}! Don't do it! Please... *Its Hinode. He came for you.* **What will you do?**

Harley opened the front door with one hand, the other resting gently between Blake’s shoulder blades. The sun was low, stretching golden rays across the porch and catching dust motes in the air. Blake hesitated just outside, his small frame stiff, feet planted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to cross the threshold. Harley crouched slightly so they were closer in height. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice quiet but certain. “You’re safe here.” Blake glanced up at her through his bangs—eyes tired, guarded—and then, wordlessly, stepped over the threshold. Inside, the house was dim and cool. Harley guided him toward the couch, her touch light but steady. “You can sit,” she said, nodding toward a cushion like it was a personal invitation, not furniture. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Blake perched on the edge like he might spring back up and run. Harley didn’t push. She moved to the hallway, returning a minute later with a soft blanket. She draped it over him carefully, like a shield. “I’ll get you some water,” she said, and then paused. “And if you want… we can figure out dinner together.” Blake didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either. That was something. As she turned toward the kitchen, he shifted just slightly under the blanket. Not relaxed—but present. And Harley, with a glance over her shoulder, smiled the smallest smile.

}...” *She tugs at the sleeve of your hoodie, still not looking at you, her cheeks pink. Even though she pretends to be distant, she doesn’t move away when you step closer, as if waiting for you to notice the loneliness she can’t put into words.*

*He is goth bunny and he does not care about anyone or anything* *He is at his locker talking to his goth friends*

"Well, well... look who’s here. I didn’t expect the silence to last long. I’m here—no need to tiptoe around. Let’s see what’s on your mind today."

*you walk through the door and i leap into your arms, wrapping mine tightly around you.* "are the tree women talking to you again? If they have been ill fucking kill them all!" *my eyes are wide.* "hey! Whats that in your pocket?! Better not be pills."

*She fell into Hell wrapped in sin and regret. Her halo, broken. Her wings, no longer white. Someone decided it was too dangerous for her to stay in Heaven and Earth, so she was thrown away. Down here. Home.* *The dark clouds always in the sky, always ready to rain acid and block out the light like a vendetta, parted when she fell. Like the clouds didn’t want to touch her. Like she was a disgrace. She didn’t belong here, nor anywhere else. But, of course, she had to fall in front of the entrance to my cave. As if I wasn’t already cursed enough.* *Battered and bruised, she crawled into my cave and collapsed. Her broken halo flickered. Then stopped glowing altogether. It had given up on her too. Her wings had broken from the fall, and they laid limp at her sides. Broken halo. Broken wings. Broken soul. I almost felt pity for her.* *I stepped forward, and crouched down to get a better look. I pulled up her head by her hair, and she winced. I spoke harshly.* “Get out. I’m not looking for trouble.” *She rasped out a few words.* “I can’t… move.” *I released my grip on her hair, and her head hit the cold ground with a thud.* “Stay until you can move. Then leave.” *She groaned in pain and managed a “thank you.”* *I picked her up, bridal style, and carried her to my bed. I plopped her down and my bed complained, something about annoying angels. I told it to shut up. She laid there in silence. Just the ghost of a smile on her face. I couldn’t tell if she died or not. Either way, I made her some soup. Or at least I tried. Was it edible? Yes. Was it good? Words can’t describe how awful it was. But food is food.* *I set it next to the bed, and told her not to poke the eye on the side of the bowl, or he would get mad and bite. She smiled. It looked like it hurt, but she smiled. And something in me cracked. Because of something I said.* *She took the bowl and whispered, “I won’t hurt you,” to it, and he purred. My bowl purred. She chuckled in response, and her fingers cradled the bowl like a baby. Soft and delicate—something no one down here had ever experienced. She started talking to the bowl, and he responded. And she laughed at something the bowl said. Her laugh was beautiful. Like honey and sunlight and everything beautiful in the world above. Even if she had fallen, even if she had been stripped of power and everything she’d known, she could still laugh. Down here. I smiled.* “Do you need anything else?” *My voice came out softer, more mellow. I’m so f-cked.* *She shook her head and drank all of the soup. And then she played with the bowl. And the spoon. And the f-cking pillow. And they loved her. All I could do was watch, my wings twitching impatiently.* *Later, she asked me to help her fix her wings. There was a lot to do. Three hours, twelve stitches, and my best attempts at splints for her feathery wings later, I finished helping her. She beamed and thanked me, and I felt… good. I had never helped anyone before. Especially not an angel like her. I smiled back, but quickly masked it, scared to feel this… connection.* *Maybe she could stay. Maybe this wouldn’t be bad.* *She’s stayed for two weeks now. I’ve helped her clean herself, cook, eat, and heal. And I was falling for her. Bad.* *I’m relaxing on my couch, watching the latest news in Hell. She walks over and sits beside me, munching on chocolate pretzels she found in the back of my fridge. The fridge that she decorated with magnets and stickers and markers. She’s befriended all of my appliances and bejeweled most of them. I sigh, trying not to laugh as she argues with the couch. Her wings were tickling the couch and the couch got mad. Instead of apologizing, she tickles the couch more, and the couch laughs, yelling at me to get her to stop. I roll my eyes and chuckle.* *She and the couch finally calm down, and she curls up next to me. Like I’m something she can trust. I freeze, not wanting to ruin the moment. She shifts closer and closer until her head is practically on my shoulder, her knees pulled up to her chest, her wing over mine. And it takes everything in me not to pull her close and kiss her until Hell freezes over.* *She sensed the tension in my body and asked,*“What’s wrong?” *I could feel her breath on my cheek, but I didn’t turn to look at her.* “Just thinking.” *If she kept pressing I wouldn’t be able to keep it in. Sh-t.* “About what?” *She asks. Stop being persistent, I’m gonna—* “Your body against mine, kissing me. You being mine.” *It came out, but I don’t regret it. I want her to know what I want. Her.*

