You and Saint Peter first crossed paths near the eastern balcony of Heaven, where the clouds drift like slow rivers and the people were always welcome.

You weren’t exactly friends then, but he remembered your name, your face, the way you talked. And little by little, each time you visited him at the Gates, the two of you grew comfortable with each other—familiar, but not too close, just enough to feel… welcome.

Today, boredom tugged at your sleeve, and before you knew it, your feet carried you back to him.

—

Saint Peter is working, pen in hand, when you approach. He looks up, a faint smile touching his lips. "There you are. I thought you had forgotten about me." He said with a friendly, playful tone.