I didn’t need time, and I knew what I wanted.
Dagon.
He was all I wanted. All that I needed.
However, I felt his determination pouring in waves around us. He wanted to give me time to make my decision. Sure, most would waver in the face of this question. Staying human, living my life as a human, or becoming a demon wasn’t a question I thought I would ever be asked.
Lucky for me, I was a bookworm.
And every bookworm placed themselves in the main character’s position and dreamed of what they would do. It wasn’t only me, right?
I knew what I wanted. Now, I needed to convince Dagon he was everything to me. Human or demon, hell, even an alien, it wouldn’t matter.
I love my demon, and there was nothing I wouldn’t do for him.
Chapter thirty-three
Dagon
In what universe did I imagine Diablos would take the news that he was my mate with excitement, as if I'd stolen the Moon and gifted it to him with a bow?
In a non-existent – that’s what.
And yet, here we were. I couldn’t be happier.
I was humming as I got out of the shower. When was the last time I smiled so much? When had I last been this happy? More importantly, when had I last lived without the constant ache of being apart from my mate?
It had been years.
But after everything, we were finally together.
Heart full, I padded downstairs, drawn by the smell of pancakes and coffee. I settled on the stool, watching Di movearound the kitchen. Just being near him made everything feel… right. Like I'd stepped into the life I was always meant to have.
Di lifted the pan, set it down. Did it again. Four times. Then gave me a sheepish smile and turned away, busying himself with wiping the counter.
Was I making him uncomfortable?
I got up, wrapped my arms around him from behind, and rested my head on his shoulder.
“Talk to me, sweetheart." I murmured near his ear. "Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“What? No. I just, it’s just-” He sighed, tossing the towel, then snatched it back up and did it again. Again. And again. Groaning, he walked away.
“Sweetheart…”
“When I’m nervous, the compulsions get worse. I do some things, okay, a lot of things four, six, times. Other times, I repeat them until it just… feels right.” He motioned to the towel. “Like that.”
"It's not about logic. My brain just screams that Ihaveto until it feels safe, or right. Even when I struggle to stop, sometimes I just can't."
I nodded, stepping closer. “I get it. I mean, no, I don't get it the way you do. But I’m grateful you shared this with me. And I’m sorry if my staring made you feel on edge. I wasn't watching you because of that. I was watching because I love looking at you.”
I tried to smile, but it wobbled. The ache in my chest wasn't about the compulsions, it was for the frustration, the anxiousness in his voice, and the way he looked at me like he was afraid I'd pull away or make fun of him.
“Be free around me, Di." I whispered. "And if there are days you'd rather not be free, if you'd rather do them alone, or hidethem, that's okay too. They're yours. You get to choose what part of them I see."
"I never want to be another cage trapping you into uncertainty, fear, or pretending. I don't want my love to feel like chains. Your OCD is part of how your brain works, and I love your brain. All of it. The part that worries. The part that counts. The part that needs the towel folded just right. There's no part of you I'm asking to leave at the door. I want you to feel safe with me. Safe to feel what you feel. Safe to not hide. Safe to let me stand beside you, no matter what."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. He stepped in and hugged me, tucking his head against my neck.
