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Adam knew something was wrong the moment the training courtyard went quiet. Not battle-ready quiet. Anticipatory quiet. He lowered his sword slowly. Across the marble expanse, four archangels stood in a very deliberate line. Radiant. Composed. Suspiciously smug. At the center was Michael, wings flared in regal gold. Beside him stood Gabriel, halo gleaming with barely-contained amusement. On the left, serene and observant, Raphael. And leaning ever so slightly toward Raphael, already grinning like this was the highlight of her millennium, Uriel.
Adam narrowed his eyes. “…Why are you all standing like that?”
Michael clasped his hands behind his back. “We have come to observe.”
“Observe what.”
Gabriel’s gaze slid past him. “To observe,” he repeated, “your teamwork.”
Adam did not like that tone. Behind him, he felt Lute step forward. Precise. Controlled. Sword resting at her side. “Our formation drills are private,” she said evenly.
Uriel tilted her head. “Yes. We know.”
Raphael smiled. “We simply wished to witness the… synergy.”
Adam blinked. “We don’t have synergy.”
Four pairs of ancient eyes shifted in unison to look at him. Gabriel coughed. “Oh, that is adorable.”
Lute’s wings stiffened. “There is nothing adorable occurring.”
Michael raised a brow. “Commander Lute, you adjusted his gauntlet three times during warm-up.”
“It was misaligned.”
“You brushed his hair out of his eyes.”
“There was wind.”
“There was no wind,” Uriel said.
Adam felt heat crawl up his neck. “Can we get back to training?”
“Please,” Gabriel said. “Continue. Pretend we aren’t here.”
Which, of course, made it impossible to pretend they weren’t there. Adam turned to Lute. “Standard aerial engagement?”
She nodded once. “Try not to overextend your left side.”
“I do not overextend.”
“You did yesterday.”
“I was demonstrating aggression.”
“You tripped.”
“I—”
Michael cleared his throat softly. “Fascinating.”
They launched anyway. Wings snapping open in mirrored arcs, they took to the air in perfect synchronization. Steel flashed. Feathers scattered light. They moved like they’d memorized each other’s breathing. Adam feinted high. Lute compensated instantly, covering his blind spot without looking. He twisted mid-air. She pivoted beneath him. It was seamless. It was practiced. It was intimate in a way neither of them had words for. They landed together, close. Too close. Wings brushing. Adam became acutely aware that Lute’s hand was on his arm. Steadying him. It lingered.
Uriel made a soft, theatrical choking noise.
Gabriel pressed a hand to his chest. “They are doing it again.”
“Doing what?” Adam snapped.
“That thing,” Raphael said. “Where you orbit each other like celestial bodies.”
“We are not orbiting!”
Michael folded his arms. “You have not taken more than three steps apart in weeks.”
“That is tactical proximity,” Lute insisted.
Uriel beamed. “Ah yes. Tactical longing.”
Adam nearly dropped his sword. “There is no longing!”
Gabriel’s smile turned wicked. “Adam.”
“What.”
“When you thought Lute was injured last month, you threatened to dismantle an entire legion.”
“That was strategic morale enforcement.”
“You carried her back yourself,” Raphael added.
Lute blinked. “You refused assistance.”
Adam avoided her gaze. “You were bleeding.”
“It was a minor cut.”
“It was blood.”
Lute studied him. “You were furious,” she said quietly.
“Of course I was.”
“Why?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Michael’s expression shifted, less teasing now, more knowing. Gabriel leaned closer to Uriel and whispered, “He’s buffering.”
Adam shot them a glare. Lute stepped closer. Close enough that their shoulders brushed. “You reorganized my quarters,” she said slowly.
“That is unrelated.”
“You replaced the cracked window yourself.”
“It was inefficiently repaired.”
“You stood outside my door for three nights.”
Adam’s brain short-circuited. “I was ensuring security,” he muttered.
Raphael’s smile was unbearably fond. “Of course.”
Lute’s voice softened. “Adam.” He looked at her. Actually looked. Not as a soldier. Not as a commander. Just her. “I do not require guarding,” she said.
“I know.”
“But you still—”
“Yes.” The word came out before he could armor it. Silence.
Uriel actually clutched Gabriel’s arm.
Michael exhaled through his nose. “Finally.”
Adam flinched. “Finally what?”
“Honesty,” Michael said.
Gabriel wiped at an imaginary tear. “It’s been centuries.”
“It has not—”
“It has,” Uriel confirmed. “We checked.”
Lute’s fingers curled lightly around Adam’s sleeve. He froze. She didn’t look at the others. She looked only at him. “You hover,” she said quietly.
“You overwork,” he shot back.
“You skip rest.”
“You forget to eat.” They stopped. Because they’d said it at the same time. Gabriel made a strangled delighted sound. Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. Raphael’s eyes were practically glowing with tenderness.
Adam swallowed. “…You matter,” he muttered.
Lute’s grip tightened just slightly. “You matter as well,” she replied.
The archangels collectively lost all composure.
Uriel actually laughed. “Oh, this is unbearable.”
Gabriel pointed. “Look at them. Mutual catastrophic devotion.”
Michael shook his head, but he was smiling now. “Heaven help us.”
Adam scowled. “You are all insufferable.”
“And yet,” Gabriel said sweetly, “you are still holding her sleeve.”
Adam looked down. He was. Lute glanced at his hand. Then, deliberately, she shifted her grip, sliding her fingers down until they intertwined with his. Openly. In front of all of them. Adam stopped breathing.
Raphael clasped his hands. “There it is.”
Michael gave a slow, approving nod. “Good.”
Gabriel grinned. “So. Dinner announcements?”
“Gabriel,” Michael warned.
“What? It’s historic.”
Adam glared at all of them, but he didn’t let go. Not even a little. “Say one word,” he growled.
Uriel leaned back dramatically. “We shall say nothing.”
Gabriel nodded. “Absolutely nothing.”
Raphael smiled. “We would never.”
Michael simply said, “About time.”
The four of them finally turned to leave, wings unfurling in brilliant arcs. Uriel called over her shoulder, “Try not to make it obvious during patrol.”
Gabriel added, “Actually, do. It’s entertaining.”
When they were gone, the courtyard felt larger. Quieter. Adam exhaled slowly. “…They are never going to let this go.”
“No,” Lute agreed.
He glanced at her. She was still holding his hand. Steady. Certain. Unapologetic. “…Does that bother you?” he asked.
“…No.” A pause. Then, softer: “It does not bother me if they know.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.”
He squeezed her hand once. “…Good.”