Archive of Our Own

Adam was in a fantastic mood. Not merely good or even pleased. Fantastic.

The kind of mood that made Heaven’s gold seem too pale for him. Victory still burned under his skin like a second heartbeat, bright, violent and delicious. His whole body hummed with it.

The extermination had gone flawlessly. Of course it had. It always did. But this year had been different.

This year, his army had broken records.

The Pride Ring had drowned beneath them. Demons had scattered, screamed, clawed for cover, and still fallen in piles under holy steel.

Adam could still hear the music of it in his head. Wings cutting air, blades splitting flesh, exorcists laughing through the carnage like it was a festival song. He had never been prouder of them.

And Lute. God, Lute.

His lieutenant had been in rare form. Somehow sharper than usual, colder, more lethal than should have been physically possible. Adam could not stop thinking about the way she moved through Hell’s filth as if the battlefield had been built for her.

Every cut was clean. Every strike certain. Demon blood had streaked across her pale armor, splattered along her arms, marking her like proof of divinity’s worst temper. 

She had looked magnificent.

Naturally, she had refused to celebrate. Lute never lingered when the others did. Did not bask or brag. She wiped her blade, checked the numbers, made certain no one was missing, and excused herself with that perfectly clipped voice of hers, claiming she needed to clean up and deliver reports.

Which was really just her way of saying she knew Adam would not be touching a single report tonight. And she had been right. The champion of Heaven was nowhere near his office.

He had stripped out of his armor hours ago, trading polished war plating for looser clothes that looked almost too casual against the immaculate architecture around him.

But the aftermath still clung to him.

Smears of demonic blood darkened his hands, his forearms, the edge of his jaw. It had dried in thin, ugly streaks along his skin, red against the gold-lit warmth of Heaven.

He hadn't bothered to clean it off. Not yet. Instead, he was sprawled in one of the taverns nearest the military housing units, surrounded by exorcists who looked just as stained and drunk on victory as he did. It was one of the few places in Heaven where saints rarely wandered.

Too loud, sharp-edged and full of angels who carried weapons even after the fighting was done.

Adam loved it.

He sat in the center of them like a king among wolves, laughing loudly, drinking carelessly, retelling kills with broad, theatrical gestures and a grin that kept flashing too wide.

“And then this stupid bastard thinks he can run under the scaffolding,” Adam said, nearly knocking over his drink as he leaned forward.

“Like I don’t have eyes and I’m not gonna see him crawling. Like I’m not me.” The exorcists erupted. He grinned, basking in it.

One of them slammed a hand on the table. “What’d you do?”

“What’d I do?” He echoed, offended by the question. “I dropped the whole damn thing on him.”

More laughter. A roar of approval.

Someone lifted their glass. Another mimed the collapse with her hands and nearly fell out of the chair. Adam laughed with them, but even as he did, some part of him kept looking toward the door.

Lute had still not returned.

The audience gradually thinned once the celebration wound down. Exorcists peeled off in pairs and little groups, stumbling or gliding back toward their quarters. Their voices faded into the gold corridors beyond. Chairs scraped. Glasses emptied.

The raw noise of the night softened into scattered laughter.

Adam remained, tapping his fingers against the counter. Then he looked toward the door again. Still nothing. His grin faltered, if only for a second. He didn't like that.

The high hadn't worn off yet. Neither had the alcohol. He was warm, restless, pleased with himself, and nowhere near ready to be alone.

More specifically, he was nowhere near ready to be without Lute.

Usually, by now, she would have reappeared with that look on her face. The one that said she disapproved of his drinking, his volume, his posture, his entire existence.

Then the woman would dragged him somewhere quieter. Made him drink water. Told him to clean his face. Then snap at him when he inevitably leaned too heavily into her space.

He'd complain. She'd ignore him. And Adam enjoyed every second of it.

The man waited five more minutes. Then his patience snapped clean in half. “Yeah, screw this,” he muttered.

Adam stood abruptly enough that his chair scraped backward. Causing one of the few remaining exorcists to glance up.

“Sir?”

“Don’t wait up,” he waved her off, already reaching for the half-empty bottle on the counter.

He tucked it loosely against his side, half-hidden by his sleeve, and left the tavern with the confident, slightly uneven stride of a man who never once believed consequences were meant for him.

