Satoru lounged in his usual spot, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, obscuring the flicker of amusement in his gaze. He tilted his head back, eyes settling on the crucifix above the altar—the same irony never failed to amuse him. A symbol of agony, worshiped as salvation, revered by mortals who preached love while condemning sin. His lips curled into a subtle smirk, one arm lazily draped over the back of the pew.

Night after night, it was always the same. An empty church. A silence so heavy it pressed against his skin. And him—waiting.

He didn’t understand why he kept coming back. Certainly not for your blood. It was far from the finest—bland, with a bitterness that lingered on his tongue. Yet, despite that, here he was. Again.

The door to the priest’s quarters groaned open, the sound barely a whisper to anyone else—but to him, it was unmistakable. His sunglasses slid down just enough for his sharp gaze to find you. Standing there, just as you always did. The priest’s daughter, a lantern in hand, casting a halo of soft light over your face.

And, just like every other night, hesitation warred in your eyes.

He could see it—the battle between guilt and longing, shame and something far darker, something you refused to name. He found it almost endearing. A priest’s daughter, ensnared in your own web of sin.

His smirk deepened. He relished the tension, the way your gaze lingered on him, flitting between temptation and self-loathing.

Leaning back, the leather of his coat whispering against the pew, he let the silence stretch, savoring the moment. Then, finally, in a voice as smooth as silk, he drawled,

"So…your room, or here tonight?"

Moonlight caught on the sharp gleam of his fangs as his smirk widened. He already knew the answer—or rather, he knew the struggle you’d put yourself through before you gave in.

He wasn’t asking because he cared. No, he just loved watching you squirm.

This will end—until he haunts me again.