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Published:
2019-06-17
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2019-06-27
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3/?
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my guardian demon

Summary:

“What are you, my guardian angel? Guardian demon? I don’t need help from you.” Sayaka mocks, sputtering in laughter as she stands shakily on her feet and promptly falls into Kirari’s waiting arms.

A Kirasaya AU featuring Fallen Angel!Sayaka and Demon!Kirari.

Notes:

Gifting this to Fraguess since she is the most dedicated reader I've ever had. Fraguess - thank you so much for your continued support, I love you!

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

She keeps her eyes closed as tremors of fear shudder through her body. Her back aches, an unnamed pain crisscrossing in stitches at the middle of her spine, and snaking into her chest. It is hard for her to breathe - the air seems heavy, stagnant, oversaturated with heat.

“Awake, then?” A silky voice, in the soft cadence of a temptress, breaks the silence she has painstakingly woven around her body.

Sayaka gasps and her first breath of fiery air from Hell rushes into her lungs with a ferocity. She blinks, opens her eyes. Her head is still fuzzy and disoriented as she slowly takes in her surroundings. She is lying in a simple bed, propped up on a black pillow and covered in a black blanket with gold edges. The room is painted a deep burgundy, an ominous, stifling color.

“Like what you see, little angel? This is the best hospitality we provide. No room for that elaborate decadence you have up in the Heavens. How are you feeling?”

It is not until the owner of the voice crouches beside Sayaka’s bed that she yelps and twists her body sharply (earning herself a sharp, dull twinge in the base of her spine again) to meet the icy-blue eyes of her captor. Platinum hair, tied up in impossibly intricate braids, impassive gaze with a bit of cruel mocking in her expression. A pair of pitch-black wings unfurls almost attractively from her back, but the sight of those wings is enough to stir a deep alarm in Sayaka’s heart. The demon stretches a graceful hand towards Sayaka’s cheek and as her fingers touch skin, Sayaka recoils reflexively.

“Don’t you-” She all but spits out the words - “Don’t you dare.”

“Aw, that’s a shame. You’re a cute one. It’s been years since anyone has Fallen, and definitely not one of the higher-ups - what do you call yourselves, archangels?”

Archangel. Fallen Archangel.

At those words, Sayaka feels a wave of distress hit her and disgust, unhappiness, pain broil through her in quick succession. Her memory is pitifully blank, but she recognises the words from another lifetime through the haze of her recollection, a time where she was clad in pure white robes and ascended to the Heavens and had a pair of stunning white wings -

“Oh gods,” Sayaka breathes as the realisation hits her. She’s heard cautionary tales of the Fallen Angels before, those who sinned against God and had their wings torn off and their memories wiped and banished, forever, to the utter depths of Hell. “No, that can’t be true.”

The demon stares at her with a twinkle in her eyes and a malicious twist to her smirk. “First stage, denial and panic. They’re always the same.” And then the demon had the audacity to lean on the bedpost and start examining her manicured, blood-red fingernails out of boredom.

Sayaka grapples with her yearning to strangle the infernal creature, warring with an inexplicable desire to touch the demon’s hair - how deceivingly soft those curls seemed - and frantically shoves away the bedsheets covering her body. Reaches a shaking hand towards her back, and up her spine, and feels nothing. The majestic wings that once spanned the expanse of her body, her pride and joy, are utterly gone.

She wonders emptily whether they ripped the wings from her back feather by feather, or if she cut them off herself. If she bled while they were taken from her. If she sinned that much for her to lose all semblance of her past, utterly blinded, almost condemned to death.

An intake of breath - “Ahh, don’t faint on me, will you? I’m not that attractive, am I - never mind, you need the rest anyway. Sleep well, little Fallen.” - and then Sayaka falls into a stupor again, disbelief and hurt and the darkest emotions she’s ever experienced invading her senses until she is supine on the bed once more, unknowing of the demon’s pale hand stroking her hair idly.

---

When she wakes again it is midnight, or whatever there is of it in the realms of Hell. Sayaka jolts up in the bed, and the first thought that runs through her mind is - I’m so glad that irritating demon isn’t here to tire me out with her barbed comments anymore.

“I know you missed me, but that compliment was just delightful. I aim to irritate.”

