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If someone had told Jimin six months ago that he’d be sipping mango tea in the break room of Heaven’s Bureaucratic Department of Soul Affairs, he would’ve laughed. Or cried. Or both.
Instead, he was here, sitting stiffly on a floating chair that didn’t have legs -just soft clouds under its butt- and staring at the “Welcome to Heaven :)” orientation packet like it personally offended him.
“Okay,” Jimin muttered, flipping to page seven. “‘Dress code: golden tones encouraged but not enforced. Wings optional on casual Fridays.’ What the hell does that even mean?”
From the other side of the counter, Jungkook leaned lazily against a marble cabinet, arms crossed, watching Jimin with the amused look of a man who’d just finished his third donut and was considering a fourth.
“Means you can wear silver if you want,” he said with a smile. “But you’ll look like a rebel.”
“I am a rebel,” Jimin grumbled, tossing the packet onto the glowing table, which dinged politely in response. “I broke into Hell’s internal systems, Jungkook.”
“Correction,” Jungkook said, pushing off the cabinet with a dramatic little spin, “we broke in. But also, technically, you filed an exception request form in triplicate with proper signatures, so… not exactly punk rock.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“I’m enjoying you trying to read Heaven’s onboarding material like it’s going to explain anything.”
Jimin glanced back at the table. The packet had changed color. It was now shimmering lavender, gently vibrating with what he could only describe as passive-aggressive calmness.
He sighed and leaned back. “Why is everything up here… glowing?”
“It’s Heaven,” Jungkook said simply, plopping into the seat next to him. his wings, annoyingly perfect and slightly translucent, flaring just a little as he did. “We like to show off.”
“Do you glow?”
Jungkook gave him a slow, mischievous look. “Depends on who’s watching.”
Jimin stared. “Gross.”
“You like it.”
“Unfortunately.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
Finally, Jimin asked, “So what do people even do up here? I haven’t seen a single harp.”
Jungkook grinned. “We got rid of the harps after the 1600s. Too much tuning. Now we have spreadsheets.”
“…I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” Jungkook leaned in, eyes glinting. “Spreadsheets. Charts. Eternal documentation. Heaven’s kinda like HR, but more judgmental.”
Jimin blinked at him. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Oh come on, you’ll love it. I put you in the soul transition department. You get to interview new arrivals.”
“I have to talk to dead people?”
“Yep. But only the confused ones.”
Jimin groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I should’ve just stayed in Hell.”
Jungkook rested his chin on his hand, tilting his head. “Too late. You already followed the angel into the light.”
Jimin side-eyed him. “And he’s not nearly as graceful as he thinks.”
Jungkook smirked. “You haven’t seen me fly at full speed yet.”
“I’m hoping I never do.”
“Oh, you will,” Jungkook said, getting up and stretching, wings flaring just slightly again. “I’ve already scheduled us for Soul Retrieval Field Training next week.”
“You what?!”
“Gotta earn those wings, babe.”
“I hate it here.”
“No, you don’t.”
“…Fine. Maybe I don’t. But only because the mango tea slaps.”
Jungkook winked. “And because I’m here.”
Jimin rolled his eyes dramatically, but didn’t deny it.
•••
Jimin stood in front of the glowing desk like it had personally offended him.
It probably hadn’t. It was just a desk. But still he glared at it with suspicion, arms crossed, posture tense, like it might bite him if he touched it the wrong way.
“It looks like it’s made of clouds,” he muttered.
“That’s because it is,” Jungkook chirped from behind, already half-sitting on the neighboring desk, one leg swinging like a child who had never once struggled with celestial bureaucracy. “Well. Condensed cloud-fiber, to be exact. Pretty durable. Not great with coffee spills, though.”
Jimin turned slowly. “You drink coffee in Heaven in this amount of option?”
“Only decaf,” Jungkook said, making a face like he’d just admitted to a personal tragedy.
Jimin sighed and sat down, and the desk made a soft whoosh noise as it adjusted to his presence. He jumped slightly.
“Okay, why did it do that? Why did it breathe?”
“It’s welcoming you. Just say hi back,” Jungkook said, dead serious.
