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The cafeteria in Heaven was never quiet. Between clattering trays, rustling wings, and the chatter of angels fresh off duty, peace was as rare as a demon’s repentance. But there was one constant, a predictable rhythm to the chaos: the moment Adam and Lute sat down together, the betting began. Uriel leaned forward over her tray, voice low but laced with amusement. “I’ve got five celestials on three minutes before they share food.”
“Two,” Raphael countered, flicking a grape into his mouth. “You underestimate how fast he starts offering her bites of whatever he’s eating.”
“Seven,” Gabriel said with casual confidence. “They’ve been trying to act professional lately.”
Across the table, Lute and Adam sat side by side, seemingly oblivious to the soft murmurs and the amused glances thrown their way. Adam was halfway through a slice of honeyed bread, talking animatedly about formation drills, while Lute poked at her salad with surgical precision. “You’re holding the spear too high,” Lute pointed out, brow furrowing. “If you twist it at that angle, your grip will fail on a counter.”
Adam huffed, mouth full. “You always nitpick my form.”
“I nitpick because your form is wrong.”
He swallowed, smirking. “You say that like you didn’t copy my stance when you were learning.”
Lute shot him a glare that didn’t quite hide her amusement. “I improved upon it.”
Across the room, Uriel whispered, “Thirty seconds.”
Raphael counted down under his breath. “Twenty… nineteen…”
“Hey, this salad dressing’s actually decent,” Adam said, nudging her with his elbow. “Want to try?”
Without even looking, Lute leaned in and took a bite off his fork. “Mm. Too sweet.”
The table erupted. Coins of light clinked softly as bets were paid out. Gabriel groaned. “That’s the third time this week!”
“Maybe we should just start betting on whether they realize they’re basically dating,” Raphael muttered, rolling his eyes. “Because at this point—”
“Absolutely not,” Lute interrupted, suddenly aware of the stares. “What are you all whispering about?”
Uriel smiled innocently. “Oh, nothing important. Just… observing.”
Adam frowned. “Observing what?”
“Your teamwork,” Raphael said smoothly. “Very synchronized.”
Adam puffed up a little at that, clearly proud. “Well, yeah. We’ve been partners for centuries.”
“Centuries too long,” Lute muttered, though her tone lacked any real bite.
By the next week, the game had evolved. They weren’t just timing how long until the two shared food, now there were side bets for how it would happen. Accidentally matching comments? Reaching for the same thing? Mirroring gestures?
And then Michael found out. The Archangel himself, pristine and golden, stood beside the cafeteria line one morning, arms crossed and wings relaxed. “What’s this nonsense I hear about betting on my soldiers?”
Uriel coughed, not quite hiding her grin. “It’s harmless, Michael. Team morale.”
He raised a brow. “Team morale?”
Raphael piped up. “Well, they are good entertainment.”
Michael followed their gazes. Across the room, Adam and Lute were sitting at their usual table, shoulder to shoulder, heads bent over a tactical map. Adam was gesturing with half a sandwich, which Lute kept stealing bites from between remarks.
Michael blinked slowly. “They do realize they’re doing that?”
“Not a clue,” Uriel said cheerfully. “They’ve been like this for months.”
For a long moment, Michael said nothing. Then, to everyone’s shock, he reached into his armor and produced a single gold coin. “Ten celestials,” he said flatly, “on them realizing before the end of the week.”
Uriel stared. “...You’re joining the bet?”
“I’m observing morale,” Michael replied coolly, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth that gave him away.
Two days later, Adam and Lute sat outside on the edge of the training grounds, watching younger angels spar below. Adam was munching on a handful of cloudberries when he offered one to her without thinking. Lute accepted, popped it into her mouth, and froze halfway through chewing.
She turned her head slowly. “Did… did you just feed me again?”
Adam blinked. “Huh? Oh, I— wait. Yeah. I guess I did.”
They looked at each other. Then at the platoon below. Half of them were definitely watching. Adam squinted. “What are Gabriel and Raphael holding… Are those betting slips?”
Lute buried her face in her hands with a groan. “I knew something was off.”
Adam laughed, bright and unbothered. “Well, I hope someone bet on us realizing. I’d like to think we’re not that oblivious.”
From across the courtyard, Michael’s voice carried. “Pay up.”