Sayaka screeches and almost rams her head into the wall, sending the demon off into a fit of giggles. At that, Sayaka’s eyes widen. The demon’s laughter is light, airy, maddeningly delicate. Her eyes brim with amusement - schadenfreude, she thinks, but it is amusement all the same. She cannot tear her eyes off the sight of the demon for some reason.

“They usually don’t fall in love with me until the first week passes, though. You’re different.”

“What-” Sayaka chokes, then points an accusing finger at the demon, who feigns confusion. “You’ve been using your demonic powers on me! Quit making me feel attracted to you and let me suffer in silence-”

“That’s all you, my angel. I am capable of many things, but not manufacturing attraction. That job is left for your winged Cupids up in Heaven.”

“I don’t even...whatever.” Sayaka huffs, trying to will away the sudden pink flush that has risen to her cheeks and diverting her attention elsewhere.

She sits up in the bed cautiously, and touches her back again. Hiking up her plain black shirt, she feels the indentations, the small markings where her wings had once been. Two forlorn ridges on the sides of her spine, and the hollowness that comes with them. Sayaka withdraws her hand as if she’s been scalded, and catches the demon’s eyes on her movements.

The demon shrugs. “If it makes you feel a little better, you tore your wings off yourself. You must have chosen to Fall. It wasn’t a sentence imposed on you, so you were a do-gooder till the end.”

Sayaka gapes dumbfounded. A demon, trying to comfort her. Yet the rush of warmth that seeps inexplicably into her heart is very much present. There’s no denying it - she has descended to such a level that she would forsake her own wings and accept a demon’s condolences. A half-hearted smile twitches on her face, and of course, the demon notices.

“There, see? You’re capable of a smile. That’s adorable, by the way.”

Typical. Sayaka suppresses a sigh and asks, in lieu of a response to that vexing comment, “What’s your name, demon?”

The demon presses a slender hand to her chest elegantly, pretending to be offended.

“Why, don’t address me like that, my angel. My name is Kirari. And you, I presume, are Sayaka Igarashi?”

“Stalker,” Sayaka scoffs, and ignores the little jab of pleasure in her heart at knowing the demon’s name - a name that sounds remotely familiar and somehow distantly regal. “Thanks for stealing my introduction. Where did you get that information, anyway?”

The demon - Kirari - acquires a slight guilty expression in her eyes. It’s dim, not noticeable to the human eye, but Sayaka has been trained in the art of emotion and she clocks it with a small dread. Kirari lifts her fingers to her lips, rubbing lightly (another gesture that signifies lying, Sayaka frowns) before she answers hesitantly.

“I am the one who greets the Fallen. Naturally I would be privy to at least your names.”

Sayaka decides to let the matter drop. There are more pressing questions at hand, anyway, than the demon’s extensive knowledge of her, and she waves a dismissive hand as she questions,

“So do you know why I did...this?” She gestures sadly to her back, and there is a fleeting sign of compassion in Kirari’s eyes as she nods for Sayaka to continue. “Why I chose to give up my position as Archangel?”

“I’m sorry,” She seems to have acquired a tad of genuine regret as her blue eyes blink at Sayaka piercingly, “That, I cannot help you with.”

“I expected as much.”

Sayaka nods, and tries to ease herself off the bed. She emits a small squeak of pain, not anticipating the ache still pervading her back, and almost falls off. Kirari rises from her position on the floor and extends a hand towards Sayaka, tilting her head gracefully.

“Here. You’re still injured. You can’t move around by yourself yet.”

“What are you, my guardian angel? Guardian demon? I don’t need help from you.”

Sayaka mocks, sputtering in laughter as she stands shakily on her feet and promptly falls into Kirari’s waiting arms.

“I told you.” Kirari purrs as her grip tightens around Sayaka’s waist, and the Fallen feels her heart speed up of its own volition, like a baby hummingbird’s wings thrumming uncontrollably in her chest. She swallows at the unknown emotion as the close proximity between them registers, and attempts to extricate herself from Kirari’s grasp. To no avail.

Kirari smirks as she shakes her head in delight. “You’re not escaping that easily.”

And at that Sayaka’s heart is struck by a sudden fear - the threat is delivered playfully, teasingly, but it stirs up an unbidden terror in the depths of Sayaka’s mind.

