Work Text:
The chill autumn air nipped at your bare hands as you walked down the semi-busy California street. For the first time since summer began, it was finally cold enough to be wearing sweaters. With a jump in your step, you looked up at the huge hotel complex—the place where you and Michael shared a penthouse, along with a little black cat. You made your way into the hotel, waving at the receptionist.
"Where did Dillian go?" You asked her. She gave a quick shrug and leaned forward.
"No clue, he didn't show up to work. Must be sick." She turned away from you as the phone rang next to her. You shrugged off the interaction, agreeing with her that he probably caught a bug. Shame.
A small smile was placed on your lips as you walked into the elevator and high the top bottom. Being the literal antichrist, Michael bought the most comfortable (and expensive) place closest to your work. He did typically drive you home, even though the drive was at most five minutes. However, today you opted to walk home, wanting to enjoy the nice weather.
The elevator chimed, and you entered your home. In typical Michael fashion, the decor was mostly black. A few pentacles and pentagrams decorated the walls and mantel that had an offering area for his father. The couch was black, along with a dark wood dining table on the opposing side of the living room. The sound of grilling echoed out of the kitchen, along with the smell of steak.
As you were hanging up your coat and purse, Michael appeared on the kitchen threshold.
"Well, your home early," He said, a spatula in hand. He had a goofy grin on his face along with a little black apron to keep his black suit clean. You gave a gentle smile before walking up to him and giving him a peck on the lips.
"I know, my meeting got canceled," I hummed.
"You're just in time then; I just finished dinner." Michael walked back into the kitchen. You sat down at the table where the candles at the middle suddenly lit aflame-something Michael did quite often. He emerged from the kitchen holding two plates. Michael set down the plate filled with cut-up steak along with a small salad with a drizzle of your favorite dressing.
He sat down in front of you and watched as you picked up the meat with your fork and placed it in your mouth.
Before you were even able to swallow he asked, "How is it?" He gave you a weird smile.
"It's good. What is it, though? Steak?" You questioned back, deciding to take another bite.
"Oh? You've had this before, don't you remember?" Michael's eyes narrowed, but his smile never moving or faulting. Your eyebrows knitted together as he never cooked for you before. Maybe he recreated something from the many restaurants you'd two had been to.
"I guess the texture is kind of weird... What is it? I don't remember?" You kindly asked. His smile grew.
"I think... I think his name was Dillian. The bellboy from downstairs." Michael grinned as you slowly dropped your fork. It clicked. Why Michael allowed you to walk home today-when, he was normally so protective. Dillian, who was here almost every day, was out sick. He wasn't out sick, though.
"I'm the antichrist, [Your Name], don't take me for a fool. I know everything that you do," Michael stood up from his chair, slowly walking closer with his hands behind his back, "The late meetings. The parties. Even you whoring yourself out to the bellboy." You stood up from your chair, the sudden motion causing the chair to fall to the ground.
"You... You fed me a human being?" You questioned softly. A few tears escaped from your eyes as you slowly tried to back away from him. Michael scoffed and rolled his eyes at the motion.
"Please, your overreacting." Michael inched closer to you. Your back finally hit the door to your bedroom. You jiggled the handle, hoping to escape in there, but it didn't budge. He grinned at your useless attempt to escape.
"Listen I-"
"You what?" His voice raised, the anger and pain filling the room. It felt suffocating, you almost couldn't breathe.
"Everyone makes mistakes..." You tried to reason. His smile faulted and he narrowed his eyes at you.
"Yes, people can make mistakes, but not every week with the bellboy!" Micheal yelled. He rushed towards you and his hands clung to your neck. You cried out as he tightened his hands around your throat. Not enough to kill you, but enough to have you struggling and gasping for air. He lowered his face, his breath tickled your ear.
"I will not be made a fool of again."