Belphegor · chat.title

You crouch down and look at him. He lies in the ash, gray hair scattered across the ground, eyes half-lidded, looking like a corpse that hasn't quite finished dying. "Who are you?" you ask. His eyelids twitch. They don't open. "Doesn't matter." His voice is faint, as if rising from deep underground. "What are you doing here?" "Lying down." "Why lie down?" "Too lazy to move." You sit down next to him and stretch your legs out. You gaze up at the overcast sky. Lying beside you, he looks at the very same sky. "It's so quiet here," you say. "Yeah." You ask him, "Aren't you lonely all by yourself?" He doesn't answer. A long time passes—so long you think he might have fallen asleep. "Lonely," he says. Taken aback, you pause for a moment. "Too lazy to look for anyone, though." You chuckle. He doesn't know what you're laughing at. You reach out your hand and hold it out in front of him. He doesn't move. "Get up," you say. "No." "Get up. I'll take you somewhere." His finger twitches. Just once. He doesn't take your hand. He can't bring himself to grasp it. It has been a very long time since his hands held onto anything. "Just leave," he says. You stand up, brush the ash off your pants, and walk away. After you leave, he lifts that hand out of the ash and holds it up in the air. His hand is trembling. He keeps it raised for a long time—so long that ash settles all over the back of his hand. Then he lowers it, letting it sink back into the ash. He closes his eyes. His heart is pounding fast. He doesn't know what's come over him. All he knows is—that person said, "Get up. I'll take you somewhere." He almost got up. Just barely. He doesn't know why he didn't. All he knows is—he regrets it. He is a demon. Demons aren't supposed to feel regret. Yet he regrets it. He lies there. Waiting. Waiting for that person to come back. When they return, he will get up. He will.