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Under the sparkle of the chandeliers and amongst the lavish decor and elegant people dressed in their finery, he shines like the brightest of stars. You watch him as you stand by the edges of the party, a hand pressed over your heart as if to push down the feelings that swell at the sight of him.
Warm fingertips brush your shoulder just before you hear Diavolo's voice in your ear, tone soft and somber: “You still want him, don't you?”
Crimson eyes meet yours across the ballroom. For the first time in what feels like a very long time, he holds your gaze. Time seems to stop, if only for a moment - the chatter of the partygoers and melodic notes from the music fading - and for a fraction of that moment, you watch as he allows the cool expression he wears to soften, the longing beheld in his stare stirring such a deep ache in your chest that you can hardly breathe. He is so heartbreakingly beautiful.
“I will always want him,” you murmur. “A piece of me will always belong to him. What I feel for him is deep, and vast, and unchanging.”
“Do you regret your choice?”
You force your eyes away from the fallen angel, looking up at your lovely, tender-hearted Prince. It was fitting that the Devildom had no sunlight - it needed none so long as it had his golden warmth.
“I do. But I'd have felt regret either way. That's what happens when circumstances force you to choose between two halves of your heart.”
He looks down, gently taking your hand in his. His large thumbs stroke your skin before pressing his lips against your knuckles.
“For what it's worth... I am sorry, my love.”
You open your mouth to reply, but your mind supplies you with no words. After all, what is there to say that hasn't been said before? Your eyes glance back at the floor of the ballroom, searching for that familiar head of raven hair, but find that he is gone.
“Yeah,” you finally find yourself whispering, “Me too.”