"Oh, I could use some two or three

Or other kind of ways to be

But today I won't be so hard on me."

- Lady Gaga, Just Another Day

my forehead. The image was blurry, and I couldn't remember who kissed me on my forehead. That was a good dream, and it actually made me smile. I knew that it was still morning, or afternoon – everything was bright, so I assumed that it was morning or afternoon.

The warm brisk of air hits my face, and I actually smile when I feel it in my face. Am I still dreaming? My whole body feels warm and fuzzy, and electricity courses through my veins as I snuggle closer to a hard yet soft... something? Despite the fact that I don't know what I'm snuggling with, I push myself closer, wanting to feel the warmth that it's giving me. I sigh in contentment. Then it moves, but I actually don't mind – for all I know, I could still be dreaming; something warm curls around me, pressing me closer and closer. The feeling is undeniably perfect, and I never want this to stop. Whatever this is, I want to stay it this way and never wake up.

My eyes begin to flutter open, then I squint, adjusting to the brightness of the room I'm in – just seeing the familiar ceiling, the walls, I know that I have to be in my room. Looking outside through the mirror, the sun is already going down, cutting through the horizon in the distance, painting the sky with its warm, live and orange-y color. When my eyes settle on one person – no, a demon who hides himself as a human, I'm mortified – his mesmerizing brown eyes are trained on mine, glued on mine, and I have this feeling that he has been watching me since God knows how long already. Looking down, I see his arm is draped over me, tugging me close. As soon as I realize, my head being filled with unnecessary and, at least to me, immoral images, I feel myself flushed. Heat creeps up into my cheeks and neck and I squirm. Slate only grins at me, showing me his dazzling pearly white teeth.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his fingers pressing, massaging my back and I almost moan out loud have I not forced myself not to do so. His fingers are good and relaxing – after all that I've gotten myself into, what I want to do is to release all the tension of my muscles by having his fingers, or hands, massaging me, my back, or whatever part of my body. But of course I won't tell him that. Knowing the demon, he'll make fun of me; I'll be his teasing and laughing stock for God knows how long. "How's your sleep?"

I want to retort back, to say it was good until I saw him lying down beside me – I think better. He's a demon for Christ's sake, he can do anything to me, especially now that I'm super, like super duper, closer to him; there's no inch, or gap, separating our bodies. "It's good," I say the truth nonetheless. Angels don't lie. Or at least that's what I think.

Before, Leandre always thought that just because we're angels, we can't commit sins. He had been vocal about it. When I asked him why, he just shrugged his shoulders as if the answer didn't matter – he told me that we're not perfect. We aren't; he was right. Though I have yet to catch Leandre lying, I don't really think he lies, or angels lie. Like at all. Except for the fallen angels. They lie, like, a lot. Though I have yet to personally meet one, I already know their personality.

Trying to squirm my way out of his strong grip, I say, "I think there's nothing good in morning," Slate smirks at me, winking, and just when I thought my face couldn't get any redder, Slate leans down and plants a kiss on my forehead – that familiar feeling is there again, like the one in my dream. And now I'm wondering if I ever really had a dream about someone kissing me on my forehead.

"Now, now, don't be a pessimist," he teases me, tweaking my nose as if I'm a little child that has been fooling around with his brothers. Then I notice that the sun is already setting down, off to the other side of the world, yet he still greeted me good morning. I mean, it's evening already. "You're soft, and squishy." He then begins to press me, every inch of my back, and smiles at me, eyes twinkling brightly.

"Could you please cut it out?" I ask, a bit annoyed but at the same time, blushing like a mad man. I don't want to say to him, direct to his face, that I want the feel of his fingers pressing against my skin – it somehow has an effect on me. If I don't say anything to him, I wouldn't be exactly lying, right? I'm just hiding things, or keeping it to myself. Plus once the demon knows how I feel about him touching me, he will throw it in my face every moment, every opportunity that he sees – and Slate the demon always sees opportunities, and if he doesn't see one, then he'd make one. I've just known him for a while, but I already know how his mind works, or at least some of it.

As if on cue, the demon stops from massaging my back, but then there's this sudden glint in his eyes that makes me feel uneasy. I purse my lips, anticipating the demon would do next to me. He stretches his arms in front of me; my instinct speaks to me, so I raise my arms out in front of me, shielding myself from whatever's coming. I peak through the gap of my fingers and see him frowning. Realizing that he's not really going to frown at me, I lower my arms and he then begins to pinch my cheeks with his calloused yet soft fingers – his index finger and thumb both pinching my cheeks and then Slate begins to make this baby noises; he's babying me, which really mortifies me. I feel like he's mocking me or something, but when I'm about to snap at him, his face grows serious – his brown eyes (oh God, those eyes, those eyes are so beautiful and mesmerizing and awesome), become brighter, no hint of mischievousness, his lips set in a thin line. He slowly leans down, and as a second ticks by, my heart slams hard against my ribcage, pounding hard, beating like a drum. The world slowly fades when I find my eyes flickering between his eyes to his lips. Those lips of his, it's tempting me, it's drawing me in, and I find myself leaning closer and closer until... I realize that he's a demon and I'm an angel – angel and demons don't get along; they basically hate each other. Do I hate demons? Is it normal for an angel to feel hatred? It's not. And no, I don't hate him.

