Akira swiped the notifications away and pushed himself up onto his elbows.
He looked down at the former exorcist.
Ayame was a complete mess. Her hair was tangled and plastered to her sweaty forehead. Her makeup was ruined by tears. Her tactical uniform was ripped to shreds and scattered across the floor.
But her eyes... her eyes were completely different.
The cold, judgemental zealotry was gone. Her pupils were blown wide, glowing with a soft, permanent pink hue. She looked up at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration.
She slowly raised a trembling hand and traced his jawline.
"Thank you," Ayame whispered in an incredibly soft voice.
"For what?" Akira asked.
"For breaking me," she smiled, a genuine, beautiful, completely corrupted smile. "It was so heavy, Master. Being pure was so heavy. I feel so light now."
Akira smirked, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "You're exactly where you belong now, Ayame."