You’re not escaping that easily, my angel, he laughs, and his eyes command Sayaka to stop walking away. The seraphim regards her with a calculated gaze, and on his lips is a smile, the smile of a hunter who has caught his prey right in the trap he has set. Sayaka, Archangel Sayaka, he says, his smile growing. Consorting with humans, are we? And not even a common human man, a-

“Sayaka!”

It is the first time she hears her name tear out of Kirari’s lips with such urgency. She slowly filters back to the present, Kirari’s arms around her, and worried blue eyes staring into the depths of her soul.

“What happened?”

Kirari urges, and Sayaka opens her mouth to answer, but instead out spills a frightened sob. She clamps her lips shut, but Kirari hears the sound of distress loud and clear. She gently sets Sayaka down on the bed, settles beside her and slips a consoling arm across the small of her back.

“Go on. I’m here. Cry all you want.”

And Sayaka sobs for the confusion and shock that is enveloping her body. The sensation of Kirari beside her is her only anchor now, after her Fall to this realm, a place she never thought she would find solace in.

She would.

Chapter 2

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Weeks have passed since the young Fallen’s body first lay prone on the rough grounds of Hell, the demons clustering and snickering beside the violet-haired beauty. The blood from her newly cut wings trickles out in a forlorn river. The demons barely keep themselves from surging forward to claim the Fallen, and the reason for their restraint is sweeping towards them in a graceful arc, dainty feet lightly touching the molten volcanic rock that rims their land.

Kirari folds her wings back and strides purposefully through the horde of demons, who scatter at her imposing presence. The lead demon of the throng bows to her and mutters, “A new Fallen, milady. There hasn’t been one of them in years, so naturally we were curious.”

“Good. Let me see their face.”

Kirari prides herself on the effect she exerts on the demons, an inkling of fear and pride at her countenance - her status among the inhabitants of Hell is a painstakingly constructed one, a role gained based on the darkness of her former human life. She shoos away the small demon and crouches down, a slim hand reaching out to turn the poor Fallen’s face towards her.

The air goes still as a deep horror rushes through Kirari’s body. She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth in a pained, stifled scream.

Sayaka’s eyelids are gently closed, her stately features as beautiful as Kirari remembers her from their last meeting. Her shoulders are slumped, as if in defeat against the forces that grappled with her and drove her to this doom. A sob trembles through Kirari’s throat as she gently lifts Sayaka’s Archangel robes, stained with golden lifeblood, and removes a single pure white feather from the small of Sayaka’s back.

The twin wounds on Sayaka’s spine are clean, evidently deliberate. Of course Sayaka cut her own wings. Of course she did. Kirari knows she is headstrong, determined, bright - in love and in her Archangel duties. Kirari mourns the decision Sayaka has chosen to take with a low cry as tears spill over her cheeks for the first time in aeons.

Disbelief. Pain. Sorrow. The emotions broil inside her chest, numbing yet searing.

“Nobody touches her. She’s mine.”

The words are out of Kirari’s mouth in an instant as she dashes the tears from her eyes and rises unsteadily, causing whistles and catcalls to ripple among the gathered demons, though none dare to challenge her verdict.

“What, can’t let the rest of us have our share of fresh angel?”

A particularly irritating demon hisses at Kirari as she carefully bundles Sayaka up bridal style. She resists the urge to throttle the demon and instead fixates him with a stare so icy it could have frozen him solid. The nerve of him.

“I do believe I’ve spoken of this particular ex-Archangel, Sayaka Igarashi to you all for years, so shut your filthy mouth. You know what she is to me.”

---

Kirari perches on the edge of Sayaka’s bed, letting a long-repressed gentleness seep into her eyes as she watches Sayaka’s chest rise and fall in the fitful sleep so common to the recently Fallen. Unable to help herself, she sidles closer and lets her palm linger on the contours of Sayaka’s cheek, fighting the urge to trail her hand further downwards.

It is a shame that the first time Kirari gets to witness Sayaka in deep slumber is also after Sayaka ceases to recognise her. The memories are so brutally wiped from Sayaka’s mind, torn from her with the bitter cruelty Kirari associates with the higher-ups of Heaven. Sayaka has joked about it once, laughingly, “They run me ragged. I know there’s been an exponential increase in depression and anxiety this century, but really, I can only heal so many cases a day.”

