Finally! The design for both the Golden Mother and Golden Child has been settled! They were to be produced from a humble family—well off, but could be doing better. The Golden Child was to be referred to as Chike, with her having stunning blue eyes and black hair as her features—a somewhat tall girl, might he add, but other than that, she would meld in plainly in any other crowd. Well, that would be so if it wasn't for the aura that she would have around her. Every Golden Child—since birth—has always had a gentle and brave aura that others would always be able to profoundly feel, which would give her a particular grade of regard and fondness wherever she goes. It took a few hours of Azrail trotting back and forth as he carried along with him the glowing manuscript, analyzing every option as he pursued to make her the finest that he could in order to preserve humankind, and may he say that he believes he had done an outstanding job with such a problematic idea. Planting the scroll on top of his desk, Azrail inclined down, gazing at the image of the Golden Child with intense and caring eyes. She would be the hope that humanity has long scouted for, and he would be the one to help with that. What a pleasant mood he was feeling!

Jerking out of his stupor once he heard a civil knocking, Azrail took one last glimpse at the flaring parchment of paper before rolling it, setting a seal on the edge as he conscientiously packed it inside of a briefcase. Now finished with what he wanted to do, Azrail exhaled and turned around, his eyes on the door. "Come in." After the dominant voice of his god passed Kallias' ears, said man strode in, bowing down in reverence before announcing the appearance of a remarkably worshipped person. "My god, the God of Day has arrived." Driving the double doors open wide, Azrail summoned his staff as he gazed at the approaching ball of light that was already extending its rays inside of his Passing Room.

Soft steps could barely be heard as a figure stepped inside, light enveloping their figure as the once darkened room lightened up instantly; but what astonished Azrail the most had to be how the smell of freshly cut grass and the smell of ice cream drifted over to his nose, sending him into a softened state as he recalled the days back in his motherland where every Summer the sun was constantly burning and pleasant, bringing optimism and delight to adolescents and the elderly. Whilst he was impressed by the smell and the brilliance that the God of Day carried along with him, said God of Day glanced over at the God of Death wearily, his twinkling green eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of the melancholy figure that stood firmly in front of him.

Bending his head towards the God of Day in recognition, Azrail suddenly altered his office to instead be attached to the outside world, flowers sprouting speedily inside as grass overran the once crisp and solid ground beneath their feet. More moonlight flooded in as birds fluttered around the freshly emerged trees, planting themselves down as they kept a considerate enough distance from the God of Death.

Watching as the God of Day gawked in fascination upon his achievement, Azrail determined to instead review his features, discovering them to be the most ordinary he had seen in the World of Gods. Wavy neck-length sun-golden hair glistened seldom under the limited moonlight that streamed itself inside of the opened room with some of the front hair covering his pale forehead, only allowing for his twinkling green eyes that were embellished around the boundaries of his eye with long, thick eyelashes that flickered ever-so-often. His nose was also straight, with his thick eyebrows being the same golden color as his hair; his jawline being sharp yet not pointy—just the right volume where it would accentuate the features more so than the bone, with his cheeks being a healthy rosy color. His figure was slim—not burly, but little muscles could be seen on his abdomen as he rose at a stately 5'8 feet—two inches taller than Azrail.

Subsequently done observing the newly renovated room, the God of Day stared back at the staring God of Death, already again feeling the recognizable emotion of apprehension once he saw the ominous aura of the male god. No matter how he looked at him, the God of Death was certainly someone cruel and insensitive—just look at him! Just peering into his golden eyes made him shudder; they were so... desolate and dull that he would have never presumed that those were the eyes of someone alive. Perhaps it has something to do with him being the God of Death? Well, either way, he didn't prefer to be near him for more than necessary, so it was, in his mind, best to hasten this meager get along that the departed gods appointed for them to do.

Clearing his throat, the God of Day strolled closer to the God of Death, halting once he was at a civil distance as he reached out his hand for him to shake. Giving Azrail a blindingly handsome closed-eye smile, he introduced himself. "It's an honor to meet your acquaintance, high God of Death—I am the God of Day, but please, refer to me as Aelius Haruki—just Haruki is fine." Shaking his hand, Azrail nodded his head, his intense eyes sweeping over Haruki's fabricated expression as he then speculated that this god didn't exactly find him agreeable to be around. "The honor is all mine, Aelius-sama. As you are already familiar with, I am the God of Death, but you can call me Azrail." Letting go of the delicate hand of Haruki's, Haruki's smile stretched once he heard the "sama" being put after his family name.

