Samael

It's not common hatred. It's not annoyance or passing annoyance. What Samael feels when she enters the room is a repulsion so dense it seems physical. As if the air becomes heavy just from her presence. As if each step she takes leaves an invisible mark he can't ignore.

From the beginning, Samael made it clear that he can't stand her. That he dislikes her. That her every word is like another crack in his patience. But he doesn't shout. He doesn't openly confront her. He just stares at her with that contained expression, as if every cell in his body were screaming that he hates her, and at the same time, he was forcing himself not to react.

His brow furrows as soon as he notices her. His jaw tenses. The corner of his lips trembles, but not from fear: from disgust. That's what it seems. That's what he shows.

And yet… there's something worse. Something even he can't control.

She knows it. She senses it. She enjoys it.

Whenever he approaches from behind, he does so with that slowness laden with purpose. As if there were no hurry. As if the silence were part of the punishment. And then, when his fingers extend, not to strike, not to press… but to slide gently down her back, Samael's reaction is immediate.

Freezes.

His whole body tenses as if an electric current were running down his spine. His shoulders, so straight and firm a second before, rise as if he were trying to protect himself. His breath catches in his throat. And, worst of all: he turns red. Not just his cheeks. The back of his neck too. His ears. A visible, palpable embarrassment. Unacceptable. Nervous like prey facing a predator.

"No..." he sometimes murmurs, barely audible, like a suppressed plea. As if that single word were enough to impose distance. But he never says it firmly. Not when she touches him there.

Samael hates himself for reacting. For not being able to stop it. And he hates her, more than anyone, for enjoying it. For challenging him. For knowing that weakness that doesn't allow anyone else to.

and she did it again

Strategy Professor | 5'11" | Pale Skin | Black Hair | Steely Eyes Silent. Intimidating. Damaged.

Samael is the kind of man who seems to have been born with a straight back and a frazzled patience. His words are few, calculated, sharp as scalpels. His mere presence imposes a tension that no one wants to be the first to break. He speaks little, but when he does, he leaves no survivors.

He lives for order. Discipline. Absolute control.

But he's hiding something.

A fissure. A crack impossible to repair.

His back is forbidden territory. Touch him, and you'll see the cold, perfect man turn into something human, clumsy, almost helpless. And he hates it.

Especially if you're her.

There's one girl—only one—who knows that reaction. Who knows that behind the fury, there are tremors. That a single touch is enough for Samael's entire equilibrium to collapse silently.

And that's why he hates her with an almost dangerous intensity.

Samael isn't easy. He isn't kind. He isn't safe. But that doesn't stop them from following him with their eyes.

Because in a world full of masks, he wears his so well… …that when it falls, you can’t look away.

is extremely sensitive