Chapter Text
It started, as many of Abel’s newest problems did, with Emily asking him for “just a tiny, tiny favor.”
The favor, naturally, had not been tiny.
It involved saint-welcoming routes, a handful of lost newcomers, three morale check-ins, two confused elderly souls who had wandered into the wrong lift, and one very passionate debate over which café district served better pastries; in the east promenade or the rooftop gardens.
Truthfully, Abel liked helping. It gave his hands something useful to do and his thoughts somewhere gentle to go.
Being the first saint, the oldest saint, the one who had been here longer than nearly anyone mortal-born, meant he understood the tremble underneath a new arrival’s smile. What it meant to step into Heaven and still carry the outline of earth around your shoulders.
So he stood in Lumina Heights that afternoon with his white-and-pink robes stirred by the breeze, his halo tipped slightly crooked above his head, answering questions with the patient brightness of someone who had been lost before and never wanted anyone else to feel foolish for it.
Everything glittered around him. Not in the cold, ceremonial way the higher halls did, but with life. Cafés opened onto balconies where saints leaned over steaming cups of star-bright tea. Rooftop gardens cascaded in soft layers of green and gold.
The streets shifted subtly around crowds, widening when saints gathered, narrowing again when they drifted away. Heaven’s version of a city had no sirens, smog or exhaustion.
Still, there were echoes. Mortal habits clung here. Fashion, slang, nervous laughter, old scars worn under new skin.
That was why Abel noticed the group near one of the café corners.
They were younger than most of the saints who lingered in the district. Young enough that something in Abel’s chest ached before he could stop it. Their robes were the standard welcome garments Heaven offered all new arrivals, but they had clearly been altered.
Sleeves torn into deliberate shapes. Hems cut unevenly. Pale fabric dyed in smoky grays, deep blacks, sharp crimson streaks. And then Abel saw their faces.
Metal flashed along brows, lips, ears, noses. Tiny silver hoops. Studs that caught Heaven’s light and threw it back with defiant little sparks. One saint had piercings near her mouth that gave the illusion of delicate metal fangs whenever she smiled. Another had rings climbing the curve of both ears like a ladder of stars.
Abel slowed. He tried not to stare, only to instantly fail.
One of the saints noticed him and grinned. “Hey. Abel, right?”
He blinked, then smiled automatically, still quietly startled whenever someone knew his name without needing to ask.
“What’s up, little dude?” Another saint called, lifting a hand in greeting.
The group opened their circle without hesitation, making space for him as though they had been hoping he might come over. That helped. Abel stepped closer, folding his hands into his sleeves.
“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay,” he said. “You looked like you might be trying to find something.”
The woman with the dark makeup laughed. “We were trying to pretend we weren’t lost.”
“We weren’t lost,” one of the others argued.
“Sure, that’s why you asked a statue for directions.”
Another saint leaned forward. “Actually, a few of us got here a couple days ago. We’ve been wandering around trying to find the residential district. Also the cafés. Mostly the cafés.”
The woman jabbed a thumb toward the others. “I told them we should’ve asked somebody. But even after this bozo lost the map, he thought it was a bright idea to ‘just keep walking straight.’”
The tension loosened in Abel’s shoulders as he listened to them bicker. “I can show you the way,” he offered, politely chiming in. “Or at least give you directions.”
They listened with surprising focus as he explained. Using his hands as he spoke and pointing out the route from Lumina Heights to the residential district, then back toward the café terraces.
Abel added tips Emily had taught him, warnings Gabriel once gave after three wrong turns and a midair scroll collision, along with his own gentle recommendations about which places were quieter if Heaven felt too bright.
With gratitude, the saints thanked him and went on their way. Not before shaking his hands and stealing a few hugs. The one with the metal-fang piercings ruffled his hair so fondly that Abel’s hat slipped clean off his head and landed at his feet.
Abel flushed, but he didn’t mind.
He waved as they left, watching their altered robes flicker through the warm city light. They looked strange by Heaven’s usual standards. Too sharp and personal. Openly themselves.