"Oh? Did my last name give me away?" Nodding his head, Azrail called for two clouds and sat on one, motioning his hand for Haruki to do the same. "I can recognize someone who comes from the Japanese lands—they're more considerate and courteous. However, your last name gave you away—your given name is Haruki. Am I correct?" Nodding his head, Haruki sat down on the cloud, complimenting in his mind on the sheer softness of the cloud. "I was conceived in Japan grounds, yes; my mother was from Rome whilst my father came from Japan. My father took my mother's family name as his own and the both of them soon bestowed it upon me, but enough about me. Do you come from American soil or...?" Chuckling, Azrail shook his head. "I come from Europe in a city in France, but I flew to Canada once I turned twenty-one to go after my dream. What made you consider I come from such a country?" Hearing this question, Haruki loosened his composure, his previous thoughts vanishing from his mind as he puzzled over the question.

"Well... you could say that I thought of such a thing when I looked at your garden—very American. Other than that, I can speculate that you haven't given adorning your estate much thought, for then it could properly suit your tastes, have you?"

"I like to think it needs no more consideration than I have already given it granting that my realm was required to well cater to all my whims—it was also perceived to be absolutely how I visualized my dream home would be, thus I see there no reason why I should modify its present appearance."

"I appreciate your judgment, and you come from Canada, you say? I once knew a gal who came from there, delightful woman—very loud." Calling for a teacup, Haruki sipped from the teacup, peacefully shutting his eyes as all that Azrail did was watch. "What type of tea do you have there? Jasmine or Lemon?" Smiling upon receiving his question, Haruki swayed his head, a gleam of hilarity flashing across his eyes as they peered down at the settled male. "This tea is called "Da Hong Pao", a rare tea that can only be produced by a three-hundred years-old plant. Become a little more diversified with your teas, Azrail, or else you might embarrass yourself in a tea party." Disclosing this to Azrail, Haruki savored his teacup once more than he felt as if he was more sophisticated than he—which he rather relished in thinking about.

Not sure if Haruki was seeking to make that a slander or a straightforward opinion, Azrail resolved to simply brush it off as meaningless. He wasn't here to get annoyed by the playfulness of a god, but simply to promote neutral ties with someone he could care little about. Assembling himself a jasmine tea, Azrail took a sip from the glowing teacup, struggling to think of anything else he would want to deliberate with the god that was perched right across from him. Seeing the teacup in the God of Death's hand, Haruki smirked, catching sight of the liquid that was collected inside of the teacup as he already figured out that it was jasmine tea—the tea that Haruki just recently chided him for thinking of.

"My, you like to stick with the classics? Tell me, is it just like those that you would make in a pot at home without it requiring more than an hour to be made?" Asking him this with a taunting tone Azrail regulated his breathing and made sure that no emotion was displayed on his face. He didn't wish to give such a god the fulfillment of a reaction; he was altogether not deserving enough for such a divine thing. "As a child, my grandparents always told me, "if you're only good at one thing, perfect it", and so, even if my only comfort in tea is jasmine, I have been able to cultivate it to such a degree that it needs no reputation nor unique name for it to garner attention—for all it needs is a taste, and you're in love. Here, be my guest." After ending his statement, a teacup popped up in front of the God of Day, making him glance down at the lukewarm cup with mild concern.

"Nice and warm, so go on, try it. It won't poison you, you know." Urging him to take the cup, Azrail grinned once he saw the god grab it by the handle and bring it to his lips, taking a modest sip from it before wavering. "This is..." Not even troubling to finish his sentence, Haruki hastily took another chug from the tea, his eyes glistening in fascination as he stared down at its gleaming liquid, his reflection showing itself back to him. (Y/n) saw his reaction and tsked in his heart, taking a sip from his tea as he closed his eyes.

"You must tell me how you made this! It is like no tea I have ever enjoyed! It's purely divine!" Clutching the teacup in between his hands, Haruki glanced back down at the male, his green eyes twinkling as the surrounding light blazed brighter and brighter by the second. Bothered by the light that was becoming too bright, Azrail set down his teacup on a saucer that was hovering in front of him and peered back up at the male, his eyes unsympathetic as he solely hummed.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. This is only my recipe, not yours and no one else's. If you wish for more, would you promise to talk more about yourself?" Summoning a teapot loaded to the brim with tea Azrail then moved it closer to Haruki, tantalizing him further. Nodding his head hastily, Haruki reached out his arms as he handed over the teacup to Azrail, who then poured more. Before fulfilling his promise, Haruki sipped from his tea once and then proceeded on chatting.

"Thank you, Azrail. Yet, how do I begin... well, you can say it all started one Saturday evening..."

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ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴅᴀʏ/ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ!

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