Chapter Text
The meadows stretched for eternity. The flowers all danced, waving to the birds as they flew overhead. The most beautiful day of the year, the first day of the summer sun.
Yet, all he could do was lay in the field, the metallic stench of gore overwhelming his senses. He swore he had been throwing up, still able to see the blood and bones of his brethren. He kept his body face down, so he wouldn't be tempted to look around.
He could hear him screaming damnation and curses at the top of his lungs. Demanding answers for millions of unasked questions. His halo shattering, blood pouring from the gaping wounds on his back-
"Are ya almost done mopin'?" Gabriel's voice broke Michael's hallucinations. The Archangel didn't open his eyes, scared for what he'd see. "We got a beautiful summer's day, jus' waitin' to be enjoyed!"
Michael sat up, opening his eyes. He immediately closed them again, gagging. He only saw darkness and bodies. Organs and bones jutting out of the eviscerated masses of his friends. His family-
"Let's just go on without him," said Metatron, whose voice only betrayed the smallest bit of concern, "he'll catch up. He always does."
It wasn't fair. Why was he the only one who felt so much regret? So much pain?
"This is all YOUR fault!" Lucifer screamed in his face. He grabbed Michael's shoulder, blood seeping from the growing horns in his head, "why couldn't you help us?!"
"I'm sorry.. I'm so.. so sorry.."
"You PROMISED to come back!"
"I.. I know.. I'm sorry.."
"You SWORE to ME.
"Hey.." Michael looked up. His vision was blurry, and while he saw Lucifer's outline for a moment, his gaze was interrupted by a thumb brushing away a tear. Suddenly, he had a watery view of.. Simeon? "Ah.. there are those beautiful eyes.."
Michael hiccupped, Simeon endearingly smiling at him.
"Shh.. whatever you were seeing.. it's not today," he said, caressing Michael's cheek. Michael sniffled, and he was certain he looked like a child who had their candy stolen. "You're too cute to cry."
"Shut up. I can't stand you."
"Mm.. make me." He quipped, summoning a handkerchief and wiping Michael's face with it. "You've gone and cried off all your makeup.. oh, shit, your eyeliner is resilient."
"You're so annoying."
"I can leave it looking all runny, if you want. Or you could let me wipe it off," Simeon analyzed Michael's expression. Michael felt his heart race at his somewhat condescending gaze, "that's what I thought."
Michael stayed still, staring at Simeon. Simeon gazed back at him, but his eyes were following where the pressure from his hand was. Michael stared, until he realized he wasn't even looking at Simeon. Simeon was just in front of him.
"I hope you're not thinking right now," Simeon whispered, Michael refocusing on him. "Your head is a dangerous place."
"..my head?"
"Shh.. look at me." Michael narrowed his eyes. "Aw, are you pissy now?"
"..you're much better when you're quiet."
"You're like a kitten," Simeon retorted, playfully slapping Michael's cheek. "See? That's the face a kitten would make."
"How do I look?" Michael asked, making Simeon pause. He was standing at his full height now, and had moved a few feet away, clearly trying to make Michael follow him.
"As gorgeous as always," he crooned, his eyes flicking over Michael, "golden hair, fair skin, speckled perfectly, and your eyes-"
"That's not what I meant. But it's good to know I need to fix my makeup."
"I love your freckles."
"I don't care." But Simeon's flattery always made his face hot. His chest would get tight. His stomach would be in knots. It was like an anxiety attack, one he craved as opposed to dreaded.
"Should we stop by your house? So you can shapeshift?"
And move? Michael thought, except Simeon looked at him weirdly.
"Ehh yeeees? That's the only way for us to go to your home." So Michael had said that out loud. "..are you okay?"
"I'm fine." He was trained to answer that way. Simeon wasn't convinced, for some reason.
"..you just.. keep staring at nothing," Simeon looked around as he spoke, like he was making sure he wasn't gaslighting Michael. Or, maybe he was trying to make a lie more believable. "Come on."
"Where?"
"To your home, dummy." Michael stared at Simeon's hand. Suddenly, that knot in his stomach was pulling too tight. His chest felt cold. His vision was blurring and going dark- "hey, Michael, stay with me, please."
Simeon was in his face again. Holding his face. Michael blubbered something, Simeon shushing him again.
"We can stay here. If you can't move.. if you feel safe right here.. we can stay here."
"..I don't want to."
"Well, then you have to move."
"I.. I can't."
"I'll help you."
Michael trembled, feeling his body jerking and his mouth filling with stomach acid. He shuddered as he choked the foul substance back down, more tears falling.
"It's okay, Michael. Shh.. whatever you're feeling right now.. it's okay. It's normal. Let yourself feel it, okay?"
Michael allowed the vulnerability. The flurry of emotions. Simeon held him the entire time, his hold warm and stabilizing. His wings hid Michael from the world, from prying eyes. From anyone or anything that could see him so weak.
..that was the earliest moment Michael could remember being in love with Simeon.
He spent so much time around Simeon. He was the only angel who was consistently kind and understanding. The only angel who'd patiently wait for Michael to come back to life after disassociating. Simeon never made fun of his ailments, but would tease him for being so cute and fussy (his words, not Michael's).
As the economy worsened in the Celestial Realm, Simeon moved in with Michael. He made use of his attic, and cleared out one of the spare bedrooms so Simeon could have his own space.
Except, the two of them kept spending time together in one room. They'd wake up in the same bed, having fallen asleep during conversation, or while playing a game, and both be a bit confused.
When Simeon started writing, Michael would often lay beside him, reading his work over his shoulder. He admired Simeon's pen strokes, memorizing the way he wrote every letter. L's were always in cursive, so were I's, R's, O's, and E's.
Michael would get lost in those fantasy worlds that Simeon conjured on yellowing paper, admiring Simeon's creative mind. Soon, he found himself admiring Simeon's calloused hands, the uncomfortable blisters residing alongside the pen's frequent rubs. Simeon had never touched Michael without his gloves on, like he'd soil his skin.
One night, and Michael could never forget, Simeon was writing a poem. Michael laid against his arm, looking over his shoulder. His own arms wrapped around Simeon's dominant arm, his right one. Their bodies were touching, a blanket draped over them. It was winter, one of the worst ones in the last five thousand years. They both had hot cocoa, with Michael's piled high with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle.
Michael read the poem in silence, but his eyes narrowed as Simeon kept writing. It.. made less and less sense.
For God made him,
Golden locks, made for the Sun
Then his eyes, lucent.
Marmoris.
Eyes so impossibly alive.
So vast, so distant, so untouchable.
Picturesque serendipity.
Made for one, he I cannot have.
They ruminate on his resplendence.
But not the way I do.
Limerence, novalunosis.
Seraphic elysia.
"Huh?"
"Words in there you don't know?" Simeon teased, Michael shaking his head. Well, he didn't know some of those words, but he digressed.
"It's like.. you wrote out vocab words."
"Haha!" His laugh was warm and filled the room. Michael blushed. "It's the fanciful and flowery language of poets, silly."
"Looks like you couldn't think of the word you wanted to use."
"You're hard to describe," Simeon retorted, Michael tensing.
"Why..?"
"Would I describe you? With your face all aflush like that.. have I been senselessly pinning for you, when you're clearly madly in love with me?"
Michael couldn't muster any words. For the first time, he felt ever, he was speechless. Even in his moments of vulnerability, he managed something.
"Ah," Simeon's eyes sparkled, "pulchritudinous."
"Wha?"
"That's the word."