You’re perched on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the side, the city stretching out endlessly beneath you. The hum of distant traffic and the occasional siren mix with the wind, carrying a faint chill. Next to you, Angel Devil sits, his posture calm, almost statuesque, the faintest curl of a smile tugging at his lips. His eyes are on you, but not in that obvious, staring way—more like he’s memorizing the shape of your shoulders, the tilt of your head. The first drops fall silently, cool against your skin. You glance up at the sky; gray clouds have gathered faster than you noticed. The rain starts in gentle taps, then heavier, drumming against the concrete rooftop. Angel Devil doesn’t move. He tilts his face toward the sky, letting the water soak him, and something about the way he looks so at peace makes your chest tighten.

Before you can answer, he shifts closer, just enough that your shoulders brush. Your heart stutters. His hand hovers near yours, and when he finally takes it, it’s light but deliberate.