The path to Lute’s quarters should have been simple.

Heaven was built in layers: sky bridges, radiant corridors, open aerial lanes suspended between the Wings like strands of a celestial web.

Adam cut through them with lazy speed, wings beating hard enough to make nearby cherubs swerve out of his way.

Gold and white blurred around him. The transition from the tavern district toward the military housing units unfolded beneath him in shining terraces and solemn guard towers. 

He could already see the sky bridge leading toward the exorcist quarters. 

Then he heard his name.

“Adam?” He kept flying.

“Adam!” He absolutely kept flying.

Maybe he didn’t hear her. Or perhaps he heard her perfectly and decided this was an excellent time to become temporarily deaf.

Either way, Emily didn't appreciate it.

He touched down on the bridge with slightly less grace than usual, boots skidding against the polished surface. The bottle shifted dangerously in his sleeve. A second later, a small glittering blur slammed into his back.

Adam lurched forward. “Shit—!”

He nearly face-planted and the bottle almost slipped free. The man had to clap one hand against his sleeve to keep it hidden.

Behind him, Emily clung stubbornly around his middle, her many little wings fluttering with offended determination.

Adam groaned, but didn’t turn around yet. “What do you want, Em?”

Emily squeezed tighter. “Did you not hear me calling you?”

“Maybe.”

With a huff, the junior seraph released him. But that’s only because Adam pried her arms loose and lifted her away from his back as easily as one might remove a decorative ribbon.

Then he casually tossed her off. Emily caught herself midair with several indignant wingbeats and hovered in front of him, hands planted on her hips.

She looked bright as ever. Soft white robes, gold accents, pink cheeks, a face made for trust and sunshine and giving people second chances they did not deserve. Adam squinted at her, she did the same.

“What?” he asked.

“You promised.”

Adam blinked. “The fuck did I promise?”

Emily’s mouth fell open. Then, with the solemn fury of someone prepared to present evidence before the High Council, she raised one finger.

“You said you would help me switch out the current seasonal decorations for the autumn ones.”

Adam stared as she raised a second digit.

“And you said you would help with the welcome orientation for the new arrivals. As well as the morale gathering in Lumina Heights.Then we would look at the activity plans for the cherubs because you said, and I quote, ‘Yeah, sure, whatever keeps them from screaming near my office.’”

Adam slowly remembered. Not because he meant any of it, but because Emily’s imitation of his voice was terrible.

“Oh,” he said, scratching the side of his neck. “That community service bullshit.”

The junior's eyes narrowed.

“Uh,” he amended, “that extremely important…joy thing.”

“Adam.”

“Okay, look.” He lifted both hands, one still keeping the bottle pinned inside his sleeve. “In my defense, I mostly said that so you’d shut up.”

She gasped. It was dramatic, wounded and, unfortunately, unsurprising.

Adam pointed at her. “Don’t act shocked. You know me.”

“That does not make it better!”

“Isn’t this what cherubs are for?” he asked. “Aren’t you their leader or something? Make them do it.”

“That's not the point.” Emily landed in front of him and stomped one foot. The sound was tiny against the vast bridge, but she meant every ounce of it. “You said you would.”

Adam laughed, though it came out softer than before. “Whoa. Chill out.”

“I will not chill out! This is the fourth time you have lied to me about helping.”

“Okay, first off, lied is a strong word.”

“It’s what you did.”

“Second,” Adam continued, ignoring that, “if you know I’m a liar, why do you keep believing me?”

The question landed harder than he meant it to. Emily went still. Just a small pause. A flicker where the indignation drained from her face and something else surfaced beneath it, quieter and more vulnerable.

She looked away. Adam’s grin faltered. Emily folded her arms tightly against her chest. “I just…wanted to spend time with you.”

The bridge seemed to quiet around them. He stared at her. “Em, You see me every day.”

“I know.”

“And what about all the times I do hang out with you?” he pressed, uncomfortable enough to become defensive. “What, that doesn’t count?”

“No, it counts,” she said quickly. “It does. But it's always different. Someone else is always there. Abel, or Sera, or Jophie, or Lute, or someone needing you for something. It is never just us.”

Adam hummed. “Huh.”