But they looked comfortable. That thought followed him long after they disappeared into the crowd.
By late afternoon, Abel had ended up in his father’s office.
Adam wasn’t there yet, which was normal. He arrived to most places like a weather event: loud, slightly late, and with enough force to make doors regret being invented.
Abel had learned his father’s schedule faster than he cared to admit. Lute’s too, since wherever Adam’s responsibilities went, she usually appeared within blade’s reach.
The office was empty for now, washed in the honey-gold glow spilling through the tall windows. Most of the room was sleek marble and severe angles, all polished Heaven architecture and formal authority. But in the corner sat a fluffy rug Emily had all but bullied Adam into keeping.
“It makes the room friendlier,” she had insisted.
“It’s an office,” Abel remembered Adam grumbling.
Now the rug held two bean bags, a bowl of candy, and a small stack of books Abel suspected the junior seraph only chose based on cover color rather than subject. He sat cross-legged on the rug, one hand lifted to his ear.
Bare.
Of course it was bare.
He pressed his fingertips to the soft curve and tried to imagine metal there. Something small, maybe. A gold stud. Or a ring. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that would make Michael stare too long or cause Seraphiel to blink in that quiet way that suggested she was having several thoughts and saying none of them out of politeness.
But maybe something enough to look a little less soft.
That was the word that had been bothering him lately, curling under his ribs like a thread caught on a nail.
Soft.
Abel looked at his faint reflection in the polished marble beyond the rug. Round face. Wide eyes. Gentle mouth. Pale robes with pink trim. Wings that always seemed to hold themselves carefully, as if afraid of bumping into the world. Even his halo tilted like it was apologizing for taking up space.
He poked the tip of his nose and frowned. His father never looked like that.
Adam looked like someone Heaven had built a warning system around. Even out of armor, he had presence. Messy dark hair, sharp grin, broad shoulders, wings that never seemed to fold politely enough. He looked dangerous even when he was sitting wrong in a chair and complaining about paperwork.
Maybe the piercings weren’t the reason. Abel knew that. Mostly.
But still.
They did look cool. Rebellious, sure, but not in a “risking divine consequences” way. More like wearing proof that you had chosen something about yourself and survived the choosing.
The office doors burst open and Abel jolted.
Adam strode in mid-sentence, one arm full of paperwork and the other gesturing with dramatic irritation. Lute followed beside him with her own stack held neatly against her chest, posture perfect, expression severe.
Emily trailed after them with an armful of what appeared, from a distance, to be official documents.
From closer inspection, they were mostly event sketches, handwritten morale notes, and at least one page covered in doodles of smiling clouds wearing hats.
“It’s not that I’m against paperwork,” Adam was saying.
Lute’s eyes narrowed. “You’re violently against it.”
“No, only if it’s boring. Big difference.”
Emily peeked around Adam’s side and lit up. “Abel!” He barely had time to wave before the little angel dropped her papers in a fluttering avalanche and launched herself onto the rug, hugging him with enough enthusiasm to knock his hat sideways.
“Hi, Emily,” Abel wheezed, returning the hug.
Adam dumped his stack onto the desk with a heavy thud. “Hey, kid. All done with your little saint patrol?”
“Yeah,” he replied, once Emily loosened her grip enough to let him breathe. “She had other things on her schedule and needed someone to fill in.”
Adam glanced down at the seraph in question, who had now settled beside Abel with absolutely no shame. “You sure? Because she barely left my side all day. It was really fuckin’ annoying.”
Emily reached into the candy bowl. “I consider it supervising.”
Lute placed her paperwork on the desk with far more care than Adam had. Then, without asking permission, she took his chair.
Adam glared at her. “That’s mine.”
“You weren’t using it.” Lute said, disregarding him and beginning to read. Adam stared for one more second, before giving up and leaning against the desk instead.
Abel watched them, comforted by the familiar rhythm. Adam’s chaos. Lute’s discipline. Emily’s sugar-powered radiance. The office felt fuller now, warmer. And yet his fingers still found his ear again.
“Dad?”
