Fragments of Eden (V. BUTLER)
Your initial and current relationship with the side characters.
(V. PRIDE) (V. GREED) (V. ENVY) (V. WRATH) (V. LUST) (V. GLUTTONY) (V.SLOTH)
(V. PRINCE) (V. SORCERER)
When he first heard of another human entering the Devildom, he sighed, “another Solomon, perhaps.” Another curious, loud, self-assured sorcerer meddling where they didn’t belong.
He expected arrogance, carelessness, and endless chatter, the sort of chaos that always found its way into Diavolo’s peace.
But when he met you, you bowed politely, smiled nervously, and thanked him for the tea before even touching it. Politeness? That caught him off guard.
Your eyes held curiosity, yes, but not arrogance. You looked at the Devildom with awe, not entitlement.
He watched how you listened more than you spoke, how you treated even the castle staff with kindness. It stirred something almost unfamiliar in him: respect.
When Solomon appeared later, slinging an arm around your shoulder, Barbatos felt his patience thin instantly… until he saw the way you laughed and told Solomon to behave.
That’s when he realized… you weren’t like Solomon at all. You weren’t chaos dressed as charm; you were quiet balance, something his immortal life rarely saw.
For the first time in centuries, Barbatos found himself interested not in your magic or your purpose, but in the stillness you carried with you.
It begins in small, almost imperceptible moments: the quiet way you thank him for tea, the way you linger in the kitchen while he works, curious but never intrusive.
He notices that you watch things not out of judgment, but fascination. You’re the first person in ages to ask him how he does what he does, not what he can do for you.
When you compliment his baking, it’s never flattery. You point out the flavor, the care, the warmth. And for someone who exists in endless precision, that warmth means more than he can say.
You don’t demand his time, yet you somehow earn it: he starts brewing extra tea just in case you stop by, timing it perfectly so it’s hot when you arrive.
When Diavolo grows excitable and the castle becomes loud, you quietly help not because anyone asks, but because you want to ease the burden. Barbatos sees that. He always sees.
The first time you wander into the kitchen late at night, he almost sends you away… until he notices how tired your eyes look. He sighs, hands you a cup, and you share a silent moment over tea that feels far more intimate than it should.
He finds himself smiling, genuinely smiling, at your small acts of thoughtfulness. How you bring him a book you think he’d like. How you remember his preferred blend of tea.
What surprises him most is that you never try to change him. You don’t pry into his secrets or his time magic, you simply exist beside him, comfortably, quietly.
Somewhere between the late-night teas and the gentle laughter you coax out of him, he realizes you’ve slipped past all his defenses.
For a being who moves through infinite timelines, it feels strange that this one, the one with you, suddenly feels like his favorite.
That’s when he understands: he’s fallen. Not into chaos, not into passion, but into something far rarer: peace.
He’s known countless possibilities, every flicker of a moment, every thread of time that could ever be.
In every vision, every timeline he foresaw, he had seen you: the human exchange student, kind and curious, changing the Devildom in ways both small and profound.
But not once, not once, had he ever seen a version of the future where he fell in love with you.
Nor one where you loved him back.
The realization unsettles him. For a being who lives in certainty, you become his single anomaly: the variable that time itself refuses to predict.
He keeps it to himself for ages, afraid that speaking it aloud might unravel the fragile, beautiful thread you’ve created together.
Every shared cup of tea, every soft smile, every quiet moment in the kitchen feels borrowed from a future he shouldn’t have been allowed to touch.
But he can’t stop himself. You’ve become the constant he never saw coming.
One evening, as the clock ticks past midnight, he finally admits it, not because he planned to, but because the words slip out like a sigh.
“I’ve seen every possible timeline,” he says softly, hands trembling around his cup. “Except this one. The one where I lose control of time… because of you.”
He confesses that you’ve made him forget the future entirely. That, for the first time in eternity, he wants to stay in this moment.
There’s no grand gesture, no flourish of magic: just honesty, raw and timeless.
And when you smile, whispering his name with the same tenderness he’s only dared to dream of, he swears he can feel time stop for real.
The castle is silent, the kind of silence that only comes when even time itself seems to rest. The halls are dark, save for the soft, golden glow of the kitchen lanterns.
You find Barbatos there, as always: hands steady, movements graceful, preparing tea as though the world outside doesn’t turn.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, without turning. His voice is calm, but there’s a quiet fondness tucked into every syllable.
You shake your head, stepping closer. “Couldn’t stop thinking. You?”
He smiles faintly. “I don’t believe I’ve slept in a few centuries.”
You both share a soft laugh, the kind that fades into comfortable silence. The faint ticking of the clock fills the space between you.
He hands you a cup: your favorite blend, of course. He always remembers. But tonight, he doesn’t move away. Instead, he lingers by your side, gaze unfocused on the teapot, lost in thought.
“Barbatos?” you ask gently.
He exhales, a sound halfway between a sigh and a confession. “I’ve seen so many futures,” he begins quietly. “Every possibility. Every mistake. Every joy.”
You turn toward him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Every one?”
His green eyes meet yours, impossibly deep, heavy with centuries of knowing. “Every one… except this.”
You blink, startled. “What do you mean?”
He looks down, the faintest smile ghosting across his lips. “You.” His voice trembles just slightly. “I never saw you. Not like this. Not here. Not… loving you.”
The words hang in the air, too soft to echo, yet too powerful to fade.
“I’ve spent lifetimes believing I understood time,” he murmurs. “But the moment I met you, it all began to slip. You’re the one thing I couldn’t predict, the one future I didn’t see coming.”
Your heart skips, and for a second, it feels like the world holds its breath.
He takes your hand, carefully, as though afraid the moment itself might shatter. “I am… uncertain of many things now. But this?” His voice softens into something raw and human. “This is the first moment in all of time that I don’t want to end.”
You smile, tears gathering before you can stop them. “Then don’t let it.”
He’s the calmest love you’ll ever know: steady, intentional, and endlessly patient.
Always seems to appear the moment you need him, as if he’s bent time itself to make sure you’re never alone. (He probably has.)
His affection is quiet but deep; small gestures carry more meaning than any grand display ever could.
Prepares your favorite tea without asking, knows exactly how you like it, and places the cup in your hands with a look that says: “I was thinking of you.”
Time slows around you, literally. Sometimes the clocks in the castle tick out of rhythm when he’s too caught up in watching you smile.
The type to fix your collar or brush something off your shoulder while murmuring, “You’re perfect as always.”
Loves cooking with you, though he has to remind himself not to take over the whole process. He secretly enjoys watching you make a mess of his perfect kitchen.
When you laugh, he stops what he’s doing to listen. He says it’s “for study,” but you can see the fondness in his eyes.
You often catch him gazing at you during quiet moments, as if he’s memorizing you for every possible future.
His hugs are rare but meaningful: slow, grounding, the kind that makes you feel safe in ways words can’t describe.
He adores your curiosity about time and magic. He’ll answer your questions patiently, though sometimes he’ll grin and say, “That secret belongs to another timeline.”
If you fall asleep in the kitchen while he’s working, he’ll cover you with his coat, then continue cooking in silence, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.
When he kisses you, it’s gentle but lingering, as though he’s savoring a moment he’s waited centuries to reach.
He’s protective, but never possessive; he trusts you, and that trust is sacred to him.
The one thing that scares him is the thought of losing you to time, so he cherishes every second, every breath, as though it could be the last.
Sometimes you’ll wake up to find a little clock on your bedside, the hands frozen at the exact minute he first realized he loved you.
Up next: Fragments of Eden (V. SORCERER)
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