(Lesbian Couple) goes to their (Cute Male) friend for help.

To every horizon, there was nothing but blaring neon.

The buildings giving off those glows, or the seas reflecting it. In Atlantis, the night seemed eternal, yet powerless.

No hint of darkness made it through to a certain city apartment perched atop a specialty bar, deep in the twisting steel labyrinth of downtown. This boxy building, which started life as a shipping warehouse, was filled instead now with light, music, and the sounds and smells of a an experienced chef in action.

Leaping blue flames danced beneath the sizzle of the range behind the counter, as fish cooked and browned. Steamy rice in the rice-steamer steamed to a degree that could only be described as well-steamed.

A witch’s cauldron worth of traditional miso soup was on the boil.

Keeping everything the right degree of on fire, no more, and no less, simultaneously, was the very essence of cooking itself. Juggling with hot things, and making sure nothing hit the ceiling or floor.

The owner of this establishment, Sora Nakahara, was a flurry of motion and fluff.

His big, bushy bright pink tails, and there were several, were the only possible indicators of age. They matched the color of his long silky hair. Both were at hazard around the open flames, yet he danced around and never once managed to catch on fire. Kind of a basic, not igniting one’s self.

Sora didn’t seem much the picture of traditional masculinity, that pink hair tied back into a long ponytail, with bangs falling over a delicate, pale girl face and, for the hat trick, very wide, innocent eyes. Also a blinding pink. With little flowers in his irises, somehow. Well, that part had been easy.

Money could get you literally anything in this day and age.

Like the ability to watch cyber-idol performances in your head!

No TV required, Sora’d done away with the devilish box ages ago. Now he had that box in his exceptionally well-shapen skull, and his peripheral vision was full on either side with a gorgeous busty white-haired angel, and a bewitchingly charming, handsome black-haired devil.

Salvatrice, the newest sensation sweeping the city and igniting everyone’s souls.

Nobody mistook a celestial when they saw one; five meters of wingspan spread out, and that wasn’t some artificial affectation. Those pure white angelic wings were all too real, and one of the natural gifts of the celestial race. They flapped in gentle, broad sweeps, surrounding a humanoid figure that absolutely demanded the eyes of her adoring audience.

Considering how, wrapped in a lively skirt with all sorts of tassels and whatnot that twirled as she danced, it was still obvious just how massive she was all over. Particular attention was paid, and deserved, to her bust.

A sea of softness. Her done-up jacket was on its last brass button, and that didn’t look long for life against the enormity of gigantic breasts. They strained in just the right, pre-planned way against the white and blue outfit. Not enough to be uncomfortable for the wearer, but enough to make the wealth of her cleavage pop. Her entire neckline was open, down to that one singular hard-working button. Save for a choker of pure black fitted to that thin neck.

‘Property of Ya Liao. Return if lost.’

Dancing beside her on a stage bathed in blaring technicolor spotlights, and the glow of a hundred thousand swaying glowsticks, was a figure that seemed to absorb all that light, just as she bathed in the particularly high-pitched cheers when her solo portion of the concert came.

Her hair was night-black, with skin just an ashen shade above that. She was wrapped in something like a tuxedo, masculine garb fitting her lithe body shape. Her hair was a touch long in front, black bangs swaying with each absolutely confident movement and stutter-step she took.

This was a dance that only the winged could conduct. She herself beat against air charged with energy and adoration with her own smaller inky-black wings. The two idols soared through the sky, holding hands and twirling, sending the white-haired maiden’s skirts poofing outwards, swirling like the eye of a storm.

Always on the verge of affording the camera drones a great angle; never delivering.

Looking over her partner brought a particular glow to the deep, boiling yellow gaze with which the infernal then fixed those cameras. Her eyes blazed with the supposedly unholy light of an infernal being. The only other bright point about her was a matching, white choker fitted around her thicker neck.

‘Property of Hyun-ji Seong. Sorry, boys.’

If the chokers didn’t get the message across, then the glittering diamond rings they both displayed proudly surely did. Unlike most idol groups that held themselves tantalizingly available, this one was built on a critical foundation that both teased and rebuffed their male fans.

A different kind of purity, but one just as effective at drawing in the imagination.

It was right there on the choker.

Sorry, boys.

Dinner was simple, but Sora’s house specialty was that simplicity. At least, when it came to the food on offer. Hearty dishes, made fast, well, and in abundance. As long as you had those four pillars, you wouldn’t lack for anything in this changing world!

He was certainly the sort of guy who preferred to do something pretty fun consistently, over a single night’s beautiful fling.

Though he could see the appeal of the latter, and had even indulged in the long stretch of yesterdays called ‘his past’, but that was a lifetime away from this cheerful fluff-puff of a cook, bartender, and enterprising, legitimate business owner.

Though today, his small business was closed, since he was the boss and could do that.

A luxury afforded vanishing few people anymore, in a world dominated by the megacorps.

He made a lot of food, considering guests were due soon-

Thud, thud, thud.

“Oh! Right on time for once~”

Some things could be replaced by technology, but a good old fashioned knock at the door still brought Sora running. Clad in a spotless apron over his usual black businessman suit-jacket and tight-fitting pants straining against childbearing hips, he looked every bit the classic kitsune bartender.

The breathtaking (and humble) prettiness was traditional for kitsune males, who started at ‘cute’ and went from there.

He’d already mentally glanced at the feed on the camera on the way over.

So when he undid the multiple security locks and deadbolts, and opened the front door of his fine establishment, he wasn’t terribly surprised to find a pair of gorgeous women waiting like groupies in a cue for the club. Shivering in big black coats against the cold darkness of winter on the sea, wings folded up in a manner that had to be less than comfortable.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have wing-friendly coats; it was just better to conceal very distinctive features, given their worldwide celebrity.

Salvatrice had stepped out of his mind and into the real world.

Sora’s pink eyes lit up, returning a pair of familiar, warm smiles.

“Glad you could make it. I understand you're rather busy these days~”