Charles Baudelaire – The Flowers of Evil:
“It is the Devil’s cunning to pretend to be simple and make us believe that we are all innocent.”
“Why the snake?” Angel asked, curiosity lacing her voice. The tattoo suited him, she thought. There was something about Devil—dark, alluring, unpredictable. He kept her on her toes, never saying quite what she expected. It scared her in a way that oddly soothed her overthinking mind.
“I just thought it looked cool,” he said with the same casualness that seemed to define him. His answer was so laid-back, so effortless. Angel almost envied it. When it came to her own tattoos, she could spend hours explaining the meaning behind each one, each design carefully chosen, each memory ingrained in her skin.
She noticed his gaze shift to her Godspeed tattoo, and she offered an explanation without him needing to ask. “I got this one because of a song by Frank Ocean. It’s about loving someone so deeply, but knowing you have to part ways, even though you don’t want to. I feel things intensely, and when I have to let go, it takes me a long time to do it. But I always end up doing it because…well, it’s the right thing to do.”
As she spoke, their hands brushed against each other, both of them tracing the delicate lines of her tattoo. Every time his thumb grazed her wrist, where the ink rested, Angel lost track of her thoughts, her words slowing as the sensation took over. His touch felt electric, a quiet, thrilling charge that left her dizzy. She couldn’t focus on anything except the way his skin felt against hers, and the warmth that radiated between them. She could live in this forever.
Devil pointed to her moon tattoo next, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “And the moon? Why the moon, moon girl?” he teased.
She grinned, mimicking the answer he gave her earlier. “I thought it looked cool,” she said, laughter filling up between them. He shook his head, his laugh low and easy.
“But really,” she continued, her tone softening as her fingers brushed over the tattoo, “I love the moon. It comforts me. It’s always there, even when you can’t see it. And obviously beautiful.”
Her eyes shifted from the tattoo to his, and for a moment, everything felt still. The music, the moonlight, the way they sat so close yet so carefully apart—it all made the air feel heavier, charged with an unspoken understanding between them.
The car hummed softly as they fell into a peaceful silence, only the faint music in the background keeping them company. Angel let her head rest against the seat, feeling at ease. She reached out to caress Devil’s arm, his touch warm as he continued tracing small patterns on her skin. It was nice, almost too nice. She could feel herself sinking into the moment, wondering if she could stay like this forever.
Every so often, their eyes would meet again, and each time the connection felt a little deeper. Angel couldn’t help but laugh softly, taking a deep breath to steady herself. This man is going to kill me, she thought. The intensity of the quiet moments between them was almost overwhelming, but in a way she didn’t want to escape.
“You have a pretty smile,” Devil suddenly said, his voice breaking the silence but in the softest, most sincere way.
Angel smiled back, her heart fluttering. “Thank you,” she said quietly, then added, “You have pretty eyes.” She meant it—the way his eyes seemed to lock on hers made her feel seen in a way that was new to her. Just by looking into his eyes, she felt like she knew him. Like she could tell him anything. It was captivating.
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” he said, still holding her gaze with that same unspoken warmth.
Angel glanced down and noticed that, somewhere in the middle of their comfortable silence, they had started holding hands. He was gently caressing her thumb with his, tracing small, delicate circles. It was a simple touch, but it sent waves through her. She couldn’t stop smiling, feeling that strange combination of excitement and calm she never expected.
Before she even realized what she was doing, she raised their interlocked hands to her lips and planted a soft kiss on Devil’s hand. The action was instinctive, so quick that it didn’t register until her lips pulled away.
She hesitated, too nervous to look up at him, but curiosity got the best of her. Slowly, she peeled her gaze toward Devil, searching for his reaction. Before she could process her own uncertainty, he mirrored her, lifting their hands to his lips and placing a small kiss on her skin.
His lips were soft, sending a wave of warmth that traveled through her arm. There was something about the sweetness of the moment, something Angel wasn’t used to. Devil had a way of making her feel… affectionate. Her fingers continued to trace the lines of his arm, her lips trailing gentle kisses from his hand to his forearm. This was unfamiliar territory, yet it felt so natural—for him, for Devil. He brought these small, tender parts of her to life. And she was happy to oblige.
And Devil returned the favor.
Angel wasn’t used to this type of sweetness. It wasn’t as though she had dated men who were mean or unkind, but it was the ease of it all that caught her off guard. She welcomed it, never wanting to let it go.
“So… what was your first impression of me?” Devil asked, still caressing her hand but avoiding her gaze this time.
Is he… nervous? Angel wondered. She had thought she was the only one wrapped up in her own head, but maybe Devil was, too. The thought comforted her. It reassured her that this—whatever this was—scared him a little bit, too.
