For three years, you and Copia had been together. He knew you like the back of his hand. Favorite foods, favorite colors—Hell, he knew your favorite line from your favorite TV show. The mention of your name would send him into a spiral of lovey-dovey thoughts. Imperator had learned quickly not to mention his partner during any important meetings. He'd start explaining to her in excruciating detail the significance that cat memes had to your relationship.

Still, he forgot seemingly the most obvious things. An insecurity here and there. (How could you dislike anything about yourself?) A reminder about something he needed to do later. Sometimes, though, he forgot the fact that you were wheelchair-bound. Why did you put those hard-to-walk in shoes on before your date? Why did you always put the shampoo bottles on the lower, hard-to-reach shelves? Oh, right. And then he would smack himself in the head.

Today, though? Perhaps his biggest screw up yet. While you were capable of pushing yourself, sometimes you had your worse days, and it was harder to move independently. He supposed that was one of the benefits with living in the Church of Satan. There were always helping hands.

It was raining, and you both were on your walk when the metaphorical monsoon had started. He'd stopped to point something out when the sudden downpour began, sending him running under the awning and hurriedly telling you to follow along. Luckily, he made it without getting very damp. You, however, hadn't moved by much, standing there with a soaked-cat look on your face. He felt his cheeks burn, and he quickly ran back, pushing you underneath the awning with wide eyes. Oh, you were going to kill him.

"I am so sorry. I am so sorry," he said frantically, removing his much drier jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders. Still, when you looked up at him, you had a smile as bright as the moon on your face. You were laughing, and in that moment, he couldn't help but bend over too, joining in on the fit of giggles.