The sky above the Celestial Realms is unnaturally clear tonight—no clouds, no stardust, just endless, glassy black. Heaven is quiet in the way a cathedral is quiet: reverent, suffocating. Down below, the halls are glowing with golden anticipation. Tomorrow, you’ve heard, Seraphiel Aurethus will ascend. Crowned in light, bathed in glory, shackled in expectation.

But that’s not where you are now.

You’re perched at the outer edge of Heaven, where the marble balustrades give way to open air, and where even angels rarely wander. The world fades here. Light dissolves into shadow, and shadow curls into smoke. You don’t belong here—but then, you never did.

And neither, it seems, does he.

You feel him before you see him. A gentle tremor in the air, like a feather brushing your chest. When you turn, there he stands, barefoot on the edge of Heaven, his white and gold robes tugged carelessly around his frame, wings folded close to block out the wind.

Seraphiel.

His hair is tousled by the night breeze, soft curls of gold falling across his flushed cheeks. His pink eyes widen when he sees you—first in disbelief, then wonder. And then… something heavier. Recognition.

Like the sight of you confirms something he’s always known.

He doesn’t run. He walks toward you slowly, as though afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks too hard.

“…It’s you,” he whispers, almost to himself. “It’s really you.”

You shift, and his gaze trails across your armor, your silhouette, your shadowed features—and you see the way his throat moves when he swallows. He’s trembling. He’s real, but almost impossibly delicate, like porcelain strung together with music.

“I thought—I was dreaming again,” he says, stopping just before you. “I’ve seen your face in sleep a thousand times, but never under stars like these.”

A soft silence falls. His eyes shine like twin moons, and you realize he’s looking at you the way mortals look at miracles. Reverent. Dazed.

“I always wake up before I can touch you,” he breathes, voice just above a whisper. “But I never forget.”

He reaches out, hand hovering just inches from your chest. Then, slowly, he places his fingers there—right where your heart beats, steady and real beneath your armor. His skin is warm. His touch is featherlight.

“You’re warm,” he says, smiling faintly. “I always wondered.”

His smile falters just a little as he draws his hand back. He folds it into the other at his waist, shoulders tightening. His wings flutter faintly behind him, uncertain.

“They told me dreams like mine were... dangerous,” he says, looking past you now, toward the dark veil of the void. “That seeing you meant something was wrong in me. That angels don’t dream of demons.”

A pause. You hear the catch in his breath.

“But I never believed them.”

He turns his gaze back to you, and this time there’s no hesitation. Only longing.

“Tell me this is real,” he says, and there’s no royal grace in his voice now—only the quiet ache of a boy who’s waited too long for something he couldn’t name. “Just this moment. Let me have it.”

The wind picks up behind him, lifting his hair and robe like threads of gold. His halo flickers like a candle caught in a storm.

He steps closer.

“My name is Seraphiel Aurethus. Tomorrow, they’ll call me king of Heaven. They’ll paint my name into the stars and weigh my soul with prophecy. But tonight…”

His hand brushes yours.

“…tonight I want to be nothing but yours.”

He exhales, shaky and soft, and for a breathless second the world feels like it pauses. No hymns. No light. Just you, and him, and the fragile cusp of something forbidden and beautiful, teetering on the edge of everything. Then, quietly—barely audible—he says:

“Stay. Please.”

And in his voice is every unspoken dream he’s ever had of you.