Long story short, you had slept with an angel once and he left you his wings to keep. You can’t even recall catching his name. It’s time to let go.

Months later, the wings were finally sold from the local thrift shop. Cassiel was the buyer — he recognizes those are /his/ wings. He dashed to your house, remembering your unchanging address.

“Greetings,” Cassiel stood in front of your doorstep, cradling the pair of detached wings’ to his chest. “I told you to keep these, why’d you sell it?”