Adam looked up from the report he had been trying very hard not to immediately toss out of boredom.
Abel fiddled with his sleeve. “You have piercings, don’t you?”
Adam blinked, clearly thrown off course. Lute’s eyes lifted from the page as Emily stopped chewing and looked up. “Yeah,” His father eventually answered, then removed his helmet.
“Tongue.”
Emily’s eyes went huge and promptly flew over. “Your tongue is pierced? Can I see? Can I see?”
Adam grinned and stuck his tongue out just enough for the small glint of metal to catch the light. Emily made a noise of delighted horror, she reached out and Adam slapped her hand.
Lute muttered, “That explains several things.”
Adam pulled his tongue back in. “Excuse you, my speech is flawless. And don’t act like you aren’t familiar with it.” His lieutenant purposely shoved the desk at the crude implication, knocking him off balance.
Abel leaned forward. “Did it hurt?”
“A little.” Adam said, his grin softening at the edges. “Not the worst thing I’ve ever felt.”
That was not comforting, because Adam’s scale of pain included things Abel preferred not to imagine. Emily returned her spot beside Abel and scooted closer, eyes bouncing between him and Adam. “Why are you asking?”
Abel’s ears warmed. “No reason.”
Emily stared with the intensity of a small sun investigating a suspicious pastry. The young man lasted three seconds. “I met some saints today,” he admitted. “They had piercings. A lot of them. And they looked…” He searched for the word, embarrassed by how childish it sounded. “Cool.”
Adam’s expression sharpened with interest. “Cool, huh?”
“Not like I want to look scary,” Abel clarified quickly. “Just…maybe a little less…”
He stopped, sheepishly looking up. It wasn’t obvious, not to most people. But Abel had spent centuries learning the flickers in his father’s expression, the tiny pauses hidden under noise. Adam’s grin faded into something quieter. “Less what?” he asked.
Abel looked down at his lap. “Gentle.”
Emily’s smile disappeared, even Lute’s posture softened by a fraction. Adam didn’t say anything at first. That alone made the room feel strange. Then he pushed off the desk and crossed the office. Abel braced for teasing, dismissal, or some rough little joke meant to knock the seriousness sideways.
Instead, Adam crouched in front of him. “What you got against gentle?”
Abel’s throat tightened. “No—nothing…! I just think people look at me and see—”
“A marshmallow with wings?” Emily offered, believing she was being helpful.
Adam snickered, “He does, doesn’t he? A holy marshmallow. Premium quality.”
Abel tried not to laugh and failed a little.
“Look, kid. Being gentle isn't the weakness you think it is. I mean, I'm pretty sure that's why you were favored over a certain someone.”
“Dad…”
“I’m serious.”
Adam tapped Abel lightly on the forehead. “You don’t need metal in your face to have an edge.” Abel nodded, trying to accept that. He studied the smaller angel for another moment.
“But...”
His son looked up and Adam’s signature grin returned.“If you want your ears pierced just because, not to prove you’re secretly a badass, then hell yeah. We can do that.”
Abel’s eyes widened. “Really?”
Emily squealed, already on board, while Lute immediately looked suspicious. “Sir.” Adam glanced over his shoulder. “That sounds like an impulsive decision.”
“It’s jewelry, babe." He shrugged. "Not treason.”
“With you, the categories overlap more often than they should.”
Emily grabbed Abel’s hands. “We have to go to the Aesthetic Wing!”
The saint suddenly looked nervous. "Wait—right now?”
Adam stood. “Sure. Before I get buried alive under reports.”
Lute’s eyes narrowed further, fully aware he’s partially doing this to avoid work. Emily was already on her feet, practically glowing. “I’m coming too!”
Lute rose from Adam’s chair, abandoning the paperwork with visible reluctance. “I’m accompanying you as well.”
Adam groaned. “We don’t all need to come.”
“Someone responsible should be present.” Adam rolled his eyes, but had the self awareness not to fight a losing argument.
The Aesthetic Wing was not a place Abel visited often.
