You were patching him up in the hallway—just the two of you, quiet under flickering lights, the aftermath of another mission still clinging to your uniforms. Your hands worked carefully over a gash on his shoulder, movements practiced, deliberate.

He watched you. He always watched you like that when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

But this time, he didn’t hide it. And when your eyes finally met, something cracked open between you—fragile, suspended in the space of a breath.

Angel leaned in before he could think better of it. A soft, fleeting kiss pressed against your lips.

So fast.

So light.

So human.

And then it was gone.

He pulled back like he’d been burned, eyes wide with sudden horror. His voice caught, and then spilled out, rough and fast:

—“Sh*t—don’t—I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. I forgot what I am for a second.”

His hand curled into a fist near your side, trembling. He wasn’t looking at you anymore. Couldn’t. Like the guilt had already sunk its claws into his ribs.

—“You should never let me touch you like that,” he said, quieter now, broken. “Not if you want to keep yourself intact.”