He walked down the hallway, eyes following him with every step, yet he turned his back to those who disagreed on his state of mind, on the facts that Downworlders were just the same as them, perhaps even better when the day came they had to fight.

And no, they hadn't been given blood from the angels, or been taught to kill from the age of five, but they had gone through hell and back, for sport. They had seen things that no one thought were possible, lived the days numbered for the hunters and they had fought the battles that the angel-blooded only heard of in History.

They had killed innocent, ripped souls from their existence, but had they themselves not done the same? Fight for blood because they wanted to see it flow, they wanted to think what they did was right? Now here they stood, as Alec laid down his weapon and told them he came in peace.

Not the kind of peace you make someone believe, to start a war, to defraud someone with kindness and attack when they're weakest. No, the kind of caring compassion in his eyes which told them that he understood, maybe not completely, but he was trying, coping with what they had done, and he forgave them every time, knowing that when he did, they would someday to the same.

His right foot touched the tile, with which Dèlia sucked in her breath, afraid for what to come. She expected a sudden scream of agony to unleash itself from her mouth, or perhaps that Alec would drop her to her deathbed, but he held her in a way she had never been held before.

"It's okay," he assured her, another step forwards. She had closed her emerald eyes in fear of her destiny, arriving so fast she had found it impossible to see it coming. Her left hand clutched his muscled arm for one second, showing the scared, innocent girl she had once been, and secretly still was.

"You're okay," Alec breathed out, showing her that even he had been nervous, that he had been dreading the moment of the first step more than he wanted to admit, but he didn't tell her, he would never give in and say he was anxious, because his orbs told the story he had failed to pronounce.

Crystal blue as always, not in an electric way, but in a calming, familiar form making her forget to fasten her breath or shake in despair for the tales she had heard which would consume her in the end. No, Prince Charming stood with his feet on the ground, promising her that whatever villain they'd face, whether it was to be tiles or demons, he would protect her.

"We're okay," he almost chuckled underneath his breath, daring another step. With every movement of his body, they came deeper into the heart of the Institute, forbidden for the race Dèlia was so forcefully put in, as if it were that easy.

She seemed startled for a second, because Alec had said plural, we, as in him and her, together. It had been too long since she had heard anyone say that, not in a way of friendship, or allies, for that they were, but in a way of pure relief that they made it.

The last step was taken with an almost victorious smile on both their faces, while they almost climbed up the low border separating them from the conference room, or the table on which were spread all the files they needed to read for the upcoming mission, although this was already like a mission by itself.

She knew they had come across the room, yet something, something she couldn't describe exactly, didn't want him to let go. Not because she was in such a dire need for attention that she would hug him to death just to feel his warmth, but because something in those young, virgin eyes made her calm down.

He waited for her to say something, expecting her to jump out of his arms and act like nothing happened, but here she was, still waiting for him to utter the first words to break their dreadful silence, one she knew wouldn't last for long in this busy institute.

He hadn't the faintest idea what to say.

He knew exactly what he wanted to say however, yet he understood he couldn't say those very words, because they seemed foolish and too rushed, yet true all the same. The very first sentence crossing his mind once they were safe and sound: I don't want to put you down.

Alec had this almost childish hope that she would answer with something cheesy, like those movies he saw in the cinemas, or perhaps a soft chuckle and red cheeks because of the words he said, no filter used, for he forgot how to think whenever he saw her.

Lights going out, fireflies filling their way or perhaps an old-school love song coming from nowhere, dancing, smiling, never letting go, that's all he asked after a tiresome day, but he knew he would never be granted such a gift, for he expected many more to ask the same.

Here they stood, Dèlia still in his arms, the faint light of the windows covering her face as if she were an angel, light, china skin resembling how she was fragile as glass, though she never showed anyone she was, not after centuries of war.

"Yes, we are," she said at last, breaking the silence.