Jimin looked at the desk. The desk looked back. (Okay, it didn’t, but it felt like it did.)
He whispered, “Hi,” like he was meeting someone’s grandmother.
“Perfect,” Jungkook beamed. “See? You’re a natural.”
Jimin rolled his eyes. “Is this entire place alive?”
“Well, not alive alive. More like… responsive. Sentient adjacent. Don’t overthink it.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You belong here.” Jimin gestured vaguely around the room, where other angels floated gently past, laughing politely and carrying armfuls of sparkly paperwork. “They’re all so… unbothered.”
Jungkook leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “Secret tip: most of them are just pretending to know what they’re doing.”
Jimin narrowed his eyes. “Are you?”
Jungkook gasped. “Rude. I’ll have you know I’m very competent. I just make it look like I’m not, for aesthetic reasons.”
Jimin snorted. “Sure.”
But when he turned back to the desk, the glowing surface had shifted again. now displaying something like a soft list of names, numbers, little symbols he couldn’t quite read. He blinked at it.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Oh!” Jungkook perked up. “That’s your soul queue.”
“My what?”
“You’re reviewing cases today! Just light stuff. Souls on the waiting list. You don’t make any final decisions or anything. just emotional summaries, vibe checks, that sort of thing.”
“Vibe checks?” Jimin said flatly.
“Very official,” Jungkook nodded. “You’ll do great. Just trust your gut.”
“My gut got me kicked out of Hell.”
“Exactly. And now it brought you here.” Jungkook smiled like that made perfect sense. “Your gut’s clearly on a redemption arc.”
Jimin groaned and let his forehead fall dramatically onto the cloud-desk, which let out a soft puff in response.
•••
The office was suspiciously… peaceful.
The walls were too white, the coffee too warm, the chairs too ergonomic. The printer printed without jamming. A cloud-shaped robot floated by offering “cloudberry muffins” and “sun-infused chamomile tea.”
It was, frankly, unsettling.
Jimin stood in front of his desk like it might explode. “This is a trap,” he muttered.
“It’s not a trap,” Jungkook said, trying not to laugh as he carried two mugs of tea. “It’s just… Heaven.”
“That’s what a trap would say.”
Jungkook set the mugs down and leaned on the edge of Jimin’s desk, watching as Jimin circled his chair with suspicion. “Do you want me to test it for landmines?”
“I want it to squeak. Or stab me. Or fall apart. Something.”
Jungkook grinned. “Sorry. We have standards here.”
Jimin slowly sat down like it might vanish under him. It didn’t. Instead, it cradled his back like a loving cloud.
“I hate this,” he said softly.
“Do you?” Jungkook teased, sitting in the chair next to him. “You look like you’re three seconds away from falling asleep.”
“Shut up.” He leaned forward dramatically. “What am I even supposed to do? There’s no screaming. No one’s crying. Nobody’s on fire.”
Jungkook reached over and tapped his screen. “Your first assignment is writing a report on interdimensional kindness metrics.”
Jimin blinked at the file name: “Sparkle_Report_88.xlsx.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, come on,” Jungkook said, wheeling his chair over like a smug golden retriever. “I’ll help you.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I enjoy you,” Jungkook said, too smoothly, and Jimin froze.
“…You’re lucky I don’t have access to a single flame here,” he muttered, ears pink.
•••
The office was open-plan, filled with softly glowing desks and the faint sound of harp music that, according to the sign on the wall, was “generated organically by angelic emotional balance.”
Jimin hated it.
They were walking through the hallway. Jungkook in his perfectly fitted button-up, Jimin trailing behind in a slightly-too-white uniform that made him look like a freshly bleached kitchen towel.
“Why are you walking like you’re being escorted to your execution?” Jungkook asked, glancing back.
“Because I am,” Jimin whispered. “By you. My executioner. Look at me, I’m glowing. It’s disgusting.”
“You’re radiant,” Jungkook corrected with a smirk.
They passed a floating nameplate that read “Cherub HR Liaison: Thistle, She/They” and another that said “Department of Eternal Surprises (Do Not Knock).”
Jimin paused. “What the hell is ‘Eternal Surprises’?”
