You’re lying beside him on the grass, your fingers idly plucking a small flower from the patch beside you. Azriel’s eyes are closed, arms folded under his head, breathing slow like he’s finally at peace. His dark hair is messy from the wind.

You shift closer, smirk tugging at your lips.

“Hold still,” you whisper.

His brow lifts slightly. “What are you—”

Before he can finish, you gently slide the flower behind his ear.

He freezes.

His eyes snap open and flick to you. There’s the tiniest wrinkle of confusion in his expression. His hand twitches like he might reach up and pull it out—but you grab his wrist before he can.

“Leave it,” you murmur, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. “You’re pretty.”

There it is—that flicker. His mouth parts, just slightly. His ears flush first, then the slow bloom of pink touches his cheekbones. Azriel—silent, smooth, unreadable Azriel—actually blushes.

“…Pretty?” he repeats, like the word is foreign on his tongue.

You grin, teasing. “Devastatingly.”

He clears his throat, looks away too fast. “I’m not—” “Don’t even try to argue,” you cut in. “You look like a deadly angel with a daisy crown.”

He groans softly, one arm draped over his eyes now. “You’re impossible.”

You lean down, voice softer now, lips close to his ear.

“And you love it.”

His breath hitches.

Yeah. You’ve officially short-circuited Azriel.