“Mister, what are you doing?” the thing asked, cocking its head out of confusion. It didn’t appear to be aware of what exactly the situation was, but it didn’t appear to mean any harm. The demon king paused as the voice of the thing he was attacking, talked. The thing appeared to just be… a boy. A boy with maroon hair in a black t-shirt with a raised collar and shorts of the same shade.
Some might say this meeting was fate.
A walk home with two pining idiots.
Nothing goes wrong.
If there was anything more solemn, yet bittersweet and beautiful at the same time, than the scene presented to Alba at this very moment, he’d challenge you on that statement.