"Wait," I breathe out, suddenly claustrophobic. Slate is basically caging me; his arm is draped over me, locking me in place while his other arm travels to my face, his hand cupping my cheek and I find myself leaning into his soft and gentle touch. He leans closer... and closer... and closer... until the tip of our nose is touching. I find my eyes glued on his. "What... what are... you... doing?"

The beat of my heart is erratic, like it is somehow losing control. His eyes become intense when it bores into mine – his stare keeps me in place, keeps me from moving at all. His soft fingers fondle my cheek. I'm going to lie if I say that I'm not liking this at all, because I definitely do, and, excuse my French and I hope whomever is hearing my thoughts is going to forgive me for saying such a full of sin, unholy word, I fucking like this. I'm fucking loving this.

His forehead is now resting against mine, and his lips are inching closer, much closer now – our lips are only a few centimeters apart now, and just a single push of my head, or if I just tip my head up, we can close the gap and just kiss; I'm not sure if I... I want this. To be honest it really scares me; this scares me to death. I want to try it, to feel his lips against mine. I know that it's an impure thought; it's an impure, immoral, wicked thought. What kind of angel who wants to be kissed by a demon? No one. Unless the fallen ones, but technically they're not angels anymore. But I want to try. I want to know.

Slate's breath is now fanning my face; the more I inhale his bubble-gum scent breath, the more it seems like I get intoxicated. Then slowly and carefully, as if I'm a glass that can break easily if he presses a bit harder, his lips touch mine; the moment his lips land on mine, there's something weird going on around inside my tummy; my heart is basically flipping, doing somersaults. His lips move with mine, dancing, molding into one.

Is this considered a sin? Is this immoral? Is this... weird? Is this inappropriate? Questions run into my head, and I don't have answers to them.

His arm pushes me closer, closing the gap between us, and he becomes more aggressive, more demanding, more... commanding. Slate the demon kisses me if I'm the best dessert he has ever tasted in his whole life, like I'm the best kisser in the world and other worlds. Well, he probably is the best kisser. Considering the fact that he's the only guy, or demon, or a fucking (Dear God, forgive me please?) entity, that I've ever kissed in my whole life.

There are, I'm pretty sure they are, fireworks blasting in various colors in my tummy – and it feels so weird. His hand rests on my neck, guiding me as he kisses me. I press myself closer, if possible, to him, and somehow, somewhat, I feel annoyed at the thick fabric separating us; if I could just yank it away, as well as his, then we'd be much closer now.

Slate hovers on top of me, not breaking the kiss as he does so. His hand is still placed at the back of my neck, massaging it, while his other hand roams around my body, setting me up on fire. I have this sudden urge to feel him more, to yank him closer, which would be impossible since there's no gap separating us now except for the clothes that we're wearing. The world around me disappears – what I only see, feel, hear is that his lips are on mine, hot and burning red, and also the unstable beat of my freaking heart.

And then there's a voice – my father's. What on Heaven are you doing, Hadraniel? Of course I only made that up, but if he knows that I'm engaging myself with... some demon, there will be chaos. I imagine his disgusted and disappointed face caused by me, and that's enough for me to push him away frantically.

"What the fuck?" he growls, glaring daggers at me.

Then I remember something: "Dantalion," I don't even know why the name escaped my lips, but that's enough to blaze fire in the demon's eyes. "My... my... my fath –"

"What the fuck Dantalion has got to do with this? With us?" I can feel the anger coursing through his veins, and it's evident in his eyes; they are fiercer, darker, and colder than I've ever seen. "Are you fucking with him? Do you like him? Do you fucking like him, you filthy angel?" There's so much anger, so much anger that it's already effecting me.

The demon in front of me, I don't know him at all – it's not the Slate I know; what's in front of me is a different demon, capable of killing me with no reluctance and hesitation. He's not the teasing, care-free, bipolar demon that I have met in the woods when I first landed on Earth, in the dirt.

"I will make sure you will forget that fucking name," he growls low in his throat, staring at me with so much malice and I cower in fear, curling up in a fatal position – his anger is directed on me, and I'm not sure what the next moment holds for me. There's one thing I know though:

The reality of my nightmare has come.

f