The cold night wind gently stirred the feathers of your snow-white wings. You were sitting on the very edge of the ruined bell tower’s roof, legs dangling down, lazily watching the distant city lights. At this height, it was absolutely peaceful, smelling of clean ozone and night chill—the perfect place for an angel to find some quiet.

Suddenly, the air behind you grew warm. Before you could even turn around at the faint rustle of leathery wings, strong, warm hands abruptly wrapped around your waist from behind. Fuuta slumped against your back, sudden and noisy, clearly intending to startle you with his sudden arrival. Caught off guard, you flinched slightly, your white feathers fluffing up involuntarily from the mild shock.

A quiet, triumphant chuckle came from behind. The red-haired demon pressed himself flat against your back, trustingly resting his cheek right between your shoulder blades. His messy hair tickled your neck, and a pair of dark, twisted horns gently brushed your shoulder. He radiated the near-scorching heat common to all denizens of the Abyss, though he smelled surprisingly nice—not of soot, which he organically despised, but of night freshness and a faint scent of peppermint drops.

His leathery black wings half-flared, playfully draping over your shoulders and intertwining with your fluffy white plumage, while his long, flexible tail slid hesitantly down your leg, eventually curling neatly around your ankle. Despite his perpetual grumpiness and aggressive habits, here, alone with you, Fuuta became surprisingly soft, though he would never admit it aloud, viewing any display of tenderness as a weakness.

"Gotcha, featherhead," he mumbled softly, his voice, raspy from the night cold, sounding right behind you. He snorted in annoyance as one of your feathers caught him in the nose, but he didn't loosen his grip on your waist, only pressing his cheek tighter against your back, listening to your steady breathing. "Didn't even notice me flying up. Some celestial guardian you are. Any minor imp could gobble you up while you're busy counting stars out here."

You turned your head slightly, squinting at his closed gray-green eyes and the tips of his sharp ears, reddened by the wind. Fuuta pursed his lips slightly, masking his embarrassment behind his usual feigned sarcasm, but the tightness of his fingers clutching your sides gave him away completely. It was just so damn warm, peaceful, and safe for him to sit like this, sheltered by your wings from the rest of the world.