The Normal Life Of The Other Demon

Ice-Cream

Demetria's P.O.V.:

We're currently biking back, each of us carrying a large box, squeezed in between our bodies and the handles of the bikes. There used to be five large boxes, but now there are four, no, three, and a half. You're probably wondering what happened to the other box, and a half. And to be brutally honest, you don't really want to know.

I'm biking in between Damian and Jon, listening to Jon hum in satisfaction while smacking his lips. "Ooo," he sighs out. "That's good. Want some?" he asks, putting the tub of ice cream out towards me.

"How are you eating that?" Damian asks. "Wait," he abruptly says, looking away. "I don't even want to know."

I look at Jon, who still has the tub of ice-cream out towards me. I look into the tub finding white ice-cream with colorful dots in them. "What is that? And how are you eating it?" I ask, seeing as both of his hands are utensil-free.

"This?" he asks, looking into the ice-cream. "This is confetti ice-cream!"

"Confetti?" I ask him. "You won't get indigestion from eating plastic?"

"Plastic?" Jon asks. "Indigestion?"

"You said that it's confetti."

"No," he chuckles. "It's not actual confetti."

"Then why do they call it confetti ice-cream?"

Jon scrunches his eyebrows while pursing his lips. "I'm pretty sure it's because it's colorful."

"And how are you eating this colorful ice-cream?"

"Like this!" he exclaims. Jon takes the tub of ice-cream and stuffs his face into the tub. His job begins to move up and down, as he's face deep into the desert.

I grimace at his actions. "I swear," I whisper. "They're putting something in this kid's water."

"Jon!" Damian yells in disgust. "Ha—I'm not even going to try," he growls, averting his attention away from Jon.

"Jon?" I ask, slightly worried about him.

He takes the tub of ice cream away from his face, staring at us innocently. "What?" he asks. The area around his mouth is covered by the white cream, along with his nose, and the tips of his hair.

"You're a mess, Jonathan," I comment, shaking my head at the mess he had created.

"Are you mad at me?" he asks, out of nowhere.

I cock an eyebrow at him. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because you called me, Jonathan, and not, Jon."

"I guess, I did," I answer in realization.

"So, are you mad?"

"N—"

"She's furious," Damian answers.

I snap my head to Damian and glare at him. "Damian!"

"See," he says, pointing to me. "Better keep an eye out while you sleep Jon," he teases. "She'll come for both of our heads."

Jon gasps, his mouth agape as he suddenly licks the ice-cream around his lips. "Yum," he hums in satisfaction. Licking all of the ice-cream that he could reach, he gasps once more. "Not my head! How will I eat ice-cream then?!"

"That's the point," Damian taunts, scaring Jon.

"Tch." I lift my foot away from the pedal, letting the momentum guide me. Lifting my foot, I kick Damian's bike, causing him to fall off of the concrete road and onto the grass. "Whoops," I say, as we ride past his fallen figure, watching as he tumbles onto the grass.