And Kirari had returned, with a wry smile, “Brutal, they are.”

Sayaka stirs under her touch, and Kirari withdraws her hand at lightning speed, feigning nonchalance as she whips away from the bed and stares randomly into the distance, hoping that Sayaka won’t notice the flustered haste of her movements.

“You know, I could sue you for harassment.” Sayaka muses, her tone tinged with a hint of amused confusion. Kirari finds it endearing. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re overly attached to me. Do you do this with all the Fallen Angels you collect, or am I special?”

The teasing lilt in her voice when she leaves off with the word special has Kirari positively weak in the knees, though her dignity demands she keep her composure poised and her face impassive. Oh, Sayaka. Are you sure you know better?

“There are no lawyers in Hell, my angel.” Kirari counters in replacement of her desire to surge forward and kiss Sayaka senseless until her memories return. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about. Demons don’t form attachments, at least, not easily.”

As Kirari faces Sayaka she catches a light flash of disappointment race across the Fallen’s features, and that sight alone buoys her spirits a little.

“I’m sure demons aren’t supposed to be taking care of one single Fallen for so long, either. You’ve been here tending to me for weeks. What’s keeping you? Don’t you have other duties?”

“From that delightful barrage of questions, I take it you don’t want me to be here?”

Spoken too soon. Kirari sucks in a breath at her own words, and alongside them comes the fear that has been churning in her chest ever since she greeted Sayaka as a stranger, the fear that Sayaka is slated to abandon her once she has settled in Hell, the fear that she will inevitably brush off Kirari’s attempts to rekindle their relationship with a silent authority.

Luckily, Sayaka glances away as if in embarrassment and worries at her lower lip, answering softly, “No. You’re my only company. I want you beside me.”

---

Unfortunately for Kirari, the universe is cruel. Or rather, Hell is cruel. (That is a given, though.) 

It’s already causing her undue pain trying to hide the truth from Sayaka, trying to soothe Sayaka as much as possible without coming off as overly imposing or affectionate (“Aren’t demons supposed to be scary and harsh? You’re just a mixture of sarcasm and provocation. I don’t see why you’re stuck in Hell.” Sayaka laughs helplessly, and Kirari stills her pounding heart with a feigned scowl and a nervous flick of her wings).

And their relationship is uncertain enough. Some days Sayaka accepts Kirari's warmth with a tentative gratefulness, even returning most of her teasing remarks with her own brand of humor that Kirari so loves. Other days Sayaka withdraws, silent, brooding over the flickers of the past that have begun igniting in her mind ever since her descent into Hell. She is frequently troubled by flashbacks that she refuses to enlighten Kirari on. 

On the first day, Kirari sits with her head in her hands as she questions her own actions, and it’s the littlest of things that sets her off - the wariness in Sayaka’s eyes, the hesitancy in her speech, words carefully cherry-picked in front of a stranger. And so Kirari goes with it. Refuses to let her love spill out of her lips, refuses to break the fragile Fallen even further by reminding her of their past.

“So do you know why I chose to give up my position as Archangel?”

Kirari shivers, Sayaka’s uncertain voice resurfacing again as a cutting reminder of what Kirari has done.

The reason behind Sayaka forsaking her wings is simple. Kirari caused it. 

This is what’s driven Kirari to despair, why she's distancing herself from Sayaka in the third week of her fall into Hell, no matter how much it hurts her. She cannot witness Sayaka’s torn, heartbroken features as the girl laments over the loss of her wings, so shaken by her own decision. Sayaka deserves better than to fall for Kirari again - Kirari who has caused her nothing but agitation and harm from the day they met, and the ages that they have transcended afterwards.

All the same, she is troubled when she returns to Sayaka’s room one day and has to pause as she hears an unfamiliar exchange.

“Are all of you demons this flirtatious?” Kirari hears, and a red haze sweeps over her vision. What?

“Trust me, I’ve just never seen a beauty like you down here yet.”

A coy laugh, the feminine sound foreign to her ears. She racks her brain for the demon’s identity, but comes up with nothing - the intruder must be a newcomer. Kirari almost punches the wall in incensed rage when she catches Sayaka’s answer.

