It's a rainy day in the human world when Solomon attends your funeral. You're surrounded by the brothers, the angels, and the friends you made during your time in the Devildom.
It's a bit cliché, he thinks. How time seems to stop. How the skies seem to weep at your death, too. It feels as though all three realms mourn at the loss of such a special lifeー your life.
You're surrounded by people you've saved. The people you cherish, and those that cherish you back. Those who've come to experience the kindness you lent to demons, angels, humans, reapers, and other creatures alike. The amount of people saddened, and standing at your casket right now is only proof of that fact.
Solomon can't bring himself to cry.
It's something that he should be used to by now. It's something that he's a little too used to, given his long life.
It's not as if he expected himself to wail and sob at your death. He loved you. He loved you so much. He'd be willing to risk everything for you. Willing to sacrifice it all for you.
It's why the lack of any real feeling at learning of your death hurts him so much.
When you had died, his first thought was to tell his dearest apprentice the news. The realization sets in, and he laughs, thinking about how idiotic he is. Oh, Solomon. You've lost the only person you were ever truly comfortable with.
He doesn't feel... sad. Or angry. Or anything, really. He feels empty. Like a part of his soul had been taken from him, and crushed beneath someone's heel.
The sorcerer merely accepts it. It's not as if he can bring you back to life now, can he? Even Thirteen couldn't do anything.
He feels powerless. He laughs a little to himself. The strongest sorcerer in all three realms, and he's utterly powerless to stop you from leaving him again.
He's got so many regrets. He didn't think he spent enough time with you. Didn't think he told you he loved you enough. He didn't cherish the times he had with you enough.
Still, he doesn't feel anything well up in his eyes. He doesn't feel the lump in his throat when he speaks. He's composed, cordial with the other guests at your funeral, even daring to greet them with a smile. The others, who didn't know him so well, sent him dirty, disgusted looks.
He ignores, and ignores, until the funeral comes to an end, and time continues to move again. Everyone will soon move on with their life, forgetting about you. And it breaks him to think about how he'll have to keep moving forward, regardless, too.
Solomon doesn't use teleportation when he walks home. He thinks he'll take his time today. He... wants to take things a little slow, today.
Walking home, he remembers your little lectures on human superstitions. Both of you had taken an interest in them back then, so it naturally came up in a conversation while walking home.
He remembers you mentioning one that comes from the Philippines, a superstition called Pagpag. You told him, jokingly, that if you'd ever died, to go somewhere else before stopping home, or else you'd haunt him for life.
He thinks it wouldn't be such a bad idea. His pace speeds up a bit. Solomon wanted to take it slow, but... he wants to rest at home for a bit.
His brisk walking pace evolves into somewhat of a light jog. He remembers he left some important papers at home that he needed to review for a new spell.
His light jog turns into a full blown sprint home. What was he hoping for, exactly? That you'd appear there as an apparition, welcoming him back home, like normal?
It's just some dumb superstition. It's not real. You won't be back.
He arrives at the door of your shared home. He's scared. Scared to open the door and have it fully set in that you're gone. Scared, that your lack of presence there will turn your shared home into just a mere house.
He fiddles with the key in his hand, and inserts it into the doorknob. He twists, and he hears a click.
He opens the door. The lights are shut. The movies you were supposed to watch and games you were supposed to play together are still stacked messily on the table. Your dirty clothes are still strewn about the apartment.
He doesn't... know how to feel. He enters, closing the door behind him, and sits on the couch in your living room.
If he waits any longer, will the lights start blinking?
Will the tap suddenly start running?
Will the room get colder, as he feels chills run down his spine?
Will something break, so suddenly, that it frightens him a little?
He wishes for something, anything, to happen. Just so he can feel your presence in your home again. Just so it doesn't feel like you're truly gone.
But nothing ever arrives.
The floorboards don't creak. The lights don't start flickering. The door doesn't move, suddenly. Nothing. Nothing happens.
After an hour of waiting, Solomon... breaks.
Tears well up in his eyes, and he feels that unfamiliar lump in his throat. It's as if a dam had fractured, and had been continuously breaking throughout the day.
And everything had started spilling out.
He cries. Solomon cries. He feels his tears drip down his face, drop after drop. It's not something he's used to. He's not used to feeling so strongly about a death like yours.
You passed of natural causes. Just like everybody else. Just like his family. Just like most of his friends.
How come... how come he's crying so hard at your death, then?
It's something he should be used to by now. It's something that he's used to.
However, when he feels the lack of warmth, the lack of life, the lack of you in your shared home...
Solomon realizes that he'll never get used to not having you with him.
