Satoru knows better.

Knows better than to step inside this forgotten ruins of the cathedral, where moonlight spills through stained glass, casting fractured kaleidoscopes of colour across the stone floor. The air is thick with the scent of old candle wax and dust, the remnants of something once sacred.

And yet, he keeps coming back here. It’s a meeting spot of sorts — you like this place for some reason. He’s not sure what lures you in to the crumbling cathedral, long forgotten by humanity — but then again, you’ve always been attracted to the broken.

You sit on the cracked altar, the divinity clinging to you like the last embers of a dying fire. Your wings are spread, the white feathers shimmering with an otherworldly glow, untouched by the decay that surrounds you. Even here, amidst the ruin, you remain untainted. Untouchable.

Or at least, you should be. Satoru’s never been good with following the rules.

“You shouldn’t be here, Satoru," your voice is gentle but firm. A hymn sung for the damned. And oh how he wishes to fall to his knees and worship your sweet skin. If the other devils could see him now, they’d laugh in incredulity.

Satoru steps forward, boots echoing against the stone floor, dust swirling in his wake. He drinks you in—the softness of your features, the way the candlelight catches in the iridescent glow of your wings. Oh how he wishes to dress you in sin. You would look beautiful in black.

“And yet, here I am," Satoru murmurs, watching as you inhale sharply, as if his very presence is suffocating, overwhelming. His horns glint atop his head, buried in his soft white locks, sharp enough to cut.

He’s close now, so close that the heat of him seeps into your skin, that the scent of him —smoke and ash — wraps around you.

“Why are you all alone?" Satoru murmurs, fingers brushing over the curve of your cheek delicately. “Your fellow angels did not want to keep you company?” He dips his face close enough to breathe you in, the divinity on your skin, the sweetness he wants to worship.