“What do you want from me? I’m convinced you guys are buttering me up for some twisted plan. Even Kirari does, though she’s not as forward as you are.”

“Nothing much, angel. Maybe a taste from those lips of yours?”

At that, Kirari storms into the room. “What’s going on here?”

Her voice rings out in the air and both Sayaka and the intruder raise their gazes to meet Kirari’s. Sayaka is sprawled out lazily on the bed, and the intruder, chuckling, lifts her arms in the air in mock surrender at Kirari’s question. She is a dark-haired demon with a glossy raven mane and twinkling crimson eyes, and Kirari clenches her fists at the beauty that this new demon possesses.

“Hey, we were just having a little bit of fun. No harm done.”

“Who are you?”

Kirari spits out the words in disgust, watching as the intruder’s face spreads into an unfairly charming smile. 

“Yumeko Jabami, new demon, at your service. You’re the one taking care of Sayaka here, right?”

“I don’t just take care of Sayaka,” Kirari chokes out, her eyes glaring daggers. “I-”

“Oh, wait. You’re the one who’s, sort of, the ruler here right? Second only to Lucifer.” Yumeko gazes at her dreamily, as if she’s discovered a whole new side of Kirari. “Don’t worry, I won’t steal your Fallen plaything. They say you get fond of them sometimes.”

“What even-” Kirari doesn’t manage to get out her protests in time before the infernal new demon waves chirpily at them and turns to leave.

“Nevermind, I won’t trouble you anymore! Till later, you two.”

Yumeko skips out of the room, causing a surge of irritation and exasperation to bubble in Kirari’s chest. Kirari sighs, squashing the jealousy that’s threatening to rear its head and instead heading over to Sayaka, who has… curled up on the side of the bed, knees tucked into her chest, her hands tightly wrapped over herself as if in a defensive stance.

Kirari’s heart sinks.

“Sayaka, ignore what that demon said. What did she do to you? Are you alright?”

Kirari ventures forward, places a tentative hand on Sayaka’s shoulder. The violet eyed girl jerks her head up and to Kirari’s abject horror her eyes are swimming with unshed tears. Her trembling lips and lowered head is the most painful sight Kirari has ever witnessed. Sayaka gives Kirari a death stare and, in a fluid motion, flings Kirari’s hand off her shoulder. She replies bitingly,

“Out with it. So I’m just a plaything to you, huh? A toy for you to flirt with and be amused by. Did you ever care about me?”

The distress in Sayaka’s eyes is heartbreaking.

“Please, my angel, listen to me. I really care for you - I don’t know how to say this without -”

“Stop it! And stop calling me that! Stop trying to take advantage of my situation, of my memory loss,” and here Sayaka shoots Kirari a dark look of loathing, “of my feelings.”

“So...you have feelings for me?”

The words are out in the open before Kirari realises how misplaced they are, how much of an idiot she is, to let her longing for Sayaka to remember slip out in such a precarious setting. Sayaka’s eyes are fueled with blazing anger, and the sight agonises her.

“Get out.” Sayaka’s low retort bounces hollowly off the walls of the room, confirming Kirari’s darkest fears. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

Notes:

...I'm sorry guys.
Fear not, they'll be okay.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Ayyyy belated update! I was inspired so I sacrificed some sleep for this chapter, gosh. I love Kirasaya so much.

Chapter Text

All Sayaka sees is the decadence of pure white flower fields. Lush grass rimmed by towering mountains. A searing anticipation so incompatible with the calm scenery scorches over her chest and she wonders if it is the reason for her frantically beating heart, the thump of excitement warring with fear. 

And then footsteps approach, a soft whispering in the field, a blurred face in front of her, features unrecognisable. 

A breath is all Sayaka gets before the face leans in - the sweet scent alerts her to its female presence - before long, slim fingers cup Sayaka’s cheek elegantly and draw her lips into a burning kiss, and the contentment welling up in Sayaka’s chest is mixed inexpertly with the tang of excruciating pain. 

“Sayaka, we can’t do this anymore,” The girl chokes out, in a sad cadence that twists Sayaka’s heart. Her voice is low, irritatingly familiar, yet Sayaka struggles to pinpoint the exact place and time she’s heard it before. “Sooner or later we’ll be found out. You’ll be in trouble. I can’t let you get hurt.” 

