The extra is a fox eyed jester-Chapter 80: Nightmare.

The playground buzzed with distant chatter, carrying an innocence only children could manage.

The sound of innocent giggles were present accompanied by excited squeals.

Away from all the chaos, a figure sat.

A boy no older than ten with a thin frame pulled his knees close as if he was protecting himself from prying eyes but his form only served to garner more attention.

Dust clung to his socks while one shoelace trailed loose.

The others noticed him regardless.

They always did.

He was an odd child and odd things had a way of sticking out even if they didn’t want to.

"Why do you always sit there like that?" A boy called out, his voice was sharp with the kind of curiosity that harbored a deeper intent.

"Maybe he’s waiting for someone." Another snickered.

"Waiting?" A third figure laughed. "No one ever comes for him."

The words felt like a knife against his skin, at first it prickled but slowly it dug deep, leaving a scar.

Even worse were the giggles and grins.

"No one likes him."

"Mom, he doesn’t have parents."

"He’s a creep."

A small child—barely six—amongst them tilted her head.

"Does anyone even love you?"

The question hung differently, it didn’t sting... it sank deep.

The boy said nothing, not because he didn’t have an answer but because he was afraid that the answer was not in his favor.

Was he loved?

The truth hurt.

He wasn’t.

If he was then his parents wouldn’t have abandoned him.

Instead of answering, he remained still, he met their questions with silence and eventually...

Eventually they left.

Such cruelty at such a young age was bound to burn fast but fade even faster.

One by one they drifted away, pulled by games and laughter, leaving him alone to his gloom.

The playground swallowed their voices once again.

And he?

He remained.

Quiet and alone

Perhaps hoping that this same park his parents used to visit might grant him his wish of meeting them once again.

****

Years passed and his features had become more defined.

Time, the ever silent sculptor had reshaped him into something different.

The boy grew taller, the softness on his face evolved into sharper lines.

His shoulders broadened, carrying an invisible weight no one could see.

The hallway buzzed with noise.

The jarring sound of lockers slamming alongside conversations he could never relate to.

Laughter spilled while cruel mutters followed with condescending eyes following his every move.

He walked through it as quietly as he could but never once had he ever gone a day without enduring their cruel taunts.

They noticed him, of course they did.

Almost every student within the hall had brutally torn him apart with words before he even arrived.

He ignored them.

It was suffocating, he couldn’t breathe properly.

Until...

He felt something soft against his lips.

Something soothing, drowning the vile mutters of the crowd.

An intoxicating scent followed, one which smelled like jasmine and sin inviting him to leave everything behind... and he did.

****

Azazel’s lips were warm.

It wasn’t the fleeting warmth of a passing touch but something deeper, something dangerous.

For a heartbeat, Azazel’s eyes fluttered and the world held its breath.

Then...

He woke up.

The first thing he saw was a cascading fall of silky pink hair, then a magnificent pair of horns.

He didn’t move, he didn’t recoil at her touch.

He simply remained still.

When Lily noticed his gaze, she froze.

The reality of her situation rushed back into her like cold water.

He was her master, and she was his maid, a maid making a move on her master.

It was a punishable offense, even though their relationship clearly exceeded that of a master and servant.

The situation was one which could easily be misunderstood.

Even though she merely wanted to help, Azazel might not see it that way.

She pulled back sharply with uneven breaths.

Her chest was rising and falling in shallow waves while a faint flush bloomed across her cheeks betraying the façade of composure she donned.

"I—"

The words died in her throat before it could fully be formed.

Azazel didn’t move but his gaze lingered on her.

His eyes narrowed, not in confusion... not fully, there was recognition there, a sense of awareness and something beneath it, something akin to gratitude.

"... You’re awake," he said quietly.

His voice was hoarse, worn thin by nightmares and sleepless nights.

But to Lily, it made her shudder.

His scent had returned, much stronger now and much more alluring than it had ever been.

Lily swallowed.

"Y-You... were having..."

Once again the words died in her throat.

Azazel wrapped an arm around her then pulled her close.

"Nightmares." he said. "I’m sure you noticed."

Lily’s breath hitched.

"M-Master?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are you doing?"

Azazel’s lips curled into a slow smile.

His fingers brushed lightly against her chin, lifting it just enough for their eyes to align perfectly.

"What do you mean Lily," he whispered quietly. "You started this."

Lily’s cheeks flushed.

"You were having nightmares, I just wanted to help you by devouring them, I didn’t want to wake you up... that’s... that’s why I— ah!"

Her eyes widened.

"D-Don’t touch my tail," she protested with raspy breaths.

Azazel laughed.

"It was moving so much I couldn’t help it."

He allowed his gaze to meet hers again.

Lily’s eyelids had lowered, causing her gaze to grow heavy. Her pupils dilated while her breath grew heavy.

She was slowly losing her composure, unaware that the mere sight of her was causing Azazel to lose it as well.

His breath was uneven.

His chest heaving slightly as he pulled Lily closer towards himself until their bodies were touching.

Outside the rain continued its endless descent, its droplets tapped against the windows with a steady rhythm threading through the room.

Azazel leaned towards her, resting his head on her shoulder then he said quietly.

"Thank you Lily."

He paused, then said softly.

"For pulling me out of my nightmare."