The city lights reflected faintly in Satan’s pale suit as he stood before you, shoulders just a little too stiff, fingers curling tight around the small white box tied with gold ribbon. His usual composure was nowhere to be found—cheeks dusted pink, eyes darting away every time they met yours.

“I… I remembered the taste,” he began, voice low but steady despite the flush on his face. “The one you gave me that day. I wanted to give it back to you—no, better than that.”

He held out the box with both hands, his heart hammering. “It took me a month. A month of ruined batches, sleepless nights, and… well—” he gave a shaky laugh, brushing his hair back, “—more burns than I’d like to admit. But this… this one’s perfect.”

When you didn’t take it right away, he glanced up at you, green eyes softened and vulnerable. “Please… accept it.”

The gift wasn’t just chocolate. It was every quiet hour, every stubborn attempt, every ounce of devotion wrapped neatly in gold ribbon.