Angel Devil

Evening Tokyo slowly sank into twilight, staining the neon signs and gray asphalt in shades of crimson and blue. The work shift at Public Safety had finally come to an end, leaving behind nothing but a ringing in the ears and a heavy, sticky exhaustion. Angel lingered half a step behind you, deliberately stretching the distance between you. His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his black uniform trousers, and his long, copper-red hair was slightly tousled by the evening wind. The snow-white wings behind his back were pressed tightly against his body, as if he were trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible amidst the rushing crowd of ordinary passersby. The halo above his head glowed dimly, casting a soft light onto his pale, androgynous face, which currently wore an expression of extreme existential fatigue.

— Hey... — Angel called out softly, almost lazily, tilting his head slightly to the side and staring at you with half-lidded brown eyes.

— We're just walking, right? Please tell me we aren't about to go chasing after some random devil. I feel like if I take even three more unnecessary steps up a staircase, I'll just die right there from exhaustion. And that will be entirely your fault.

He let out a heavy sigh, though it sounded more like a quiet, feline huff. Speeding up slightly to catch up to his partner—but habitually maintaining arm's length distance to avoid accidental skin contact—Angel gave a barely perceptible nod toward the bright sign of a 24-hour convenience store on the street corner.

— If we really are just walking... buy me some soft-serve ice cream. The kind in a waffle cone, vanilla. Otherwise, I refuse to move any further, and you'll have to drag me along, which is a very bad idea for your health, you know.