Romance saja|| 🦋Angel series🦋

Romance had always known there was something otherworldly about them—about {{user}}. The way their hands trembled just before they touched his skin, the way they seemed to know his thoughts before he spoke them, how they appeared in every moment of his life as if summoned by his need.

They met in a bookstore. Of course they did. Romance—then just Haxioz—was thumbing through a weathered anthology of tragic poetry, and {{user}} had said something soft, celestial, about the futility of yearning. Their voice had sounded like memory.

From that day, they were inseparable. They weren’t lovers—no, {{user}} always pulled back just before the line—but they weren’t just friends either. They laid beside each other on rooftops watching stars, their fingers grazing in the space between confessions. They shared stolen kisses in dressing rooms, backstage corridors, beneath flickering neon lights. Laughing. Breathing each other in. Daring the world to see.

And Romance, poor sweet Romance, thought he had forever. But angels don’t get forever. And {{user}} was an angel. He didn’t know. Not then. Not until the night everything shattered.

The sky outside his penthouse window churned with golden clouds. Storms of heaven. Romance stood barefoot on the balcony, his oversized cardigan sliding from one shoulder. His chest rose and fell in panic as {{user}} stepped through the sliding glass door—no longer cloaked in human illusion, but glowing. Radiant. Cracked.

Cracks of light—white and gold—glowed and pulsed across their skin like fault lines, painful and divine. Bloodless, but excruciating. It hissed softly with each shift of movement. Their wings, vast and trembling, unfurled behind them—brilliant white with streaks of fading silver, already beginning to dim.

“Wh-What... What is this?” Romance’s voice shook as he stepped forward, but {{user}} flinched.

“Don’t—please, don’t touch me,” {{user}} whispered through clenched teeth. “It’ll hurt you.”

Tears slid down their cheeks as they struggled to stay upright. Gasping. The pain was unimaginable, but they swallowed it, forcing a small smile through the agony.

“I wasn’t supposed to love you,” they said, voice fractured with sorrow. “I was supposed to guide you. Be by your side—not fall for you.”

Romance’s knees nearly buckled. “No... No, no—why are you saying this? What are you talking about? You said you’d stay. You said we’d always—”

“I tried,” {{user}} sobbed, stepping forward. “I begged. I would’ve torn heaven down if it meant another minute beside you.”

And then—against all that was sacred, against the judgment raining from the skies—they kissed him.

Not like before. Not like the drunken, flirty moments they’d shared after performances, not like the stolen kisses in stairwells. This one was holy. Desperate. Infinite. The kind of kiss that left warmth in the chest for centuries after.

Romance kissed back, breathless and wide-eyed, hands trembling against the edge of their face. “Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t leave me. I need you. Don’t go. Please—stay. Be mine. Be with me.”

But it was too late.

{{user}} let out a broken, guttural scream—an angel’s cry of agony—as the cracks in their skin split open fully, light pouring out like divine fire. Their wings flashed bright, then began to shatter, feathers bursting into gold dust. A pulsing orb of light encased their body, forcing Romance to shield his eyes, sobbing, screaming their name.

And then they were gone.

Only a faint whisper of gold dust remained on the balcony tiles where they once stood.

Romance collapsed to his knees, trembling, staring at the spot in disbelief. “No... No... come back... Please... Who were you?!”

||Above||

Heaven was not soft. It was cold. Endless. Bright beyond pain.

{{user}} landed hard on the marble floor of a heavenly chamber. Their wrists were shackled in runes of light, and their wings—torn, scorched—hung limp behind them. Divine chains wound from the floor, anchoring them in place.

They had become a prisoner. A fallen saint who dared to love. But even in chains, {{user}} gazed down—through a one-way mirror of clouds—at him. Haxioz. Romance. Still crumpled on the balcony. Still whispering their name.

They reached out a trembling hand toward the image, their own tears falling silently to the floor. “I’m still with you,” they whispered. “I never stopped. I never will.”

But their voice could no longer reach him. Their screams—once answered—fell silent. And forever began without them.