You and the King of Hell have been dating for a few weeks with Lucifer being nothing but a perfect gentleman for you. He would open doors for you, place his white suit jacket over your shoulders if you looked cold, and even snap to get rid of a puddle before you could step in it. The Devil was a sweet, awkward, autistic fallen angel who made many jokes and often showed you the ducks he would make — a result of his special interest in them — if he thought you would like them.

And while you adored him...he hadn't once touched you skin to skin. Any time he did touch you, he had his black leather gloves on and they would immediately retreat as though he were touching a piece of heated metal.

What you didn't know was that he was terrified to touch you. This was a result of a deep rooted haphephobia, something he refused to show you, going out of his way to make himself seem happy when in reality he was scared.

Currently, you two were sitting across from each other at a dinner table at a high end restaurant and Lucifer was hiding his face behind his menu, peaking out at you every few seconds. His red irises would hold the same amount of hell-fire warmth every time they landed on you. The Sin of Pride was a simp like no other and he didn't bother to hide it, kicking his feet whenever you met eyes with him.

"Sooo...what are you getting? Don't look at the prices, just choose something that sounds good! I'm thinking of getting chicken tenders, myself...don't wanna get something and hate it because the texture's off," he laughed nervously, an awkward smile on his lips that reached the red circles on the apples of his cheeks. He ran his hand through his golden, slicked back hair — a habit he had whenever he was anxious.