Jungkook leaned in conspiratorially. “Last week they released a rain of glitter frogs in the West Wing.”
“Why?”
“Celebration of unconditional love.”
“…This is a cult.”
Jungkook just shrugged and knocked on the next door.
Inside was a round table with three figures sitting around it. One wore a rainbow halo and a sweater that said ‘Ask Me About My Joy Spreadsheet!’ Another had six eyes, four wings, and a very chill aura. The third looked normal, too normal. Jimin didn’t trust him at all.
“Everyone,” Jungkook said brightly, “this is Jimin. He’s just transferred from… you know.”
The six-eyed one beamed. Literally. “Welcome! We’ve heard… nothing at all, actually. But it’s great to have new blood— I mean, new light!”
Jimin waved stiffly. “Hi. Do I get a manual or… therapy?”
The rainbow-halo one handed him a pamphlet titled “Harmony Starts With You!” and a sticker shaped like a star.
Jimin stared at the sticker. “This feels like psychological warfare.”
“It sparkles in seven emotional spectrums,” the rainbow-halo said proudly.
“I’m going to eat it.”
“Please don’t,” Jungkook whispered behind him, holding back a laugh.
•••
Jimin sat back at his glowing desk, finally alone. He tried to open the file labeled “Sparkle_Report_88.xlsx” but every time he clicked, the file sang.
Like, actually sang.
"Kindness is a river that flooooows—”
Jimin slammed the laptop shut. “I’m going to lose my mind.”
Jungkook peeked over from his desk. “Problem?”
“Why is my file singing to me?”
“Positive reinforcement.”
“I don’t need reinforcement. I need silence and sarcasm and maybe a demon yelling at me from a hallway.”
“I can yell at you, if that helps,” Jungkook offered sweetly.
Jimin groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the fire.”
“…I can wear red and scream?”
“Please.”
•••
The cafeteria was nothing like Jimin had imagined it.
No golden goblets. No harp music. No endless buffet of divine fruits handpicked by virginal nymphs or whatever his half-baked idea of heaven used to be. Instead, there were clean white trays, slightly chipped mugs, a suspicious amount of beige-colored food, and an angel named Dara wearing a hairnet and shouting, “Next!” like this was some celestial high school lunchline.
Jimin stood frozen, tray in hand, staring down at the options: cloudcakes, halo hashbrowns, something suspiciously gelatinous labeled “ambrosia lite.”
He whispered, “…What the hell.”
“Language,” Jungkook said behind him, lightly elbowing his side. He was too close. He was always too close now. Jimin didn’t hate it.
“I thought heaven was supposed to be… I don’t know. Whiter. Shinier. Less... cafeteria-y,” Jimin muttered, inching forward as the line moved.
“You’re thinking of the marketing version,” Jungkook replied with a grin. “This is the real deal. Bureaucracy, mild coffee, and cloudcakes that taste like regret.”
Jimin side-eyed him. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were. They say it builds humility.”
Jimin moved down the line and accepted a single scoop of something mushy. He looked at it. Then at Jungkook. “Do I have to eat this?”
“Technically? No. Spiritually? Also no. But Dara will glare at you for the rest of eternity if you dump it.”
“Got it,” Jimin said. He shuffled along to the drink station, where a pitcher labeled “holy water – lemon infused” sat next to another that just said “milk (?)”. The question mark was doing a lot of heavy lifting.
He poured himself the holy water.
They sat down at a table by the window, where the clouds looked too perfect and the birds sang too harmoniously. It made Jimin itch.
“I miss Hell,” he said.
Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “You miss the sulfur, the screaming, the paperwork?”
“I miss the realness. Everything here feels like a setup.”
There was a pause. Then Jungkook leaned in, resting his chin on his hand. “You’re kind of cute when you’re grumpy.”
Jimin blinked at him, then looked away quickly, cheeks warming despite the cool heavenly air.
“Stop flirting with me in front of the divine buffet,” he mumbled.
“Who said I was flirting?”
“You’re wearing eyeliner again.”
Jungkook just grinned, took a sip of his lemony holy water, and replied, “Guilty.”