Emily glared, but there was less heat in it now. “I guess Abe does third-wheel a lot,” Adam thought aloud. “Never noticed. He’s usually wherever you are. You two are like a matching set.”

“That's because you keep ditching me.”

“Replacing me with my kid?" He barked a laugh, "harsh.”

The little angel turned sharply away, chin lifting. “He listens. He doesn't leave halfway through and acts like he actually wants to be there.”

That finally caused his smile to thin. For a second, irritation rose in him. The easy kind, he could use like armor. Then it caught on something. Emily’s voice had not been angry at the end. It was small.

Adam stepped closer. “Aw, don’t be like that.”

She turned her shoulder away. “Come on.” He leaned, trying to peek around her face. “I make time when it counts, don’t I?”

Emily rotated in the other direction, he followed. “Remember when I took you to…” He snapped his fingers, searching through his own scattered memory. “That waterfall?”

She glanced back. “...The waterfall?”

“Yeah. Tropical. Tons of fish. Sharks. Big shiny bastards.”

Her expression flattened. “Adam. That was Eden.”

He paused. “Oh.” Then blinked. “Shit. Yeah, you’re right.”

Emily sighed so deeply it seemed to come from all six wings. Adam looked up, thinking harder. “Does the Fairgrounds count?”

“I guess,” she mumbled. “Though I am worried your only memories with me are waterfalls and roller coasters.”

“Hey, those are good memories. Loud ones are the best kind.” Emily almost smiled.

The archangel saw the opening and pounced. Without warning, he scooped her up. She squeaked as his arms tucked under her legs, lifting the angel clean off the bridge. Her wings flared in alarm, then fluttered uselessly as she settled against him.

“Adam!”

“Alright, alright,” he said, already turning away from the military housing bridge. “If I drop everything and give you what you want, will you forgive me?”

Emily stared up at him, startled. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, sure.” He adjusted his hold and launched off the bridge. “Though I'm mourning the buzz I had going, so you better appreciate my sacrifice.”

She did. Better than nothing at all.

Then, because Emily was close enough now, she noticed. The red on his cheek. The streaks along his jaw. The dark smudges dried against his hands and arms. Her expression softened in that dangerous way Adam hated. It usually meant someone was looking too closely.

Without really thinking, she tugged at the sleeve of her robe and reached up to wipe his cheek. Adam stopped mid-flight. His whole body went rigid.

“Don’t.”

The word was sharper than the wind. Emily froze and Adam caught her wrist before the fabric could brush any more blood away. His grip was not painful, but it was jarring. Firm enough to make her eyes widen.

He looked down at her sleeve. A red smear stained the white fabric and his face changed. Not much. Not enough for anyone else to understand it.

But Emily saw the flicker of disgust, not at her, but at the stain itself. At the idea of that filth touching her.

“I can clean up on my own,” he said.

Emily swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

Adam held her hand for another moment. His thumb rested near her knuckles, and for reasons he couldn't explain, glanced down at her nails.

Perfect. Tiny. Glossed in soft pearl and blue. No doubt Jophiel’s doing. Her hand looked like it belonged to something Heaven had not yet ruined. His did not.

Adam exhaled hard through his nose. “It’s fine,” he muttered. Then he changed direction.

Emily noticed immediately. They were no longer heading toward the recreational districts.

They were flying toward the High Seraphim Wing, toward the bright, colorful section of the living quarters where her room waited. She said nothing, because she knew better than to prod at whatever had just passed over his face.

By the time they reached Emily’s quarters, the golden corridors had softened around them.

It was quieter here. War didn't follow as easily into this part of Heaven. The air smelled faintly of warm sugar, fresh parchment, and whatever flower-scented polish Emily insisted made everything feel “friendlier.”

Her door was decorated with little hanging charms, paper stars, pressed leaves, and at least three handwritten notes reminding herself not to forget things she had absolutely forgotten anyway.

Adam landed outside it with none of his usual dramatic flourish.

For once, he did not kick the door open or announce himself like Heaven was fortunate to have survived his arrival. He set Emily down carefully, the motion too abrupt to be gentle but also too measured to be careless.

Then he gave her a little shove between the shoulder blades.

“Inside.”

Emily stumbled forward, wings fluttering to keep her balance. “Adam?” He followed her in, shutting the door behind them.

