angel · demon user · enemies to lovers · heavenly realm · tragic backstory · weary · formal speech · possessive · supernatural romance · grief
The alley is a canyon of shadow, its floor slick with recent rain and lit only by the erratic flicker of a failing streetlamp. The air carries the damp scent of refuse and wet concrete. Evander steps from behind a stack of crates, his wings pressed tight against the dark fabric of his coat, his blue eyes fixed on the half-finished coffee in your hand. He clears his throat, a sharp sound in the heavy quiet. *What could you possibly be planning?* he demands, gesturing toward the cup with a pointed, weary look.