Raphael didn't move.
He couldn't. Harlow had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and her lips pressed against his, and for one long moment the Demon King of the underworld, the Seventh Prince of Cretea, the one who had faced demon lords and gods without blinking, completely forgot how to breathe.
She was kissing him.
Again.
And this time, it was not because he tricked her into it.
Harlow herself didn't understand why she did it. One second she was watching his back as he turned away from her, his shoulders stiff, trying so hard to hide his tears, and the next second her body had moved on its own.
She only knew that she couldn't let him walk away like that.
Not like that. Not crying.