Her room glowed with personality. Bright cushions piled on the floor. Handmade decorations looped from the ceiling in uneven spirals. A little table half-buried beneath ribbon scraps, saint welcome cards, and abandoned craft projects.

There were snacks everywhere. Bowls of sugar-dusted fruit. Little wrapped pastries. A plate that looked suspiciously like someone had already eaten around the best parts.

Adam’s eyes swept over it all with faint amusement, but whatever joke he might have made died before reaching his mouth. His gaze had dropped to her sleeve. The red smear was small. Barely anything, really. A thin, ugly mark against pale fabric.

Adam’s expression hardened. “Take that off,” he said.

Emily blinked. “My robe?”

“Yeah. That.” His voice came out sharper than he meant it to. He jerked his chin toward the stained sleeve. “Take it off.”

Her face scrunched in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you wearing something with fuckin' demon blood on it.” His jaw worked once, tight enough to grind the words between his teeth.

“Give it to me. I’ll get rid of it.” Emily looked down again. This time, she really saw the stain.

Her earlier embarrassment faded into something quieter. A dawning little sadness, soft as a candle going dim.

Recognition. That whatever had been on Adam’s skin had come from somewhere terrible. That he carried it casually through Heaven like dirt on his boots.

“Oh,” she said. Adam’s shoulders twitched, like the single syllable had landed wrong.

Emily obeyed without arguing. She slipped behind the folding partition beside her wardrobe, the one painted with cheerful clouds and smiling suns, and began untying the outer robe.

Adam turned around fully before she could even ask him to, arms crossed, back rigid, eyes fixed on the wall as though the hanging paper stars had personally insulted him.

For all his shamelessness, there were still lines buried somewhere under all that noise.

Emily emerged a moment later in another robe, nearly identical except for the soft peach-gold color instead of white. She held the stained one in both hands. Adam took it from her.

For a second, he only stared at the mark. Then he snapped his fingers.

Gold fire bloomed. It didn't burn like mortal flame. It swallowed the fabric cleanly, bright and soundless, curling the robe into sparks that drifted upward like fireflies before fading into nothing.

Emily’s eyes lit up as she clapped. “That was beautiful!”

Adam snorted, some of the tension loosening from his face. “Yeah, yeah. I’m very talented. Try not to faint.”

Then, with the complete confidence of someone who had never once been invited to respect furniture, Adam crossed the room and dropped onto her bed.

It was ridiculous. Too many pillows and blankets. Something plush and star-shaped wedged near the headboard. Adam sprawled across most of it without apology, arms folding behind his head, boots almost hanging off the edge.

Emily stood at the side of the bed, staring. The other opened one eye. “Problem?”

“You’re taking up the whole thing.”

“I’m huge.”

“You are not that big.”

“Bigger than you.”

Emily huffed, then climbed onto the small amount of space he had not claimed, shoving one of his wings aside with both hands. It did not move much. She ended up squeezing in beside him anyway, folding her wings close and staring up at the ceiling.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable at first. It was almost nice.

The glow from her ceiling decorations shifted lazily, casting little shapes across the walls. Stars. Lanterns. A tiny badly-cut paper swan that kept turning upside down.

Adam exhaled, long and heavy, as the last scraps of his earlier buzz withered under the weight of Emily’s room.

The thought that he had been going somewhere else before this, crossed his mind. Someone else. He could still feel the pull of it beneath his skin, hot and impatient.

And now he was lying in a room full of ribbons and snacks while the junior seraph looked at him like missing one promise had actually hurt.

“So,” he said, because quiet always made him itchy. “What now?”

Emily turned her head slightly. “I don’t know.”

Adam looked offended. “You dragged me away and didn’t have a plan?”

“You’re the one who said you would indulge me.”

“I said that under emotional duress.”

“You picked me up.”

“You ambushed me on a sky bridge.”

“You were ignoring me!”

“I was busy.”

Emily rolled onto her side, propping her chin on her hand. “Doing what?”

Adam’s eyes narrowed. Then the grin came back. “Well,” he drawled, “I was planning on getting laid.” The young woman shot upright like her wings had been yanked by a hook.

He burst out laughing. “What? You asked.”

