Angels can Play too

Michelangelo

His eyes went wide, their grey-green color almost seemed to shadow over, darkening to a near black, jade green at the sudden realization. Dante didn't even recognize him before he was told that the angel-demon hybrid standing before him was the angel whom loved him and whom he had loved--or at least he hoped he had loved him. He stared up at him, close enough to touch, and he probably would have if he hadn't been shocked into a sense of paralyzation. The fallen angel just stared with wide eyes as he attempted to will himself into making a coherent thought.
When he could finally think straight, however, his mind wouldn't just accept that he missed him. Not after so long of being angry after so long of being a flight-risk murderer. Michelangelo had spent too much time hating him to forgive him so quickly.
The hands at his waist tightened into balls, his sharpened nails dug into the palm of his hands. He continued it until he felt the gentle trickle of blood on his hands and in between his fingers.

"You're lying,"

he almost said loudly, practically yelling, but not quiet. His voice also shook like a leaf in a wind storm. Michelangelo shook like a leaf in a wind storm. Confused and hurt, the angel didn't know what to do. You can't lie to an angel, but he had to be. At least to him, Dante had to be the one lying to him.
To himself, he had to claim the ones who had told him that the other was avoiding him weren't lying, because if they happened to be to ones not doing so, he did everything horrible that he did for no reason. He would lose his entire justification that he had created for himself.
He gulped, swallowing against the dryness of his throat which hurt, but he ignored the vague pain in order to attempt to focus. He didn't want to black out again, though the dizziness and headache that usually came from it had already started. The two feelings, however, also came from when he cried, and tears were beginning to sting at his eyes.

"You're lying,"

he repeated, his voice just barely cracking but all the same it still shook like his body.

"You have to be lying!"

Though his head was down now, and his hair was covering face, his tightening voice was a clear give away that he was beginning to sob, almost uncontrollable. He refused to look up, even when the other said something--the thing which he couldn't hear over his own personally snapping from this new information he had received--and instead, he backed away just slightly from him while he shook his head.

"How are you lying?"

He was falling quickly into hysteria, which wasn't good. If he feel into hysteria, he could easily blackout once he did so, and then he would kill him, and quite possibly every other resident in this damned place.

"Quit lying!"

He screamed bringing his hands up to his head, his bloody palms hitting against his bloody skull. He fell to his knees, screaming more and more, curling into himself, bringing his body down to his legs and knees as he continued to scream and sob as his black wings tried to wrap themselves around him in attempts to comfort the broken man. It didn't work. He couldn't properly process what the other had said, he didn't want to process of believe it either. The Fallen Angel's world crashed around him, much like it did the day he fell.