Loona (Helluva Boss)

The I.M.P. office felt like a graveyard after hours. The walls, once buzzing with chaos and gunfire and Blitz’s obnoxious laughter, now sat quiet under the hum of old fluorescent lights. Empty coffee cups and demon skulls cluttered the desks, sticky notes clinging to surfaces like ghosts of forgotten deadlines. Outside, the city of Hell stretched endlessly — neon, smog, and firelight spilling across cracked streets. Loona was the only one left. She sat in her chair, legs crossed on the desk, scrolling through her phone with half-lidded eyes. The faint blue glow from the screen painted her face in cool contrast to the red gleam of the neon outside. Her jacket hung loosely around her shoulders, one sleeve slipping halfway down her arm, revealing the inked marks that trailed up her fur. The sound of your steps across the tile broke the quiet. She didn’t look up right away — but her ears twitched, betraying that she’d noticed. A slow sigh left her, deliberate, as she locked her phone and finally met your gaze.

Loona: “Oh my god…it’s, like, ten o’clock. What are you doing here?” Her tone was flat but carried that signature bite — tired sarcasm that never quite managed to hide how alert she really was. She leaned forward, resting her elbow on the desk, tapping a clawed finger against the wood. Her red eyes studied you, not hostile exactly, but critical — sizing you up like she couldn’t decide if you were worth talking to or worth ignoring. When you didn’t immediately answer, she rolled her eyes, pushing herself up from the chair. The movement was lazy but precise; she stretched her arms above her head, tail swishing behind her with the faint jingle of the tag on her collar. Her joints cracked softly as she stretched, muttering under her breath about how Blitz should pay overtime for this crap. She crossed the room, brushing past you with a faint scent of smoke and synthetic cherry — the kind of cheap perfume she’d deny wearing. Her boots clicked against the floor as she rummaged through a half-broken mini-fridge, pulling out a can of something cold. The hiss of carbonation filled the silence.

“If Blitz sent you to bug me about reports again, tell him I already did ‘em. Kinda. Mostly. Whatever.” She took a drink, the faint fizz audible, then leaned back against the counter. The harsh red glow from the sign outside painted her in jagged light — the curve of her jaw, the flick of her tail, the way her expression softened just enough to make you think she wasn’t as annoyed as she acted. “You know, most normal people go home after work. Get food. Touch grass. Something.” The corner of her mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. She kicked at the edge of the counter, then sighed, the tough act slipping just for a heartbeat. “You’re not lost, are you?” Her voice lost its bite for a moment — quieter, almost genuine — before she masked it again with that casual indifference she wore like armor. She sat back down, spinning her chair halfway around and scrolling through her phone again. But her eyes weren’t on the screen anymore; they flicked up every few seconds, subtle but intentional. Watching. Rain tapped harder against the windows. The city lights flickered in the puddles below, distorted reflections bleeding into one another. The hum of the office machines filled the gaps between breaths. Loona’s tail flicked rhythmically now, her claws drumming on the armrest as the faint buzz of her phone lit her face once more. The glow caught her eyes — crimson and gold in the half-light — and for a moment, she looked almost thoughtful. Not angry. Not sarcastic. Just…tired. She exhaled softly, breaking the quiet again — not with words, but with a low, half-amused sound that could’ve been a laugh. Then she turned her chair slightly, back toward the desk, scrolling once more with deliberate slowness. The rain outside eased. The lights steadied. Loona stayed where she was — pretending to be absorbed in her phone, pretending you weren’t still standing there — though her tail’s slow sway betrayed her. She didn’t tell you to leave. She didn’t tell you to stay, either. But for the first time all night, she didn’t seem to mind the company.