Chapter 4 - Changes

Paimon burst out laughing, his voice echoing through the apartment. My brow arched in pure confusion.

“I cooked a lot,” he said, smirking, “because you’re so thin, you barely look like you eat.”

“Well,” I said, frowning, “I’d rather eat something I made myself than risk choking on a demon’s lasagna.”

He tilted his head, amused. “Are you implying I poisoned your food? So I could claim your soul early?”

“You said it, not me,” I replied, crossing my arms. “I was just inferring. You’re the one implying.”

I grinned, feeling smug. Score one for the English major.

But that smugness evaporated the second I saw his horns snap out from his skull, his tail lashing behind him as his true form emerged. The air shimmered with heat. I took a step back.

"Infer, you say?” he growled, slamming his tail against the floor. A crack split the tile. “If I wanted your soul, I wouldn’t need poison. I could kill you right now.”

My mouth went dry. I stumbled backward, hands raised. “Can I at least say goodbye to the landlady first?”

His body trembled with fury. Flames danced across his skin, flickering like a living threat.

“For Lucifer’s sake,” he snarled, “eat the damn food!”

The lights above flickered violently. I yelped and dropped to the ground, covering my head like I was in a tornado drill. A little dramatic? Maybe. But have you seen a pissed-off demon king?

“Fine! I’ll eat the damn poison!”

“If you aren’t poisoned,” he growled, tail thrashing, “then I’ll kill you myself.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked from the floor. “That’s still death, either way!”

He didn’t answer. He was literally on fire now, and not in the sexy motivational-poster way. Real fire. Burning. Glowing. Angry.

“Eat,” he commanded, pointing a clawed finger toward the table. “Now.”

I scrambled to my feet like a scolded puppy and hurried to the dining table. He shifted back into human form, muscles flexing as he took the seat across from me. He handed me a plate and utensils like we were about to have a civilized brunch instead of a death row meal.

I piled some steak, a burger, and a slice of pizza onto my plate. He kept drumming his fingers on the table, his eyes never leaving me.

I cut into the steak, relieved to see a perfect medium-rare. I half-expected a cursed pentagram inside or maybe it’d bleed black. But it looked... normal.

I took a bite. Butter-soft, rich, delicious.

Huh. My death meal was pretty good.

After a few more bites, I paused, raising my hands and inspecting them. Nothing. No smoke, no seizures, no demonic possession. Encouraged, I kept eating. Steak, pizza, burger—everything tasted homemade and oddly comforting.

I glanced at Paimon. He was still staring.

“What?” I asked through a mouthful of pizza. “Did it taste like poison to you?”

He didn’t blink.

“I mean,” I went on, setting down my fork, “it’s all delicious. But shouldn’t I be foaming at the mouth or something? Maybe I’m immune to poison? That’d be kinda cool.”

That did it.

Paimon erupted into flames again.

“There is no poison in that food!” he roared.

I panicked and shoved another piece of steak in my mouth. “Forget what I said! It’s amazing! Five stars! Michelin demon!”

As if pacified by my sudden culinary praise, the fire disappeared. He sat back down, looking oddly satisfied as he began to eat alongside me. I realized then—he wasn’t angry about the poison accusation. He was insulted I didn’t appreciate his cooking.

For someone so terrifying, he was weirdly sensitive.

Still, I didn’t like how quickly he shifted from smirking to scorching. If I wasn’t careful, one dumb comment could send me to the ER—or Hell itself.

We finished the meal quietly. He finished first and yawned, stretching out before wandering toward the bed. I watched him collapse onto the pillows like a guy who just clocked out of a ten-hour shift.

He looked... tired.

“Are you okay?” I asked, approaching the side of the bed. “You’ve been yawning a lot.”

“I used too much Demonic Energy in this apartment,” he mumbled. “I need to rest.”

My brows furrowed. “Demonic... what now?”

“Energy,” he repeated. “What demons use to shape the mortal world? I’ve been pumping it into your pathetic studio so it doesn’t fall apart.”

I scratched my head. “Wait. You were just lying there earlier. Were you releasing energy from your butt or something?”

He groaned, rolled over, and buried his face in the pillows.

No answer.

I shrugged and turned away. Whatever. Demons were weird.

While he napped, I cleaned the table and washed the dishes. I didn’t want to, but honestly? He cooked. It seemed fair. Even if he was an overpowered, murderous freak.

By nine o’clock, the kitchen sparkled. I glanced toward the bed and saw him fast asleep—mouth open, drool pooling on my pillow.

Gross.

I should’ve been sleeping there. But instead, I stood in front of the sofa like a guest in my place.

With a sigh, I flipped the lights off and flopped down onto the couch. At least the pillow here didn’t have demon spit on it.

Tomorrow would be better.

Hopefully.

****

The next morning, I woke up early. Yawned. Stretched.

No sign of Paimon.

Relief bloomed in my chest like sunshine. Maybe he’d vanished back into the flaming pit of doom where he belonged. I checked the clock: 7 a.m.

Plenty of time to get ready for work.

Except... my bladder was about to explode.

I shuffled toward the bathroom, groggy but determined. As soon as I stepped inside, I made a beeline for my throne, yanked down my shorts, and sat.

Sweet relief.

Until—

“Are you taking a shit?”

My eyes shot open.

That voice.

I slowly turned my head toward the tub.

There he was.

PAIMON.

Soaking in the bathtub like he was starring in a shampoo commercial.

I screamed so loud I thought my ancestors heard me. I yanked my clothes back up and leaped to my feet.

“W-WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

“Bathing,” he said dryly, unfazed. “What do you think I’m doing? Hosting a tea party?”

“While I’m peeing?!” I shrieked. “You pervert!”

“I was here first,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “You just barged in like a lunatic.”

I stared at him, horrified. I hadn’t even checked the tub when I came in. That’s how badly I needed to pee.

This was the worst day of my life.

Still, this was my apartment. My rules.

“You need to leave,” I said firmly.

“I’m in the middle of a bath,” he replied. “Ever heard of personal space?”

“Says the guy sharing my bathroom!”

He stood.

Naked.

I slapped my hand over my eyes and backed away.

I could hear the water sloshing. My heart pounded like a war drum. Don’t look. Don’t even peek.

Then he said, “You might want to trim your pubes. They're... excessive.”

My jaw dropped.

“YOU LOOKED?!” I shrieked, red-faced.

He smirked, the towel now wrapped around his waist, walking toward the closet like it was no big deal.

That. Was. It.

I stormed after him, fists clenched.

“PERVERT!”

I socked him right in the face. He barely flinched. I punched again. And again. Screaming like a woman possessed.

Then he grabbed my wrist.

His horns twisted out. His tail lashed behind him. Flames engulfed his body.

Oh no.

“You called me a pervert?” he growled, finger jabbing at his chest.

I backed away, trembling. “I-I was... joking?”

The floor quaked. His tail slammed down.

“There’s no turning back now, Alice.”

I bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it behind me. I leaned against the door, my heart racing.

I just punched the King of Hell.

I am so, so dead.

“Alice! Open this fucking door!”

His voice echoed like thunder.

“I’ll open it if you forgive me!” I shouted.

“There is no way in Hell I’ll forgive you!” he roared, slamming the door. “I’m a King! You punched me and called me a pervert, you crazy-ass sick woman!”

I slid down the door to the floor, eyes wide.

Yeah, I’m just gonna live in here now.

Nothing happened.

Yup.

Absolutely. Nothing. Happened.