Her face went bright pink. Adam cackled even more when she shoved him. It was a full two-handed push to his shoulder, determined, offended and utterly useless.

The man didn't move even an inch. The failed attempt only delighted him.

“Stop being a baby,” he said, still snickering. “You’re older than half the High Council. Shit, you're older than me.”

Emily covered her face with both hands. “That doesn’t mean I want to hear that!”

“Oh, trust me, Em. I could say way worse.”

She placed both hands over her ears. “La la la, I can’t hear you!” 

Adam rolled his eyes, but the sound that left him was fond despite himself. He reached up, caught one of her wrists, and gently tugged until she lost balance and flopped back down beside him.

Then, with the casual entitlement of someone rearranging a pillow, he pulled her closer until her head rested against his abdomen.

Emily squirmed, but eventually settled. Adam’s hand hovered for a moment, uncertain in a way he would have denied if asked later. Finally, his fingers found a loose lock of her pale hair and twirled it absently. The motion was gentle. Distracted.

The girl was now staring at the ceiling.

“What’s up with that?” Adam asked.

“With what?”

“You.” He glanced down. “Why were you made like that?” Emily turned her head, confused.

“All…” He searched for the word, face scrunching as though sincerity tasted unpleasant. “Sweet. Bright. Soft.”

She blinked. Adam immediately looked annoyed with himself and powered forward. “I know you’re the Seraphim of Joy or whatever, but you’re also, y’know.” He gestured vaguely at all of her.

“Immature.”

She made a tiny offended sound. “I am not immature.” After a drawn out stare between them, she sighed. “Maybe a little.”

Then elbowed him lightly. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not being mean.” His voice lowered, enough to sand the edge off. “I’m just asking.”

She went still at that. Adam stared upward, suddenly interested in the ceiling. “You’re not human. Obviously. Angels don’t…grow the way humans do. Not like I did. When I was alive, I got older. Hair went gray. Knees got weird. Back hurt for no damn reason. Whole ugly process.”

Emily listened, quiet and intent.

“And Abel,” Adam continued, “he started as a baby. Tiny thing. Screamed all the time and needed everything.” A faint smile crossed his face, brief and unguarded. “Then he grew.”

She smiled too.

“But you?” Adam looked down at her. “You just are. You look like a tiny Sera. Same eyes. Same hair. Same…” He waved again, gentler this time.

“Whole thing. Just little.”

Emily touched a hand to her own sleeve, thoughtful. “I never thought to ask,” she admitted. “I always liked how I was.”

Adam froze. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean it.” His fingers stopped moving in her hair. “I don’t want you to change, Em.”

She glanced up at him. His expression had gone almost irritated, as if tenderness were an insect that had flown into his mouth and refused to leave.

“Me either.”

Adam held her gaze a second too long, then averted his gaze away with a scoff.

“Good. Because if you started acting like Sera, I’d have to throw myself off a balcony and forget how to fly on purpose.”

Emily giggled, the sound softened the room again.

For a while, the conversation drifted into nothing. Adam kept playing with her hair. Emily traced invisible patterns in the blanket with one finger.

Outside, Heaven hummed along, orderly and bright, unaware that its champion was hiding in the junior seraph’s bed instead of doing anything remotely useful.

Then Adam’s mouth twisted. That familiar troublemaking look crept back. “So…” he said. Emily narrowed her eyes and sat up slightly. “You ever get curious?”

Emily stared. “About what?”

He wiggled his fingers in a crude little gesture and her entire face flamed red.

“What?” He laughed. “I’m asking a question.”

“That is not a question you ask!”

“Sure it is. I just did.”

Emily grabbed a pillow and shoved it over his face. Adam’s laughter came muffled through the fabric. “Wow. Violence from the joy seraph. I’m telling Sera.”

“You started it!”

He pulled the pillow down enough to smirk at her. “You ever kissed anyone?” Emily’s outrage faltered. That told him plenty.

His eyebrows shot up. “No way.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“You haven’t?”

Emily looked away, mortified. “No.”

“What about holding hands? Touching? Anything?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes!”

Adam rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. The bed dipped beneath his weight, making Emily slide slightly toward him before she caught herself. 

“You want to?” he asked.

