A petal floated down from the tree and fell between Deville's blond hair. I picked up the petal and looked at it. Deville straightened up and held my hand naturally.

From such a close distance, I finally understood what was different about him.

It's eyes.

Deville's eyes are no longer empty, his eyes clearly reflect my reflection, not just indifferently recording as before, but seriously remembering and interpreting.

For the former him, the days and nights he and I spent at the Lecini Peak and the Red Lips Hotel are no different from the hundreds of years he spent on the battlefield and the ruins of the Holy Spirit. , and there is no love-hate entanglement, they turned into abstract typefaces together, and turned into books on the bookshelf, ready for him to read at any time.

But even if you read it a thousand times or ten thousand times, there will be no meaning, because Deville has no emotions and desires, just like Adam and Eve who have not eaten the forbidden fruit and know what shame and taboos are.

It wasn't until I lured Garcia to eat the forbidden fruit that the intimate contact and getting along with thousands of events were distinguished and given meaning by his eyes at the moment.

It turns out that Deville can be so gentle.

The sun was pouring down, and there was nowhere to hide my excitement and satisfaction. I didn't even notice when the corners of my mouth curled up, and I lifted up a strand of blond hair that was close at hand, and asked, "You grew blond hair for me?"

Deville looked down at me playing with his hair, and added a bit of hazy feeling to his cold voice, which sounded more warm and ironic, "Angels can't help but please their partners."

Is this acknowledging that I'm his partner?

I untied the hair tie around Deville's wrist and waved to him, and Deville leaned forward cooperatively.

I pulled all his blond hair to one side, braided it, and tied it with a headband.

Such a hairstyle is very strange for a male angel, but it does not violate harmony at all on the handsome Deville, instead it has a sense of tranquility and tenderness.

Good-looking is good-looking, but too funny.

With a sneer, I undid my hair tie, undid my braids, and tied Deville in a high ponytail.

The soft blond hair slipped through my fingers with the smell and body temperature of Deville, just like cool silk brushing, causing waves of psychological comfort.

My hair-tying skills are not generally bad, and it was a prank, so the ponytail was tied loose and messy. Even so, he still let me fiddle with it indulgently, watched my every move carefully, and used his flawless Face saves badly creative hairstyles one by one.

Such a handsome seraphim is allowed to play with me, if I don't play with it, I will not play with it.

Novia once tied a red headband into my hair, and I was inspired to try it out right away.

Just as I was holding the headband and comparing it to his hair, Deville took the hair tie away from my hand, and my eyes followed the hair tie and raised my head. Deville just grabbed my back and leaned over covered my lips.

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