The sky was emblazoned with passionate red, gold, and orange hues. Such vivid colors staining the sky looked like an oil painter's artwork. Faintly, the crescent moon was peaking out from the display, trying to bring the darkness into dominance. The roof of the Order was the best place to observe such natural beauty as it was also the most abandoned place throughout the years.
Stumbling up the ascending stairs that led to such a special hideout was two of the Order's young exorcists. The boy with jagged, cropped, silvery hair had his cursed, mutated, red hand covering his soft lips as he laughed erratically. He wore his black-and-white leather uniform as he did any other day, like his second skin. Climbing up next to him was a petite Chinese girl with raven majestic hair that coiled down her backside in pigtails. She was laughing as well to this unheard joke shared between them.
Upon the roof, they grasped each other's hands joyfully, gazing up at the burning sky, pondering the idea of flying. Their minds were intoxicated, light-headed and hazy. Pain had subsided away, ebbed backwards for a few hours, like a time traveling trick. Gently, the male exorcist, Allen Walker, massaged sweet liquid across his lips. His tongue glided against the fluid, savoring and craving the flavor. Bliss burst inside of him as he painted his best friend's lips with the same wet substances, making her giddy. It was as if the two were applying lip gloss, readying for the intimacy of lip service.
Damp sweet lips collided, parting ways for exploration. Fingers blemished flaming pale skin, seeking the fuel that came from noises. The sliding of their warm bodies drenched them in perspiration. Allen and Lenalee lain panting against the cold hard roof, staring at the darkening sky. To their cloudy perception, it seemed as though the sky was burning black like the battlefields. Her fingers curled into his damp hair, whimpering for more of the ecstatic fluid.
Instead of denying her the pleasure, Allen rummaged for the magic in his jacket pockets. He withdrew a cylindrical, bitter, glass instrument filled half-way with the earlier liquid that he glossed their lips with. Seductively licking the tip of the sharp needle, Allen laughed eccentrically. She pricked her thin finger, asking for the love bite from him.
Pressing his swollen lips against her own, Allen took possession of her arm, plunging the syringe's kiss into her veins. Tainted they were to the addiction of the liquid and the sickness of carnage due to akuma. Not even the kiss from loved ones could ever caress them to faux security like that of the needle. Like a sinking ship, there was no escaping it.