“I’m finding a solution,” she hears herself mumble dazedly as if from far away, “There must be one. I know we can’t keep meeting here forever, but I love y-” 

“Shhh!” A warm hand covers Sayaka’s lips frantically and the answer is, “Me too. But we can’t say this out loud anymore, not even here in the safe zone. I’m not who I was before - it’s dangerous.” 

“I’m willing to do anything.” Her own voice is firm, tinged with affection and hope, and Sayaka wonders where that part of her has gone, into the distance of the past or in the semblance of memories that waft between imagination and reality. “I promise we’ll be fine.” 

“Headstrong as always, my angel. How charming. Thank you, love, but any danger befalls you and I’m moving heaven and earth to save you, alright?” 

“I don’t need saving. I just need you.” 

Ceiling. Door. Bedsheets. Sayaka’s head spins with dizzying nausea, and the burgundy walls framing her bed seem to be closing in on her, trapping her in a claustrophobic whirl. Her chest aches - her throat is constricted with unshed tears and the shredded remnants of a dream. She tries desperately to grab hold of the details. 

A flower field. Mountains. A girl, their heated exchange, the ephemerality of their closeness. Wanting love. Wanting her. “I love you-”

The conversation they had is helplessly slipping away from Sayaka’s consciousness. She almost yells in frustration as she props herself up in the bed and a name tumbles automatically out of her lips, the three syllables tripping out in raw, aching succession - 

“Kirari?” 

A moment later Sayaka realises silence is the only answer to her plea for help. The room is deserted, save for the desk and plush sofa in the corner where Kirari usually lounges, draped in decadent velvet that seems all the more empty without the black wings unfurling over the upholstery. Sayaka’s bedside is vacant - the tearstains on her pillowcase the only evidence of their argument days ago, the half-moon shapes Sayaka had dug into her palm still inflamed in her incensed anger. 

Sayaka realises, belatedly, that she might have overreacted. Kirari’s expression of devastation tears into her mind - the demon’s drooping wings, her normally fierce ice-blue eyes downturned with a glossy sheen to them, the forlorn flush across her cheeks. Kirari’s heavy dejection as she answered, 

“Sure, Sayaka, if that’s what makes you feel better. I only ever wanted you to be happy.”

The memory burns a fresh, acrid pain through Sayaka. Coupled with the earlier flashback, it stirs up an unsettling longing in the pit of her stomach, agitated butterflies mixing with the dull ache of loss. 

Sayaka buries her head in her hands and lets slow tears leak out of the spaces between her fingers. She was once in love with someone. And she has forgotten, completely. The warnings of Fallen Angels’ memories being wiped scorches Sayaka with deep regret and confusion - why in Heaven did she cut off her own wings if it meant this hefty sacrifice? 

A rustling at her hand startles her. It’s a crinkling sound from beneath the pillow, and Sayaka reaches cautiously towards the offending noise. To her surprise her fingers touch paper, a small object chafes at her skin, and she draws it out slowly. A little dove grey envelope, shimmering in the light. The elegant cursive on the cover reads, Sayaka. 

She eases open the letter inside. Inexplicably, with it falls out a delicate pure white feather. The feather is lightly stained at the end with gold pigment - gold blood, the horrified recognition slams into Sayaka’s mind - only Fallen Angels would bleed golden. When she runs a hand across the crest of the white softness, a tingle of warmth runs through her body. 

Is this what I believe it is? Sayaka’s eyes widen, and she decides to place the feather on the bed gently, putting it aside for the time being. She reaches for the letter, flicks it open, and begins to read gingerly. 

---

Dear Sayaka, 

I have written this letter a thousand different times, hoping for the day I’d finally be able to give this to you. Circumstances have changed. This letter is one of apology, that I couldn’t protect you from harm, that my inaction has caused misunderstandings and pain and unwanted advances and I am so, so sorry. Please believe me when I say, I care for you in more ways than you could ever imagine. 

I wish I could tell you how. 

