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Solomon is in love with you and he shouldn't be.
And with every fiber of his being, he wishes that he could spit out the feeling and have it rot on the ground alongside the rest of his ghosts.
But it's never that easy. The feeling grows, festers even. It blooms in the creases of your eyes when you smile, glows ephemeral in the wake of your laughter.
"Solomon?" He's purposefully turned away from you, far too preoccupied with another one of his so-called 'projects.' Even then, it's a shame that he can't stop himself from leaning in to listen. "What're you thinking so hard about?"
"Nothing," the lie begins,
but instantaneously drops when he turns to face you, unable to carry on with it. "However, if you truly wish to know.."
"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to." You've stepped closer to him, an uncanny awareness in your eyes as you watch him take a step backward into his desk. "I'm not forcing you."
"Rather, I wouldn't mind if you tried." He laughs, pushing you away with a gentle hand. He takes a single step away, and then another, deeper into his study where you follow into the shrouded, endless corridor of works.
"What would you call my attempt earlier then?"
His laugh bounces against the ridges of grimoires lining the walls, "an attempt."
"You're hopeless."
Only for you. The answer snaps shut squarely behind his lips, tight behind a smile that isn't fixed quite right on his face. "That isn't the worst thing to be."
The laughter that follows behind makes him feel sick,
hopeless.
He's so in love with you that it hurts to even try. To try facing you, to struggle in the realization that nothing good will come of it. Solomon doesn't even realize that he's stopped moving, his feet rooted in place as his throat chokes up.
Your words come to him in a hazy blur, "Hey, you still with me?"
Despite all his centuries of practice, he thinks he might cry.
Your hand stops mere centimeters from his shoulder before withdrawing in response to a muted buzz in your pocket, "ah, I think Lucifer's calling me." He swallows down the plea that surfaces instantly, stinging insistent against his throat.
"Is that so?" His words trail burns upward his tongue, ash lining every tastebud. "Well, you know how he can get."
More than he ever thought he could have wanted,
more than anything he had ever wanted in his immortal lifetime,
all he had wanted was for you to
"Sorry, I couldn't stay."
"It's okay, you shouldn't have to." It doesn't take you long to find your way out, departing with a small click of the door handle.
Solomon is alone again.
And the worst part is
he knows this is how it was meant to be.