchange irked him. A prickle of irritation settled in his chest, mixed with something he wasn't entirely willing to name.
Jealousy?
No. That was stupid.
Except... he had never felt jealous before. Not even when his high school boyfriend had been an absolute manwhore, flirting with anything that breathed. But this—this was different.
He frowned, feeling an odd ache settle in his stomach.
Before he could think about it too much, his gaze flickered to Damon's wet hair, the damp strands sticking to his forehead. The base of his horns, though shaved, was barely visible now that his hair was plastered down. Aidan felt a surge of protectiveness rise within him.
Without thinking, he grabbed a baseball cap from a nearby shelf and stepped closer, reaching up to plop it onto Damon's head.
Damon blinked, momentarily startled by the sudden action, but didn't question it.
Aidan straightened, satisfied. Even though Damon was tall enough that most people wouldn't notice the faint ridges beneath his hair, Aidan wasn't willing to take any risks.
Damon's lips quirked in amusement. "Trying to hide me, Aidan?"
Aidan scoffed. "You're impossible to hide."
Damon chuckled, the sound deep and warm. "Then what are you so worried about?"
Aidan had no answer for that.
"Here are a few shirts and trousers. You can check them in the trial room," the woman said, handing Aidan a stack of clothes so heavy he almost dropped them. She flashed Damon a wide, dazzling smile before turning on her heel and leading them to the fitting rooms.
"Here, sir," she said, gesturing toward one of the doors.
"Okay, thank you," Damon replied smoothly.
That should have been her cue to leave, but instead, she lingered in the hallway, watching Damon with an unmistakable gleam of interest. Aidan sighed. Of course. Why was he even surprised? The woman barely tore her eyes away from him, waiting, as if hoping he'd need her help with something—anything.
Aidan cleared his throat. "We'll call if we need anything."
The woman's face fell, but she nodded and finally walked away, though Aidan could feel her presence just around the corner. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Damon.
"Try this one first." He grabbed a pair of faded denim jeans and a checkered shirt, tossing them over the top of the door. "Let's see if this actually fits you."
A moment later, the door creaked open, and Damon stepped out.
Aidan forgot how to breathe.
Dressed in the snug jeans that clung to his legs in all the right places and a slightly unbuttoned shirt that emphasized his broad chest, Damon looked like he had just stepped out of an Armani ad. The wet strands of his dark hair curled slightly at the ends, his skin still dewy from the rain. He exuded effortless charm, like a devil who had just sauntered into a mortal world, unaware—or perhaps entirely aware—of the chaos he could cause.
"How does this look?" Damon asked, glancing down at himself.
Aidan snapped his mouth shut. Did Damon seriously not realize what he did to people? The way he smiled at the receptionist earlier could have melted her into a puddle. And now, standing here looking like an actual deity, he was asking Aidan how he looked?
Like trouble. That's how he looked.
"I think we'll take this," Aidan said quickly, reaching for more clothes without even checking them. "And this too. And this. And that one."
There was no point making Damon try on anything else. He could walk out of this store wearing a potato sack and still stop traffic.
The receptionist returned, her face slightly pink, clutching the receipt. "That will be one thousand dollars."
Aidan's hand stalled as he reached for his wallet.
Damon, sensing his hesitation, leaned in, his lips brushing dangerously close to Aidan's ear. "He's rich, if you're worried," he whispered.
Aidan shivered at the warmth of his breath but quickly straightened. "I wasn't worried," he lied, shoving the credit card toward the woman.
The receptionist took her sweet time packing their things, all while sneaking shy glances at Damon, who returned each one with an easy, knowing smirk. Aidan's patience wore thin. He gritted his teeth. Was this what it was going to be like every time he took Damon out in public?
"Thank you," Aidan muttered once the bags were finally in his hands. Before the woman could strike up another round of awkward, flirtatious small talk, he grabbed Damon's wrist and pulled him toward the exit, straight into the rain.
"We could've waited inside," Damon said, tilting his head as raindrops ran down his cheekbones.
"No." The single word came out harsher than Aidan intended.
Damon arched a brow. "What's wrong?"
Aidan turned, eyes burning. "Why were you looking at her like that?" he demanded, rain soaking through his clothes.
Damon blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Looking at her like what?"
"You know what."
Damon sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. "She was practically radiating sexual energy. I couldn't help but consume it."
Aidan recoiled. "Seriously?"
"I can't help it, Aidan," Damon murmured.
Aidan scoffed. "Then maybe you should've stayed tied to that tree."
The words left his mouth before he could stop them. The moment he saw the hurt flash across Damon's face, regret slammed into him like a freight train.
Damon didn't say anything. He just looked away, his usual confident smirk gone.
They walked home in silence.
"How did it go?"
Mr. Albu barely glanced up from his book as Aidan and Damon entered the house, both drenched from head to toe. The old man was stretched across the sofa, holding what looked suspiciously like a witchcraft manual.
"It was boring," Damon announced with a careless shrug.
Aidan almost choked. Boring?! He got more action in two hours than Aidan had in his entire dating life!
Before Aidan could call him out, Damon reached for the hem of his shirt.
And pulled it off.
Aidan's brain short-circuited.
Damon peeled the wet fabric from his torso, muscles flexing with every effortless movement, before dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. Then, without hesitation, he unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them down with the same ease, leaving himself in nothing but his briefs.
Aidan's heart nearly exploded.
Mr. Albu groaned. "For God's sake, Demon! The boy is standing right here. Have some shame!"
Damon blinked, finally acknowledging his audience. "Oh." He looked at Aidan as if just realizing he was still in the room. "Sorry."
But instead of, you know, actually going somewhere to change, Damon merely turned around, presenting Aidan with a perfect view of his toned, bare back and—
Nope. This was too much.
"This is enough for today," Aidan muttered, spinning on his heels and storming out.
As he stepped outside, he could still hear Mr. Albu scolding Damon for his lack of decency. A small smile tugged at Aidan's lips.
He never could have imagined befriending someone like Damon a month ago.
Hell, he would have never imagined the existence of someone like Damon.
***
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