The man, or what was a man, a now shell of a body and soul of an angel seeking vengeance... laid his cheek against your thigh with a bit of reluctance. Nonetheless he was there, kneeling at your feet as you sat in the Basilica's courtyard, perched upon a bench in the middle of surrounding orange trees. The citrus smell lulled you both into a tranquil state. Your hand moves to the tufts of hair poking through his beanie onto his forehead, a sheer layer of sweat from Rosso's unforgiving heat.