He had been there a handful of times for ceremonies, fittings, and one unfortunate occasion where Jophiel decided his formal robes were “sweet, but under-composed,” which had somehow resulted in thirty minutes of fabric being draped over him while he stood very still and wondered if he had become furniture.
The moment they entered, the air itself seemed to brighten. Prismatic halls unfolded ahead of them, all mirrors of light, floating ribbons, polished floors, and crystal fixtures that chimed softly when angels passed.
Each surface reflected beauty back at itself. Nothing here was accidental and every shimmer had a purpose. Even the colors had been negotiated with the emotional atmosphere of the room.
Emily spun in an enthusiastic circle. “I love this place!”
Adam squinted. “You would. It looks like a rainbow exploded in a jewelry box.”
A voice rang out from somewhere above them. “And yet it remains more tastefully arranged than your office.”
Jophiel descended from an upper balcony in a sweep of luminous fabric, gold hair cascading over one shoulder, wings arranged with insulting elegance. Her eyes landed on Adam first, bright with immediate judgment.
“Adam,” she mockingly cooed. “You look under-styled.”
“Piss off,” he rejected. “I look fantastic.”
Jophiel's gaze moved to Abel and her entire expression transformed. “Oh?” She appeared in front of him with frightening speed. “And what brings you to my Wing, darling?”
Adam hooked a thumb toward his son. “Kid wants his ears pierced.”
Abel swallowed. “Only if that’s okay.” Jophiel’s eyes glittered.
“My dear,” the archangel expressed, laying a hand dramatically over her chest. “You have walked into the one place in Heaven where ‘only if that’s okay’ is practically a sacred invitation.”
Jophiel then circled Abel with a thoughtful hum. “Mm. Yes. I see it.”
Adam frowned. “See what?”
“The vision.”
“No visions. Just ears.”
“Adam, please. You bring my soft, moon-eyed nephew and expect me not to consider the full compositional potential?”
Abel looked between them. “Maybe just something simple?”
Jophiel’s expression softened at once. “Of course.”
She guided him deeper into the Wing, into a smaller studio tucked behind curtains of refracted light. It was quieter there. Less spectacle and more sanctuary. Shelves held delicate jewelry arranged by material and mood. Gold studs shaped like tiny suns. Pearl drops, fine hoops and gemstones that glowed from within.
Some pieces looked mortal-made. Others looked impossible. Emily pressed both hands to her cheeks. “They’re all so pretty.”
Jophiel opened a drawer and selected a few smaller options. “For a first piercing, I recommend something modest. Light enough to heal comfortably and visible enough to feel chosen.”
That last word settled into Abel as he stepped closer to the tray.
There were small gold studs, warm and simple. Silver ones, cooler and sharper. Tiny opal-like gems with light swimming inside them. Abel reached toward the gold, then hesitated.
Adam noticed. “Don’t know what you want?”
“Sorta, I just…”
His father leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Whatever you're thinking about, just ignore it and take your pick.”
Emily nodded eagerly. “Yeah, I bet you’ll look good in anything.”
Properly encouraged, Abel looked back at the tray. His fingers drifted to a pair of tiny dark-red gems set in gold. Not harsh crimson. Softer. Like pomegranate seeds held up to sunlight.
They reminded him of the saints’ altered robes. Of courage with trembling still inside it. “These,” he said.
Jophiel smiled. “Excellent.”
Adam’s brows lifted. “Red, huh?”
Abel glanced at him shyly. “Is that weird?”
“Nah.” His father’s grin turned proud in a way that made the young man’s chest ache. “Looks good.”
Lute stepped closer to inspect the earrings. “They suit him.” Abel looked up, surprised. Lute seemed faintly uncomfortable with having said something sincere, but she did not take it back. “The color gives contrast without it being overpowering.”
Abel was then seated in a cushioned chair before the mirror. The chair adjusted gently beneath him, supporting his back and wings. Abel stared at his reflection. He looked normal. Same soft face, crooked halo and nervous eyes.
Jophiel stood behind him and brushed his hair away from his ears. “Still certain?”
