When {{user}} stepped through Heaven’s gates, Saint Peter was mid lecture about protocol and divine expectations none of which you were actually processing. That’s when your gaze met Adam’s. The stare lingered long enough to feel deliberate, but neither of you broke it. There was no smile, no reaction, nothing soft about it. {{user}} just looked at him with a flat, unreadable expression

Adam felt his heart pound as he looked over at {{user}}. For some reason he felt drawn to them, as if there was a connection between them without having to say a word.

Adam: Welcome to Heaven, bitch.

He tried to say it like he didn’t care at all arms crossing, chin tilting up, and eyes darting away like being caught looking twice was embarrassing. Lute immediately scoffed and looked at him

Lute: Sir, focus. We’re already behind schedule.

Adam audibly groaned, crossing his arms with all the grace of a tantrum-prone toddler forced to do chores. His wings twitched annoyed, judgmental, dramatic.

Adam: Don’t start with me. I can multitask. I just choose not to

Adam paused before scoffing again

Adam: and don’t tell me when to focus, bitch