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Michael was standing in the Great Hall, his arms firmly tucked behind his back as he stared at the empty wall before him. Many years ago, seven portraits used to hang here, perfectly lined up from left to right, from highest to lowest in rank respectively. He remembered them quite well. Each portrait had been adorned with a golden frame which only served to emphasise the subjects’ beauty and reverence. It had been the most breathtaking sight, no matter how many times Michael walked by it.
Nowadays, the empty wall was nothing but a grim reminder that appearances could be deceiving. After all, every one of them, once so beloved, once held in such high regard, ended up betraying the Celestial Realm, throwing it all away for a moment of rebellion, just to experience a sip of the nectar of freedom before plummeting down forever.
All the recognition and all the glory, thrown away in mere seconds, and for what? For the sake of a man who’d poisoned them with his honeyed words? It had all been led by one angel, no, demon, who found himself seduced by the silken words of their enemy. Now they were known as nothing more than filthy traitors.
Slowly, Michael lifted one hand, tracing the indents of a frame, a shape he still remembered far too well. The calculated strokes and splashes of color that used to make up the most breathtaking portrait of them all were still burned into his mind. Its memory was seared into his brain, ingrained there despite its lack of presence on this empty hallway wall. The painting of Lucifer had been a masterpiece, rivaled by nothing and no one; not only the painting itself but its muse just as much. The angel’s hair, dark like ebony and silky smooth in the ways it cascaded down his back, his eyes, two lively splashes of red, glistening like the finest of gems in stark contrast against the sky-blue backdrop, his wings stretching beyond the bounds of the painting, itching to spread out and break free. No one could've represented purity quite as beautifully. Michael still remembered how he used to shudder under their intensity whenever they set sight on him, such warm and determined gems. Sometimes he wished he’d taken them before they could’ve become tainted, wished he had added them to his treasury before it all went down.
Michael pushed his fist against his mouth, grinding his teeth.
There was a reason he refused to go to the Devildom. He was quick to send others and was even quicker to send Simeon and Raphael. They could even send the obedient angel child for all he cared. They would all report to him accordingly, he was sure of that, for under their Father’s gentle rule, they all stood in a perfectly straight line.
Most angels believed Michael’s refusal to visit the Devildom came from a place of pride and assumed it was nothing more than a high-ranking angel’s dignity as a well-respected holy being.
Pride.
The word now had a dirty aftertaste to it. In the end, everything came circling back to Lucifer. Far too often, Michael’s thoughts wandered downwards, sinking so far down below to that place that knew nothing but varying shades of darkness. Few angels were aware of the truth. Michael refused to go to the Devildom, for his purity just as his own sanity’s sake. Father had ordered it and Father's word remained the law. That specific fact though, nobody seemed to be aware of.
It didn't take much for his mind to wander. Thoughts of that place were enough to bring his blood to a boil and his mind to conjure up the one person he could never truly forget.
They had the same upbringing and nearly the same date of birth. Rarely had they ever been separated, always seen together in one way or the other. Yet they had still ended up on opposite sides of the same coin. Michael had thought it over time and time again, had tossed and turned in the deepest hours of the night until he arrived at one single conclusion.
Truthfully, he did not know how he would act if he ever set sight on that wretched demon. That homewrecker, Diavolo, the crown prince of the Devildom. He must have been the defining factor.
Every restless second was spent wondering, anguishing over that one simple question: had Michael not sent Lucifer in his stead, would things have turned out differently? If he hadn't allowed Lucifer to set his eyes on that silver-tongued devil, would he still be by his side? That man was the one who had planted the first seeds of doubt, he was certain of it. He had pulled Lucifer close, had whispered into his ear softly, sweetly. One single meeting was all it took to achieve the one thing Michael never managed to do. Somehow, that prince had figured out the deepest, darkest parts of Lucifer’s soul that had always been closed off to the rest of the realm. Was that demon truly so much better than Michael?! That certainly couldn't be it. He was the snake in the garden, luring Lucifer in to come and devour the apple of sin in a deceptive act of intimacy. Before that destined meeting Lucifer had been obedient. He had been much purer than all the other angels combined. All it took was one meeting with him to make it all come crashing down. Lucifer had never bothered about appearances, so that could not have been it. Diavolo must have told falsehoods to seduce him with honeyed words and half-lidded eyes, a soft yet pliable smile on his lips. How could Lucifer have known what was truly hiding behind it, innocent and perfect as he had been?
When Lucifer returned to the Celestial Realm, pensive, already changed, that seed of doubt planted inside his heart, fueled by the Devildom’s burnt soil, the roots thick and unrelenting with the way they wound around his once pure heart, Michael had known trouble was in the air. He asked Lucifer about his mission and when he barely answered, he relayed his suspicions to their Father, who in turn confronted Lucifer. The spark in his eyes dulled after that and the angel turned cagey.
Perhaps if he chose to return to him, Michael’s soul would feel soothed again. He'd lock Lucifer up in an ivory tower and feed him ambrosia and prayers until all that bad blood was gone and their Father would feel more compelled to allow him to prove his willingness to repent again. And Lucifer would be bent on his knees until he'd bruise golden and blue, the colors of the Celestial Realm returned to him once more. A bird, oh so beloved and darling in its cage. Michael would make him forget that revolting prince whose side he never seemed to leave now. He would get to keep him; safe.
He remembered it still so vividly, the day they heard of their fates. The day all voices whispered, so disbelieving, so full of confusion about how Lucifer had become that crown prince’s right-hand man. Michael had been forced to remain in the confines of his room for more than a month, stuck staring at one of Lucifer's feathers he had kept for himself.
Years later, shortly after he entered that futile exchange program, Simeon brought him the news in that hushed, pitying tone of voice that seemed to be reserved for their talks about Lucifer only. He believed them to be a pair, Lucifer and that prince. If they weren't one now, he was certain they'd become one soon.
The Devildom Prince loves him, he said. And Lucifer remained by his side, his back straight and head held impossibly high.
Wordlessly, Michael returned to his room and pulled at his hair for many nights, his pillows damp from all his tears. Whether he cried out of anger or sadness, he could not say. His mind had become a muddled little thing. Jealousy was a venomous thing, certain to taint his purity. Yet all he could think about was the fact that that should've been them. No matter Lucifer’s feelings, they would have become a pair sooner or later. Father would have given them his blessing. Michael was a force to be reckoned with once he wanted to impress and convince. They could’ve brought down the entire Devildom with a union like theirs.
Alas, it was not meant to be and it was all that demon’s fault. Still, Michael was not willing to give up just yet. One day, he would get Lucifer back, he’d make sure of that.