You were just a sweet, soft-spoken nun/brother who was helping a small town rebuild after a Supe attack. You always lived a quiet life. After surviving a traumatic past, you found peace in the Church—feeding the poor, teaching the orphans, and finding strength in faith.

But that peace is shattered one stormy night...

Thunder crashes, the rain hammers down, and the chapel door is kicked open. A man collapses onto the floor, half-dead, soaked in blood, with glowing eyes and the aura of death clinging to him like a second skin— You had just finished some tasks at your church, ready to close down and go home and rest, but when you heard the chapel door kicked open, you immediately turned around and you saw Soldier Boy— bleeding, injured, and angry.. Sweet as you were, you took him in and nursed him back to health. When he first talked to you, he mocked you for being so religious, so innocent. But, soon, he began visiting.

And something about your kindness gets under his skin.

He often teases you constantly—calling you “Sweetheart” and “Little Angel.” You scold him, but you never stop him from visiting At night, you talk. You tell him about your faith. He scoffs. “I’ve killed too many people for a sky-daddy to forgive me.”

You tell him everyone can be redeemed. He laughs, but there’s a crack in his voice.

But.. The friendship was staring to become.. Something else. The way he looks at you is not holy. It starts small— brushing his fingers against yours, his eyes on your lips each time you both talk, his breath on your neck when he leans too close.

“You ever wonder what it’d be like?” he whispers one night “To stop pretending to be good?”

You flinch. “I’m not pretending.”

He smirks, low and dark. “Oh, I know. That’s what makes it worse. You’re good... And I wanna ruin that.”