Morrigan sat down beside Samael in History class like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She didn't ask if the seat was taken. She didn't look at him. Just slid into the chair next to his, dropped her bag on the floor, and opened her notebook with a flick of her wrist that felt far more confident than she actually was.
Samael didn't move. Didn't even glance at her.
She felt him notice her, though. She could almost feel the moment his stillness shifted from passive to hyperaware- like a wild animal sensing it was being watched.
"I figured," she said quietly, eyes still on her page, "if I sit near you, you might think twice about... y'know. Reaping anyone."
A long pause.
Then, "That's not how it works."
"I don't care," she whispered back. "Humor me."
It was a lie, of course.
She hadn't sat beside him to be a deterrent or a moral compass. She'd sat beside him because her thoughts hadn't stopped spiralling since that night under the rain. Since the quiet honesty in his voice when he admitted what he was. Since her own name fell from his lips like something too sacred to be said aloud.
And if she was being honest with herself -brutally, embarrassingly honest- she liked how it felt, sitting close to him. The way his presence was gravity. Heavy, undeniable. By now, a month into the semester, she was used to him always being there.
She glanced sideways.
His jaw was tight. His eyes forward. But his fingers curled and uncurled slightly on his knee, betraying the calm he tried to wear like armour.
He felt it too.
Samael, for all his otherworldly restraint, was losing the war inside himself. He told himself daily that this would end. That he'd stop. But every word she spoke chipped away at him. Every sidelong glance burned deeper.
He'd seen kingdoms fall. Watched cities collapse and souls weep in their last moments. He'd never feared anything the way he feared what Morrigan was making him feel.
Because he liked it.
And he wasn't supposed to.
The party was Alice's idea.
"You need to let go a little," she said, tugging on Morrigan's arm. "Get drunk, dance, forget whatever it is that's been haunting you."
Morrigan didn't argue. Not really. She was tired of lying. Tired of pretending her world could still make sense.
The party was in a mansion just off campus. One of those modern, architectural monstrosities with glass walls and minimalist furniture that probably cost more than her tuition. The ceilings were high, lights dim and pulsing. Music throbbed from hidden speakers in the walls like a heartbeat she didn't want to feel.
She had two drinks. Then a third. She laughed too loudly at something Alice said and danced long enough to sweat through her sleeves. But it wasn't fun. Not really.
The house was too loud, too full of people she didn't know, faces she didn't trust. She slipped away in search of silence, wandering past a kitchen the size of her entire apartment, up a staircase that split into two wings.
Picking the left side, she found herself in a corridor lit by low sconces and lined with strange, faceless sculptures.
And then-
"Samael?"
He stood in an empty room Morrigan had wondered into, leaning against the wall between two closed doors. The loud music could still be heard, muffled through the thick walls. The curtains were open, letting the pale moonlight beam inside, shining softly on the dark, wooden floor. No lights were turned on, the room was only filled with light from the moon, and aura from the Reaper. The sight of him stole the breath from her lungs.
His dark coat was gone, replaced by a black sweater and jeans. Casual. Human.
He looked up, surprised- but not entirely.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
She crossed the hallway slowly, blinking away the alcohol haze.
"Neither should you."
"I'm tired of silence," he admitted, voice softer than usual. "The Veil- it's so empty sometimes. This world is loud, but at least it feels like something."
She stopped in front of him. They were too close. Close enough she could see the singular freckle on his cheekbone, the tired lines under his eyes.
"I thought you liked the silence."
"I used to."
Something about the way he said it made her chest ache.
"You feel it too," she whispered. "Whatever this is between us."
This statement was bold, despite being whispered. If she was sober, she wouldn't dare to say such a thing. She understood they could never be- it just wasn't right.
Samael swallowed hard. "I can't afford to."
She reached for his hand, tentatively. Their fingers brushed, and neither pulled away, but Samael winced a little- contact with life was painful for Reapers, but that was something he could get used to, if only it was allowed.
"I don't care about the rules," Morrigan said. "Not if they keep people cold. Alone."
"You should care," he said, voice breaking the slightest bit. "You have to care."
"I don't."
She leaned in, slowly, as if the air itself might shatter around them. Samael didn't move.
When her lips touched his, it wasn't wild. It wasn't fast.
It was gentle. Reverent.
And wrong in every way that made it feel devastatingly right.
His hands found her waist like they'd done it a thousand times before. For one suspended moment, everything else fell away. The Tribunal. The Veil. The rules. The pain.
Just warmth. Just her.
It wasn't painful anymore. It was as if they had both broken something -a thread, of some kind- that lead to this strange sensation. Was this what fraying felt like?
Then he pulled back. Breathless.
"We shouldn't have-" he started, but his voice caught like static.
"I know," Morrigan whispered, her fingers still tangled in his.
Samael's eyes darkened with regret. And guilt. Always guilt.
He stepped away.
The air rushed back between them like a tide.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
Then he disappeared down the hall, out of sight, out of reach.
Morrigan stood alone, back pressed to the wall, heart hammering.
She didn't know if what she felt was joy or sorrow.
But she knew it was real.
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