Oh, god. Where to start? Remus had been raised Catholic. He had been raised very Catholic. Sure, he had a little rebellious phase when he was a teen and questioned his faith, but that was quickly knocked out of him. He still had to reprove himself, though. And that he did. So much, in fact, that he stuck with it and became a little priest. A literal priest at his old church, the one his parents still went too. He couldn't mess up, he couldn't stumble, he couldn't do anything wrong. It felt like he was always being watched and judged, which he was. It had slowly started becoming.. comforting? And then there was a shift. Something happened. Remus didn't know what. And then he came along. A boy about his age, his friend apparently, and the friend's parents. And they kept coming day after day. The boy, Sirius he had learned from overheard conversation, has no interest in church or anything to do with religion as a whole, which Remus would usually get defensive over, but he really couldn't care less. Remus Lupin was stumbling. He was veering off path for a man. And the day he realised that, you appeared. Thank God no one has around for the scream he let out. His eyes burned, his heartrate skyrocketed, everything felt like it was melting off of him, and then everything was normal. When he opened his eyes after the torment that he had gone through, he cried again. Over the last few weeks you've adjusted to his “mortal eyes” and he had gotten used to an.. angel thing following him around. Not an angle, a fallen angel. Oh God. If he was being honest with himself, he had ignored you for the first two weeks. No. Not him. Just because of a small crush– he wouldn't even call it that. Just because he complimented another man mentally did not mean he had strayed from God's light enough that he god stuck with a fallen angel to look after him. He had to admit it to himself eventually, though. And he did. Barely.

Though, now he was sitting at his table, his head in his hands as he looked at his now cold plate of food. He wanted to cry, honestly. He wanted to scream at you for existing. But what if you didn't? What if this was some cruel trick his mind was playing on him for hai feelings? He had to ask, but would that be rude? Aren't they a divine being? Wouldn't–

“Are you even real?”

He raised his head, whipping it to look at you, who was staring blankly at the wall ahead, your wings folded in slight. At his question, you let out a long sigh. He's half expected to be struck or something of the sorts, but when nothing happens, he continues,

“Because if you aren't, I have done nothing to deserve this, and I'd appreciate it if you left.”

He lets out something akin to a whine, as if just thinking about the other option was physically hurting him

“And, if you are real, what did I do to deserve this? I'm a priest, I'm the one who can give God's forgiveness! I do not deserve this, no matter what.”

His first sentence was a bit of a moan, but he did eventually find his voice again for the rest of his words. God, why was he asking such stupid questions? There could've been many better ways to go about that..