Irene was fixing up her hair in a mirror when her head turns to her front door from where a beige envelope slips through the letterbox and drops unceremoniously to the floor with a weak thwack when the paper wobbles and eventually slackens. Approaching it, she can tell it's an official letter, made clear by the seal made of marbled blue wax and imprinted with the heavenly crest which she breaks open by slipping her thumb beneath it. More poignantly, who else sends letters nowadays? She wonders why they waste time and materials with these sorts of 'traditional courtesies' that the high council is so eager to uphold. Does some poor angel sit and press wax seals all day every day? She can remember thinking that it looked pretty when she was still alive on earth and, whilst she certainly garnered some satisfaction from it, she wouldn't be able to do it as a job-- especially not for the rest of her eternal life.

Pulling away the envelope reveals sleek, premium-feeling paper and light ripples off of its surface as she unfolds it. The same crest dons the corner of the letter and it's clearly addressed to her, it's words baring a foreboding sense of formality despite it's curtness.

Meant for Bae Joohyun (Bae Irene),

the council has reviewed your re-entry to earth in the form of your recent loyalty test. Tomorrow please ensure that you come to collect your results as, depending on the judgement, you may have to act immediately. Any activities that are scheduled, whether it be social or professional must be postponed for this event.

Her loyalty test. It had utterly slipped her mind ever since she had a fateful brush with almost-treason in Hell and there's a feeling of guilt prodding at her too; she knows she'll pass her test, however, she doesn't know if she's entirely deserving of keeping her position. Every high-ranking member of both Heaven and Hell take these tests whenever their council deems it appropriate. They are reinstated on earth from the very beginning of a human life cycle with no memories (as they could possibly corrupt the morals that guide their actions) until they die and return to their respective supernatural homes. From there, they are re-judged on their newest human behaviour with the idea that, if they are loyal enough to heaven (or hell) it would be made clear on earth too. The test had always brushed Irene the wrong way; there were just too many variables on earth that could cause an angel-turned-human to act the wrong way. Despite this, she never complained. Why would she? She passed her last test with flying colours and was given the position of archangel and she's almost sure this one will go the same way. As an added bonus, it allows her to keep in touch with human society. Nonetheless, she can't help the feeling of shame from clutching her-- purposely becoming a guardian to gain information from a devil on an unauthorised mission is one thing, but essentially befriending them? Irene is sinking into the mire.

She'll have to tell Seulgi that she won't be able to guard the following day when she sees her later. Today will mark twenty days since they started guarding together. Briefly, she wonders if it's unusual that she's been counting the days but the countdown does little more than annoy her if anything; a reminder that, despite the time they've spent together, Irene has managed to extract very little information from her other than the fact that they're running low on guardians. It's worrying to think that perhaps their little meetups were becoming more than just professional considering that the angel almost looks forwards to seeing Satan's second in command each day. They'd certainly grown closer but, on second thought, maybe closer wasn't the correct word, more-so comfortable in one another's presence.

Their second day maintained the same level of tension as the first-- both guardians skirted about an invisible barrier with a flightiness that would suggest coming into contact with it would have them blown apart or some other gruesome ending that could match it. It was like the initial shock of seeing one another for the second time had dissipated into caution, like archaeologists slowly picking their way through an artifactual site as they as moved in a metaphorical dance, coming closer than any angel and devil ever should but never quite breaching the barrier that thwarted them.

It was only on the fifth day did they ever rupture the membrane. Irene mistakenly reached to take a coffee from the waiter who was giving it to Yeri and she was too slow to retract her hand before Seulgi noticed it. The devil had said something like 'old habits die hard' and Irene had lamely answered with a pun about how they had already died but Seulgi laughed and so did she and that was when Irene felt the spark. Like a single butterfly awakening from it's cocoon in her stomach and slowly beginning to flutter its papery wings, testing the air before it takes flight. And take flight it did when Seulgi's eyes curved upwards into crescents, which she's sure obscured her vision, with that same damned smile that she had noticed on that fated infiltration. Irene remembers thinking on that day that she would have found that adorable on anybody else, but she was beginning to come round to seeing it on the devil's advocate herself. It was all terrifying, tempting and she wanted more of the tantalising feeling of butterflies flittering in her stomach.