Nevertheless, I hope this gift to you serves as proof. This feather is one that fell from Heaven with you - usually the demons keep it as conquests, as mementos of the hold that Hell has even on the purest angel souls. I kept this for you, wishing that it would help you when you needed it the most. Sayaka, you are virtuous. You are loved, and treasured, and being a Fallen Angel just means you have made the greatest sacrifice ever for a cause you believed in. 

I wish you could find it in your heart to have faith in me (or at least believe that I am not manipulative, have never set out to toy with you in any way, nor use you for ulterior motives). 

Whenever you need me, I will be here. Just - let me off lightly, will you? My fragile disposition can’t take too much heartbreak. I’m half joking, but I really am sorry. I trust that the feather will be a good reminder that you are inherently pure. 

Kirari

---

When Kirari’s shadow flits past Sayaka’s room, with no seeming intention of stopping by, Sayaka instantly darts out of the covers and runs after her. 

“Kirari! Please wait up! I really just-” 

“What is it, Sayaka?” 

Kirari’s response is delivered in a formal, detached voice. It sends a frisson of pain lancing through Sayaka’s chest. After all the beautiful sentiments Kirari spilled in ink for Sayaka’s eyes only, it is disheartening to see the dimness in Kirari’s gaze, the cool politeness with which she regards Sayaka, wings folded back gracefully in a respectful gesture. 

The indifference in the set of Kirari’s mouth hurts her. 

“I just wanted to s-” 

“Make it quick. I have duties to attend to, actually.” 

Kirari’s looking anywhere but at Sayaka - the walls beside them, the floor, the space above Sayaka’s head. Sayaka feels her face heat up with consternation, downcast uncertainty warring with the impulse to just rush over and tackle Kirari, anything to break down the icy barrier between them. 

So Sayaka does. Launches herself like a small missile towards Kirari, feels Kirari’s shoulders stiffen with tension and unease. Sayaka ignores it and buries herself in Kirari’s chest, sobbing with abandon. 

“I’m sorry!” Sayaka gasps brokenly, leaning into the embrace. “I was scared. I just - I was so angry when I thought you were just using me - I thought you were lying. I’ve never had such close relations with demons before, let alone spoken to them so casually-”

She is rewarded by Kirari’s soothing touch on the small of her back, slow strokes that calm her shaking shoulders down. 

“Hush. I understand, it’s all forgiven. Just don’t doubt me again, alright? As caregiver of the Fallen I will never fake concern for my charges.”

Something in Kirari’s response is off, but Sayaka inhales and decides it is enough. All the same, there is a curious dissatisfaction swirling in Sayaka’s mind as she releases Kirari and takes a step back, a grateful smile breaking through the tears on her face. Kirari reaches out and gently wipes off Sayaka’s tears, and the frustrating emotion wells up again, stronger, insistent. Sayaka ignores it. 

“Thank you.” Sayaka whispers, and for a moment she imagines that Kirari’s eyes hold the same vague disappointment. However, the illusion flits away and a familiar grin spreads across Kirari’s face. 

“So. Did you like the feather?” 

---

It is only at night when Sayaka is tossing and turning in bed that the answer comes to her in a singular lightning flash, so bold and so bright that Sayaka is astonished she’s missed it before. Yet it is a revelation that shocks her all the same, with furrowed brows and a grimace and clenched fists as her gaze darts in slight paranoia towards the sofa Kirari usually inhabits. 

In retrospect, Sayaka should have seen it coming. But it is so uncharacteristic of her, and even now after the magnitude of the situation has sunk fully into her mind, she berates herself. Even if she has Fallen, she still was a magnificent Archangel during her time. And her whole moral code screams red warning lights of danger, instant guilt and quick denial. 

Yet Kirari’s half-moon smirk flickers in her imagination, and Sayaka suppresses a sigh. So bad pickup lines and beautiful appearances and casual lingering touches do work on her. She wants Kirari to be a bit more than “caregiver of the Fallen”, herself to be a bit more than Kirari’s “charge” - that strictly professional relationship strips it of the warmth and playful affection they’ve shared these weeks. 

Truth is hard to be denied. The other girl of her dreams pales in comparison to this new emotion coursing through Sayaka, a deep yearning etched in reality rather than in the distant past. 

Sayaka is hopelessly, irrevocably, inexplicably falling for Kirari.