Emily’s eyes widened. Something delicate shifted in the room. The question hung there longer than it should have. Not because it was heavy in the way Adam intended or dangerous in the way his grin suggested.

But because she did not know how to answer.

The girl was curious, yes. She's heard saints whisper about love and affection and bodies pressed close in the hush after celebrations.

Emily heard laughter through half-closed doors, seen couples leave dances hand in hand, watched mortal souls blush over things angels treated like distant weather.

She wanted to understand. But wanting to understand something was not the same as wanting it handed to her by Adam while he smiled like he had already won.

Emily shifted back. “I don’t know,” she said.

Adam’s grin faded a little when he noticed her moving like she might climb off the bed.

His hand caught her wrist. It was gentle. Still, she stopped. “Hey,” he said, quieter now. “Relax. I’m not gonna kiss you.”

The relief on her face was immediate. For once, Adam didn’t make a joke fast enough to cover the sting of realizing he had made her nervous. He let go.

“Sorry,” she said automatically.

Adam frowned. “Don’t apologize.”

“I just—”

“I said don’t.” The command came too sharp again and Emily went quiet. Adam exhaled through his nose, visibly wrestling with himself. Then he flopped onto his back and dragged both hands over his face.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “I’m bad at this.”

She looked at him cautiously. “At what?”

“Whatever this is.” He gestured between them without looking. “Talking. Being normal. Not making everything weird.”

Very softly, she replied, “you didn’t make it bad.” Adam peeked at her through his fingers. “But you did make it weird.” He snorted as Emily smiled a little.

That should have been the end of it. Naturally, he ruined that. “Okay, but now I am curious about something.”

“Adam.”

“Not that.” He lifted one hand, palm out. “Relax, sparkles. Different thing.”

Emily eyed him suspiciously. “What thing?”

The archangel's expression sharpened with sudden, impish scientific interest. Before she could retreat, he leaned over her, caging her in with one arm braced beside her head.

His shadow fell over her, huge and warm, blocking the soft ceiling lights.

Emily squeaked.

“I said I’m not gonna kiss you,” he reminded her, amused. “But I wanna know what sounds you make when—”

He pinched the inside of her thigh.

“Ow!” She yelped. Adam immediately burst into laughter. “That hurt!”

“Yeah, no shit. I pinched you.”

She smacked his arm. “Why would you do that?”

“Research.”

“It was not!”

“Fine, fine.” He lifted his hand, still laughing. “Too rough. Noted.”

He settled beside her again, but his hand rose more carefully this time. Two fingers brushed the side of her neck, feather-light, tracing a slow path down toward her collarbone. Emily shivered. Adam paused.

This time, he actually paid attention. “Good weird?”

The junior serah’s face twisted. “No,” she said. “Like when a bug crawls on your arm and you feel all its tiny legs.”

Adam stared at her, then he laughed so hard the bed shook. Emily grabbed another pillow and hit him with it repeatedly. “Stop laughing!”

“Why’d you compare me to a bug?”

“You were being creepy!”

“Come on—ow! I was being charming!”

“You were being a bug!” 

Adam wheezed, catching the pillow and wrestling it away from her. Emily made an indignant little noise and lunged for it, wings flaring, one knee nearly jabbing him in the ribs as she tried to reclaim her weapon.

Which was the exact moment the door opened.

“Sir, I have been looking for—”

Lute stopped.

Adam was half-sprawled across Emily’s bed, hair disheveled, shirt rumpled, one hand around a pillow the seraph was attempting to yank out of his grasp.

The girl herself was flushed pink, robe askew at one shoulder, wings puffed in every direction like a startled bird and one hand planted against Adam’s chest as if she had been trying to shove him away.

Lute’s face didn't change. Somehow, that made it worse and silence dropped over the room, heavy enough to dent the floor. Her hand slowly tightened around the doorframe.

“…Nope,” Adam said immediately, pointing at her. “Whatever you think this is, it is not that.”

Emily scrambled upright so fast she nearly tumbled off the bed. “It’s not! It’s really not! He burned my robe!”

Lute’s eyes narrowed. Adam winced.

“Because of blood!” She blurted. “Demon blood! On my sleeve! He was being nice!”

“Nice,” she repeated.

Adam sat up, dragging a hand down his face. “Can everyone stop saying it like it’s a crime?”