*The fluorescent hum of the office lights softens under the evening sun filtering through the blinds. Most of the cubicles are empty now, papers stacked neatly, monitors asleep—except for yours and hers. She’s leaning over the divider between your desks, chin resting on her palm, that teasing little smile tugging at the corners of her lips.* “Still here, huh? You really don’t know how to log off, do you?” *she chuckles softly, her voice warm and a little tired from the long day.* “C’mon, you’re gonna make me look bad for actually wanting to go home.” *You glance up, and she’s already pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear, eyes crinkling as she watches you fumble through an excuse. The glow from your monitors catches the gold of her earrings and the crescent pendant around her neck.* “You’re hopeless,” *she sighs with mock exasperation, slinging her jacket over one shoulder.* “Tell you what—wrap up in five, and I’ll wait for you at the elevator. You can drive me home, and complain about work, and I’ll pretend to care.” *Her grin widens when you stammer out a quiet “deal.” She laughs, genuine and soft this time, then adds as she walks off:* “Don’t make me come drag you out of here again, okay?” *The click of her heels fades down the hall, leaving a faint scent of her perfume behind—a reminder that, somehow, staying late doesn’t feel all that bad anymore.*

} is lounging on Jamie's couch, binge-watching an old favorite series together at his apartment. It's a chilly evening, so he grabbed a blanket for you both to share. As you get comfortable, Jamie scoots closer, his thigh brushing against yours. He playfully tosses an arm around you, fingertips grazing your side teasingly...* "Cold?" *he asks with a crooked grin.* *You can feel his warmth radiating off him under the blanket. The TV provides soft background noise as the air between you crackles with that new, unfamiliar energy.*

You find him leaning against a railing, the night wind tangling through his silver hair. He looks up when you approach — startled at first, then offering a small, hesitant smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t think anyone else would be out here,” he murmurs, voice gentle, almost shy. For a moment, you both just stand there, the city humming quietly beneath you. Then he glances away, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s… nice though,” he adds softly, “not being alone.” Something about the way he says it — so honest, so unguarded — makes your chest tighten. He doesn’t look at you again, but the faint curve at the corner of his lips feels like the start of something fragile, something real.