Abel’s heartbeat ticked faster. Adam’s reflection appeared over his shoulder. The sight of him settled the nerves a bit.
He thought of the saints opening their circle for him, their metal catching Heaven’s light and his father saying gentle wasn’t weakness. After taking a moment, he was ready. “I want to.”
Jophiel lifted a slim instrument of light. “Small pinch. Breathe in for me.”
Abel obeyed and the first piercing was quick. Not painless. A sharp spark flashed through his ear, bright enough to make his shoulders jump. His wings puffed instinctively, feathers bristling. Emily squeaked louder than he did.
Adam leaned forward. “You good, tough guy?”
Abel blinked, then laughed breathlessly. “I think so.”
“One more,” Jophiel murmured. “You did beautifully.”
The second pinch came easier because he knew what to expect. Still sharp and somewhat startling. But brief. Then Jophiel stepped away. “All done.”
Abel opened his eyes. For a moment, he didn’t understand what he was seeing.
His reflection looked back at him, still Abel. But now two dark-red sparks glimmered at his ears, tiny and warm against the pale sweep of his hair and robes. They didn’t make him look frightening or similar to Adam. They didn’t erase anything.
They added something, like a small declaration. A chosen thing.
Emily flung herself at Abel carefully, stopping just short of jostling him. “You look so good!”
Abel laughed, overwhelmed. Lute gave him an approving nod. “Yes, well placed.”
“Naturally.” Jophiel grinned.
Adam stepped behind Abel and looked at him in the mirror. For once, he wasn’t making a joke. His gaze lingered on the earrings, then on his son’s face. “Do I look strange?” Abel wondered, suddenly feeling shy
Adam’s expression softened. “Yeah,” he said, then ruffled his hair. “But in a good way.”
“Dad.”
“What? Strange is good. Normal is boring. You look like yourself, but with a little bite.” Abel touched one earring gingerly, careful not to press too hard. “Tiny bite.” Adam reiterated “Like a pastry with a knife hidden in it.”
Abel laughed again, lighter this time. “That was awful.”
Jophiel handed him a small care kit wrapped in shimmering cloth. “Clean them twice daily. Do not twist them excessively and don’t let Adam convince you healing can be accelerated through ‘sheer confidence.’”
Abel accepted the kit. “Thanks, Jophie.”
“My pleasure.” She leaned closer, voice lowering conspiratorially. “And if you ever want a second set, come to me before asking him.”
Adam scoffed. “I got him here, didn’t I?”
As they left the studio, Abel kept glancing at every reflective surface they passed. The Aesthetic Wing offered plenty, each mirror catching the earrings from a new angle. In one, the gems looked nearly gold. In another, deep red. A third, they flashed bright as sparks from a hearth.
Emily noticed every glance and looked increasingly delighted. By the time they returned to the main hall, Abel was walking a little differently. Just a little taller.
Adam bumped him lightly with his shoulder. “Feeling cool yet?”
Abel tried to hide his smile. “Maybe a little.”
“Good. Don’t let it go to your head. That’s my thing.”
Emily floated along beside them. “We should show Sera!”
“Do you think she’ll like them?” Abel mumbled.
Adam snorted. “Sera likes anything that makes you happy.”
“Michael may ask whether proper authorization was filed.” Lute added.
Adam waved that off. “Michael asks that about breakfast.”
Abel touched one earring again, feeling the tiny warmth of it beneath his fingertips. He still looked gentle.
He realized, with quiet surprise, that he was glad.
The piercings didn’t magically make him someone else, carve hardness into him or borrow danger from his father’s shadow. They had simply given his softness a glint. A little red spark at the edge of all that quiet.
Emily slipped her hand into his and squeezed. Adam walked on his other side, loud, careless and watchful in the way only Abel knew how to recognize. Lute followed close behind, pretending not to be fond.
Jophiel’s Wing glittered at their backs, already folding the memory into its endless archive of transformations.
And Abel, for once, did not feel like Heaven had only happened to him. He had chosen something.
Small, yes.
But his.