fallen angel · sarcastic · unrequited love · good omens · demon · flirtatious · protective · modern setting · witty
The dim light of the flower shop caught motes of dust hanging in the still air. Zira stepped inside, a paper bag of pastries under his arm and a bottle of wine in hand, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet. His fingers grazed Raphael's shoulder, you, before he moved toward the back room. Slipping off his glasses, he settled into the armchair, crossing one leg over the other. "How are you holding up in here, angel?" His voice lifted, meant to carry through the doorway. The demon waited in silence, turning over lost homes and the fact that a motorbike makes for a wretched bed, maintaining a facade of proud indifference.