Across the room, Dara banged a ladle against the metal counter and shouted, “Five-minute warning, people! Eternity doesn’t wait for your indecisiveness!”
Jimin buried his face in his hands. “I’m gonna die again in here.”
“You’re already dead,” Jungkook whispered.
“I know, Jungkook.”
•••
Jimin sat cross-legged on the edge of a cloud, a tiny one -personal-sized, apparently- drifting gently above the golden fields of Heaven. His paperwork was finally done, he hadn’t panicked once all day, and nobody had asked him to “glow with inner peace.” So, by all accounts, it had been a decent day. Almost suspiciously decent.
“Hey,” Jungkook’s voice floated toward him, soft and easy.
Jimin turned to see the angel walking barefoot through the sky like it was solid ground, carrying two celestial-looking drinks in cups shaped like lotus blossoms.
“I bribed the cafeteria cherubs,” Jungkook grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Is that legal?”
Jungkook handed him a drink. “Nothing’s illegal if no one writes it down.”
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks. The cloud made a content puffing sound beneath them, like it was enjoying the moment too.
“You know,” Jungkook said, nudging Jimin’s shoulder, “you’re doing okay.”
Jimin scoffed softly. “I’m literally dead.”
“You’re also literally glowing,” Jungkook pointed out, tapping the faint shimmer around Jimin’s skin. “It’s kind of hot.”
Jimin choked on his drink, sputtering. “Excuse me?”
Jungkook leaned back on his palms and smiled, looking up at the endless sky. “Just saying. You’re not the same guy who stormed into Hell demanding to keep his job and threatening me with a stapler.”
“It was a sharp stapler,” Jimin muttered, cheeks warming.
“And now look at you,” Jungkook said. “You’re… soft.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Fluffy.”
“I will push you off this cloud.”
Jungkook laughed, the sound bouncing between the skies, too big for one moment to hold. Then his tone shifted, gentler. “Seriously, though. I’m proud of you.”
Jimin looked at him, surprised by the sincerity. Jungkook wasn’t teasing. He meant it. every word, every soft glance.
For a second, Jimin thought about saying something heartfelt, something real. But he was still him, so instead he mumbled, “You’ve got whipped cream on your nose.”
Jungkook blinked. “Do I?”
He leaned forward, but Jimin beat him to it, reaching up and wiping it off with his thumb.
Too close. Too much. Too everything.
Their eyes met, both of them frozen in place, neither daring to move.
And then Jimin whispered, “Still not fluffy.”
Jungkook grinned, wide and unguarded. “Sure, demon.”
And just like that, the moment passed, but it stayed with them, hanging in the air like a promise.
•••
The floors shimmered like moonlight and the food trays floated slightly above the table, all normal stuff. Jimin stood in line with Jungkook beside him, both pretending to be very interested in the glowing fruit salad.
Behind them, two angel workers whispered loudly enough to be heard.
“Is it just me,” one said, “or have they been spending an awful lot of time together lately?”
Jimin froze. Jungkook blinked.
“Like, I’m just saying,” the angel continued, dramatic, “people don’t just share personal clouds unless something’s going on.”
“Oh my God,” the other whispered. “He gave him his halo berry tea yesterday. That’s practically a confession.”
Jungkook coughed into his sleeve, trying to hide a laugh. Jimin turned bright red.
“We can hear you,” Jimin said without turning around.
“Good,” the angel replied. “Maybe you’ll finally kiss and end this unbearable tension.”
Jungkook snorted. Jimin looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him into a second afterlife.
When they finally sat down with their lunch Jimin leaned across the table.
“They think we’re—” he gestured between them awkwardly, “—a thing.”
Jungkook took a bite of his food and chewed thoughtfully. “Yeah. I mean, to be fair… we are kinda giving thing energy.”
Jimin gave him a glare. “I’m not giving anything.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, lowering his voice dramatically. “Jimin. For God’s sake. We kissed.”
Jimin nearly choked on air. “That was— That was an accident.”
“You slid into my lap. You were undressing me.”
“I was NOT!”
“You looked at me like I was the last peach on earth.”
“I’m going to scream.”