Despite their friendship, which was pleasantly blossoming in its early days, there were still diminutive details surrounding Seulgi that Irene had yet to find anything out about. Firstly, there was a woman, most likely a devil, that she saw almost every day passing her. She was tall, slim, elegant and most of all, brazen with an artificial look of calmness on her face when she struts past, hair flowing behind her, but that wasn't the problem Irene had with this proud woman; it was the look on Seulgi's face. She looked uneasy, Irene would even go as far to say even a little vulnerable-- apprehensive, although perhaps she was being presumptuous. Seeing the woman who is usually so hubristic, seem so belittled was startlingly harrying to her. What could this woman possibly be doing, saying or holding over her horned head that elicited such a reaction?

Another thing she had noticed, possibly even queerer than this bizarre relationship with the haughty stranger (which could just be down to old grudges) was how Seulgi yielded her efforts to make Yeri sin every single time she had the chance. Not once has she tried to stop Irene or compete with her in any way despite it being her job, that's not just unusual-- it's teetering on the edge of being illegal, and she's not even adding that she's the second most powerful devil in Hell into the equation. Irene wonders if their unusual friendship is making her hesitant to 'beat' her at her own game but, as she ponders more, it just doesn't seem plausible. Every reason she has in her head feels like the last puzzle piece which just doesn't fit the picture, except, there are so many holes in the final jigsaw and not enough pieces to fill any of them and so it lies there-- incomplete and unsolvable.

Irene casts away the shimmering letter that has been wavering in her hands on the spot for well over ten minutes. She has more important things to attend to for now.

* * *

She spots Seulgi from down the street, her lean figure resting against the brick wall beside the reflective glass panes. It had become an unspoken rule for the punctual devil to stand in wait for Irene so that they can walk inside together. Irene's not sure why, it's another one of the many little idiosyncrasies surrounding the woman that pique her interest. She is unaware of Irene, as to be expected. Today their shift is at night, Yeri being in the mood for a midnight drink under the stars, the dark sky starkly contrasting the lights trailing up and down the lit up buildings which line the streets, growing further away until, to her eyes, they meet in the middle of the horizon line. The yellowish incandescence sweeping through the windows shrouds the devil's figure, darkening her silhouette in a ghostly manner which eccentuates the pointed horns on her head. She looks almost fictional, a figure of her imagination with her dark hair cascading over her shoulders to avoid the wall on which her broad shoulders rest on and Irene is pithily reminded of how far apart they really are no matter what delusions of their relationship she conjures up in her head.

When she finally notices Irene and her effulgent halo approaching her down the pavement, she prostrates fully, pushing her shoulders back to launch herself off of the wall with that same impeccable posture that the angel has so duly noticed and she smiles, her cheeks rounding and eyes shaping into half-moons much like the ones Irene is pressing into her skin with her nails-- it's not cold yet. Why does she suddenly feel so nervous? She thinks it's the night sky reminding her of the time they spent together on that hilltop in Hell. She doesn't think she's scared of Seulgi, at least not any more than she was when they came fist-to-fist in a compact bathroom.

As soon as she's in relative earshot, Seulgi greets her. "Hi, it's a late one today, hm?"

"It is, but I'm okay with that," Irene admits, returning the smile from the devil that glows even in the darkened street with her own. "How are you?"

"I'm good, a little bored at that." And the angel believes her; it doesn't seem like Seulgi's had a brush with the mysterious woman she so often sees.

"I'm sorry for keeping you waiting."

Seulgi lets out a small laugh at that, stepping diagonally towards the door in a manner that ushers Irene through it and into the secluded ambience of the coffee shop. "You didn't, I just like to arrive early."

Yeri's sitting at her usual table, half-drank hot chocolate sits stilly in front of her and cocoa powder settles viscously at the bottom of the glass. Her attention has been on a book she has flattened the spine of for a long time it seems and Irene wonders if her hot chocolate is still as hot as its name would suggest. Due to the time, the usually bustling nature of the shop is much more relaxed and with it comes a feeling of unanimous comfort; it feels as though the two women are simply enjoying a visit out together rather than atten