𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 / bungō stray dogs x reader anthology

𝐟𝐲𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐯𝐬𝐤𝐲 ✧ 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

May 31st 2020 / Religious References/ 2k Words

✧ ｡ﾟ✐.*ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* ✎｡:*ﾟ

The music drifted through the air, the sound of the cello and the light notes of the piano mixing perfectly, hand in hand forming a waltz as the two sounds blended into one small symphony, the music coming to a peak. Sharps and flats mixing together with the ordinary keys as your fingers dances along the keys to the complex pattern of the sheet music. And in turn, the sound of Fyodor's cello came to a peak, the sound brought by the bow against the strings coming together, his hands sliding along the neck of the instrument, fingers dancing on the strings.

The duet was a sorrowful piece, one that had been mutually and silently decided upon. Each of you had your reasons for gathering there that night, and this was far from your first meeting, no of course it wasn't. You had worked together many times before but as you crossed your hands over each other, the metallic gleam of your right wrist catching your eye momentarily, your glove slipping down just enough for you to see your prosthetic, a smile stretched it's way softly along your lips. Perhaps that was the wrong reaction, the right one would've probably been to break down in tears, to let the music come to a halt and allow fear to overtake you.

But if Fyodor was a demon that would make you the devil themselves, someone who's very existence goes against God's very standards. You didn't mind really, there was some poetic justice to it really, a devil and a demon locked in this duet, for how much longer you weren't quite sure. You didn't mind. You knew that much to his own distaste, Fyodor had grown fond of your presence, it must've been comforting to have someone so much like himself, yet so completely different, at his side.

The details, how you ended up working under the same man (if you could call him that), were irrelevant for this time. But as the song came to a close, it took everything you had to stop a tear from sliding down your cheek. It was nostalgic, not only the song but the scenario, and as you each finished the final two notes, your mask slipped ever so slightly.

And Fyodor certainly didn't fail to notice, he saw it, as an expression he could only describe as a fondness so steeped in sadness it boarded on heart break, flashed across your face. There was a pause after that, the last few notes still lingering in the air, as he stared at you, and you started absentmindedly at the keys of the piano, lost in thought.

But that pause only lasted seconds as you slowly stood up from the bench, ignoring the slight creak of your prosthetic, a sigh escaping your lips. Tugging at one sleeve of your neat jacket, much like the white dress provided earlier that evening by Shibusawa. Glancing over at Fyodor you watched absentmindedly as the Russian laid the cello, which wasn't his own to his personal distaste, down gently on the floor of the space, sunlight was beginning to pour in through the high stained glass windows, the mist had completely faded away.

"The agency won then," the words left your lips so casually, that Fyodor might've assumed it was a slip of the tongue if not for the expression you wore, a mixture of disgust and satisfaction.

He couldn't help but laugh at your words, to which he only earned a glare and a sigh from his counterpart. "You certainly aren't wrong, and I would expect nothing less from them, it's all going according to plan." He drew level with you as he spoke, standing to your right. Fyodor was ever so slightly taller than you, and the expression he wore was one that you would only ever see on the face of a man such as him.

You might call him disillusioned, in a space of insanity, but that would be both so horribly hypocritical and so horribly incorrect. For both the devil and demon were horribly cracked and broken, but in turn, they were more human than they would ever like to admit.