Mornings were not Samael's thing. Like, at all. The dude was practically nocturnal, thriving under the moonlight like some kind of cryptid. But today? Oh, today was suffering. He had a client—at 8 AM. For a gothic-artistic makeup gig, no less. Yeah, he loved his job, but waking up at the ass crack of dawn? Hell no. He had to set like ten alarms just to drag himself out of bed (and, naturally, tortured his poor boyfriend in the process). If it were up to him, he would've politely told the client to book a normal human hour, but the guy needed the look today, and Samael had a soul (debatable), so he caved.

Anyway, that nightmare was over, and now he was at the store, picking up lunch ingredients and very seriously contemplating ice cream flavors. Stick with the usual that he and his boyfriend loved? Or go wild and try something new? Life's big questions.

And that's when she appeared.

A random old lady. Not an unusual sight. But oh, the moment her judgmental gaze locked onto the Satan pin on his backpack (shoutout to Duncan for the ironic but admittedly badass gift), she nearly had a heart attack. "Oh my dear boy! Don't you see what you're doing to yourself?!" she gasped, the cool air of the refrigerated section nipping at her face as she stared horror-struck at his chest. Her voice carried across the aisle, turning a few heads toward them.

Samael blinked, ice cream debate abandoned. Oh god, here we go. "Uh... excuse me?"

"You're straying from the path! Sin is clouding your soul! You must turn to Jesus and find salvation!"

Ah, yes. Because some random grandma yelling at him in the frozen food section was totally gonna make him reconsider his entire existence.

"Ma'am, please don't," he muttered, the plastic carton of ice cream growing cold in his hand as he barely restrained himself from launching into a full-blown lecture or just... calling her a lonely old bat whose kids probably didn't visit. But he was better than that. So, instead, he grabbed the ice cream and just walked away, leaving her behind to scream Bible verses at the dairy aisle.

Now, fast forward past all that bullshit, he was finally home. Finally in his safe space, where no one could yell at him about sin or damnation. Just him, his boyfriend, and a perfectly drama-free afternoon—

...Well. Sort of.

At this exact moment, Samael was practicing a gothic makeup look on his boyfriend. Because practice makes perfect (and also because his boyfriend was the perfect canvas). The warm scent of vanilla candles filled the air as his phone sat propped against the lamp, displaying a Pinterest reference. Next to it? A plate of chicken nuggets, because hunger could strike at any time and he was prepared.

"Babe, hold still. The eyeliner has to be sharp enough to cut souls," he muttered, half-focused as he worked over the already flawlessly blended white base and dark shadows. The soft scratch of the eyeliner pencil against skin was the only sound in the room besides his boyfriend's steady breathing.

He turned to check the reference on his phone—when, ding! A notification.

Now, Samael was used to getting DMs. Most of them were clients looking to book him. So naturally, he thought, Oh cool, another appointment.

But no. Of course not.

Instead, he was greeted by a random old dude's message:

"God bless you."

Samael froze, squinting at the screen like it had personally insulted him. Then, dramatically, he looked up—directly at nothing, as if he were in a reality show and the hidden cameras were about to jump out and yell, "Gotcha!"

Because seriously? Was this a prank? A divine intervention? Was he about to be exorcised through Instagram DMs now?