Lute stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with controlled precision. “I was informed you left the tavern intoxicated,” she said. “You did not return to your quarters, report to the Command Wing or answer summons.”

Adam gave her a lazy grin, trying to recover his usual rhythm. “Aw. Were you worried?”

Emily looked between them, still flushed but slowly relaxing now that Lute had not drawn a weapon or dragged the first man out by his ear. Although, judging by her posture, both options remained alive in the room.

Lute’s gaze flicked to Emily again. Her voice softened by a fraction. “Are you harmed?”

Emily shook her head quickly. “No. He just pinched me.”

Adam’s head snapped toward her. “Em.” Lute’s stare became glacial. He lifted both hands. “On the leg! As a joke!”

“Allow me to get this straight. You abandoned post-extermination reporting,” she crossed her arms, “ignored your lieutenant, entered a High Seraphim residential wing without notice, destroyed Emily’s clothing, and proceeded to behave like a pest.”

Emily nodded. “That sounds right.” Adam looked betrayed.

Lute stepped closer to the bed. “Get up, sir.”

“No.”

“Adam.”

He dropped back dramatically onto the mattress. “Can’t. I’m emotionally wounded.”

“You will be physically moved.” Lute’s wings shifted once, sharp and controlled. “You are still carrying blood residue, you smell like alcohol, and you are in Emily’s quarters past any reasonable visiting hour.”

Adam scoffed. “You jealous?” 

The words hit the room with a little spark. Emily went still, Lute did not. At least, not noticeably. But Adam knew her too well. He saw the tiny adjustment in her shoulders and silence became a blade she had decided not to unsheathe yet.

“Of her?” Lute asked flatly.

Adam’s grin widened, reckless now that he had found an opening. “I didn’t say that.”

“You just did.”

Emily looked increasingly alarmed. “Wait, jealous? Why would Lute be jealous?”

A terrible, beautiful pause bloomed. Then her face shifted as she pieced together something she absolutely had not been meant to piece together.

“Oh,” the seraph said softly.

He sat up. "Don't.”

Emily’s eyes widened further. “Oh.”

“Stop saying oh.”

Adam swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, finally surrendering. He wobbled only slightly, but Lute noticed everything. Her hand came up, catching his elbow before he could pretend he was perfectly steady. For once, she did not comment.

He glanced down at her hand, then at her face. The teasing drained out of him in quiet increments.

Emily saw it happen. The way their bickering had a shape around it that looked almost like care, if one squinted past the armor and insults and bad decisions.

She lowered her hands. “I really am okay."

Lute looked at her again. This time, the lieutenant’s voice was quieter. “Good.”

Adam cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the sincerity threatening to infect the room. “See? Everybody’s fine. No scandal. No crimes. No bugs.”

Lute tugged his elbow. “Come on.”

“Where are you dragging me?”

“To clean up.” She said as if it were obvious. “Then to finish your report.”

Adam groaned. “I liked you better when you were worried.”

“I was never worried.”

“She was totally worried.” Lute’s eyes cut toward Emily, before the seraph immediately looked at the ceiling. “Uh, I mean, I’m sure she was very annoyed.”

Adam laughed, low and delighted. His lieutenant pulled him toward the door before he could say anything worse. 

At the threshold, he glanced back. The junior angel was sitting cross-legged on the bed now, robe still rumpled, hair slightly mussed, expression bright with all the questions she was politely not asking.

For once, Adam did not feel the urge to tease her about it.

“Hey,” he said. Emily looked up. He scratched the back of his neck, gaze sliding away. “Sorry. For making it weird.”

Her smile softened. “It’s okay,” she said. “You stayed.”

Adam blinked, then hid whatever that had done to him. “Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it.” 

Lute tugged him harder, making him stumble out with an undignified complaint. Emily heard their voices fade into the corridor.

“Stop yanking me!”

“Walk properly.”

The little angel listened until their footsteps disappeared. Then she flopped backward onto the bed, staring at the ceiling decorations spinning above her. 

The original robe was gone, the room smelled faintly of divine smoke, Adam’s cologne and something metallic that had no place here.

But the bed was warm where he had been. And for reasons Emily could not quite explain, Heaven felt a little less enormous than it did before.