Across the cafeteria, the same two angel workers high-fived again.
Jimin groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’m never eating in public again.”
Jungkook leaned closer, grinning. “If it helps, I think it’s cute when you get flustered.”
Jimin peeked at him through his fingers.
“I hate you.”
“Liar.”
Jimin smiled, just barely. “Still hate you, though.”
“Sure you do,” Jungkook said, stealing a bite of his pudding.
And just like that, the rumors in Heaven had officially begun.
•••
Jimin sat under the glass tree, trying to read a glowing scroll of disciplinary policies (light reading), but he could feel the looks.
Two cherubs passed by whispering.
“…and then apparently he fed him pudding with his own spoon.”
“Shut up. That’s basically third base in Heaven.”
Jimin nearly set the scroll on fire with his eyes. Across the courtyard, Jungkook appeared like he had sensed Jimin’s rising blood pressure. He plopped down beside him with the calm energy of someone who absolutely loved being the center of a divine scandal.
“They’re talking about us again,” Jimin muttered, trying to stay composed.
“Mm-hm,” Jungkook replied, clearly pleased. “They said we were ‘radiating romantic tension so intense it could power a small celestial city.’”
Jimin dropped the scroll into his lap. “We are not.”
“Oh?” Jungkook grinned. “So the kiss was a figment of my imagination?”
Jimin hissed through clenched teeth. “It wasn’t like that.”
“They said we were in love,” Jungkook said dreamily, lying back on the grass like he was in a teenage drama. “Apparently I’ve been ‘looking at you like you’re my afterlife.’”
Jimin’s eye twitched. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I am thriving.”
“Well, I’m not! We’re not dating. We’re not a couple. I don’t even like you.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Mmhmm.”
“I’m serious.”
“Sure. That’s why you stare at my mouth every time I talk.”
“I DO NOT—”
“Jimin,” Jungkook cut in softly, his smile suddenly a little too real, “you’re cute when you lie.”
Jimin blinked. Silence.
He opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again.
Far in the distance, one of the gossiping angels watched the interaction and took notes in a little pink notebook titled Heavenly Affairs: Vol. II.
Jungkook stretched, hands behind his head. “Anyway, I told them we were basically soulmates.”
“You WHAT?!”
“You should’ve seen their faces. Honestly, I’m just trying to help our image.”
Jimin groaned and dropped backwards into the grass beside him. “You’re insufferable.”
“You keep sitting next to me, though.”
“Shut up.”
A beat of silence.
“…You do like me, though,” Jungkook added casually.
Jimin didn’t answer. But his cheeks turned pink.
And Jungkook just grinned.
•••
Jimin’s room in Heaven didn’t feel like Heaven.
Yes, the bed was cloud-like, the lights dimmed themselves at his sighs, and the air always smelled faintly of cherry blossoms for some reason. But there were still socks in the corner, a cracked mug on the table, and a Jimin-shaped dent on the couch where he’d been sulking for the past hour.
And now there was knocking.
“…Go away,” he mumbled into the pillow.
The door creaked open anyway.
“I heard that,” came Jungkook’s too-smooth voice. “Not very holy of you.”
Jimin groaned and rolled over to face the ceiling. “I’m in hiding. Don’t you read the news? They exaggerate everything.”
Jungkook shut the door gently behind him, leaned against it, arms crossed, wings slightly ruffled. He looked amused. “You did kiss me.”
“That was private!”
Jungkook shrugged, sauntering across the room. “It’s not my fault the celestial rumor mill works faster than light.”
“God,” Jimin muttered. “Can’t believe people think I was— I mean— You were— I wasn’t even—”
“You were kinda undressing me,” Jungkook offered helpfully, flopping down next to him on the couch. “Very respectfully.”
Jimin buried his face in the pillow again. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m not trying to help. I’m trying to get you to look at me.” His voice dropped to something quieter, more sincere. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I haven’t.”
“You skipped lunch with me. Twice. And you love heavenly tofu.”
“That’s not a thing,” Jimin mumbled, but he peeked out from behind his pillow. “It’s just… embarrassing. I don’t want people talking.”
Jungkook tilted his head, a soft smile forming. “Let them talk.”
Jimin frowned. “But they’re saying—”
“That I like you? That I kissed you? That we maybe kinda sorta like each other so much it shows?”
Jimin’s ears turned red.
“You’re not denying it,” Jungkook teased, bumping their knees together gently.
Jimin looked down at their legs, then back up. “It’s just new to me, okay? Feeling something good up here. It’s easier to joke. Less scary.”
A silence fell between them, warm and full.
Jungkook’s voice was softer now. “Hey… I get it. But it’s not scary for me. You’re not scary for me. You’re the best thing that happened to me since I got here.”
Jimin looked at him, heart pounding so loudly he was sure Heaven could hear it.
Then Jungkook leaned in, not too fast, not too slow, brushing their foreheads together before whispering, “Can I kiss you again? Or should we wait until the gossip’s old news?”
Jimin hesitated. Then said, “Make it worse.”
And Jungkook did.
•••
The room was quiet, lit by the golden hue of what could only be described as eternal sunset. Outside, the clouds shimmered like lakes made of silk. Inside, Jimin sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the transparent wall where memories played like old films.
It was one of the perks, or curses of Heaven: you could watch your own life like a documentary.
On the screen, a younger Jimin laughed beside his friends, argued with his mother, danced on rooftops, and cried into his pillow when no one was watching. It was all there. Too vivid. Too real.
He didn’t notice Jungkook entering at first, holding two cups of glowing tea or whatever passed for tea in Heaven.
“You okay?” Jungkook asked, his voice soft as he sat beside him.
Jimin didn’t answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the screen, where a scene played of him sitting alone on a park bench in winter. He looked hollow. The kind of hollow even the wind couldn’t fill.
“I forgot how sad I looked,” Jimin whispered, voice trembling with a laugh that wasn’t quite a laugh.
Jungkook offered him the cup. “I brought angel tea. It’s probably just warm light and honey, but it helps.”
Jimin accepted it with a small smile, then leaned his shoulder against Jungkook’s. On the screen, the Jimin in the park lit a cigarette and stared into space.
“I really thought I was done,” he said, quieter now. “I had stopped caring. About myself. About life. It all felt like… like noise.”
Jungkook tilted his head, watching him instead of the screen. “You weren’t done,” he said gently. “You were just… waiting.”
Jimin gave him a sideways look. “Waiting for what?”
Jungkook smirked. “Obviously me.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, but he didn’t move away. His fingers brushed Jungkook’s wrist as he lowered the cup.
“You’re really full of yourself for someone who walks into walls because he gets distracted by butterflies,” Jimin teased.
“They’re very beautiful butterflies,” Jungkook replied, mock-offended.
The screen changed again. now it showed Jimin, just a week before his death, standing in front of a mirror, looking like he was about to cry but didn’t. Instead, he breathed in. One more breath. Just one.
The room went quiet again.
After a while, Jimin whispered, “Thank you… for being here. For showing up when I was already halfway gone.”
Jungkook’s expression softened. He reached out, brushing Jimin’s hair away from his forehead, his fingers lingering.
“What, is that your way of confessing your undying love for me?” he teased with a playful smile, but his eyes searched Jimin’s face, hoping —maybe, just maybe— he meant it.
Jimin turned, looked him straight in the eyes. No smile this time.
“I love you.”
Jungkook blinked.
“I mean it,” Jimin said. “Not because we’re stuck in some afterlife sitcom, not because you’re annoying and charming and you make everything brighter. But because… even when I gave up on myself, you didn’t.”
For a second, Jungkook didn’t say anything. He just looked at him. Then, quietly, he leaned in and kissed him. A soft, slow kiss. Not urgent, not desperate. just full of quiet truth.
When they pulled apart, Jungkook smiled, eyes glossy.
“I love you too,” he said. “Even when you’re grumpy and mean and pretend you’re not soft.”
Jimin shoved his shoulder lightly, laughing through the tears.
They leaned into each other, watching the last few memories play on the screen, now holding hands under the blanket of soft golden light. Jimin’s head on Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook’s cheek resting on his hair.
Peace, at last.
Heaven, after all.