holy

xvix

the following days were suspiciously quiet.

there were no strange knocks at the door, no intruders, no messages left on walls.

there was only an angel and a demon, isolated in the quiet serenity of the forest, their own little heaven on earth.

in all his years of living in hell, eddy had never felt more at home than he did in the small cabin with brett. when he had come to earth for a change of pace, he hadn't expected to become so...well acquainted with an angel of all beings, much less one as pure as brett. but he definitely wasn't disappointed with the outcome of the short month he'd been on earth. in fact, he couldn't have been more content.

days spent in the cabin were infinitely better than any day spent in hell, even though hell was supposed to be his home. the two would snuggle up on the couch, brett nearly atop eddy's lap, and watch terrible fantasy movies for hours on end. personally, the demon preferred horror films, but knew the angel would likely cry at the sight of more death. then, of course they'd both practice, playing pieces for each other on eddy's violin, the rich music reverberating throughout the quiet outdoors. there were no worries on his mind, save for who was behind the attacks on the angel, he always worried about that. however, he never quite worried about what this was. this powerful feeling that created a certain infatuation with the angel, the need to protect him, and the overwhelming want to be by his side. it didn't matter what it was, though. what mattered, was brett.

and for the angel, well in all his years of living in sweet, simple perfection, hidden away in heaven's clouds, he'd never felt more at home than he did with the demon. it almost made him never want to go back—especially with the way the archangels had treated eddy. he wasn't a huge fan of that. sometimes, he thought it strange that, of all the people he had and would meet in heaven, the person he wanted to spend time with most was a demon for god's sake. they weren't ever supposed to meet, much less speak to each other, and definitely not practically live together. yet, against all odds, here they were, either by some sick miracle or at the hands of a cruel fate.

and he hated to admit it, but it was cruel. why, after everything, was he always drawn back to the demon? the question plagued his mind every night as he cuddled up against an already sound asleep eddy, warm in his grasp. it would be at least an hour until he drifted off, and until then he'd fret over whether his feelings were real or just the result of some strange, twisted version of stockholm's syndrome.

but eddy was a light sleeper, and he could sense brett's worry through his shortened breaths and the pounding of his heart. he'd mumble a quiet "go to sleep, angel," and brett would immediately melt in his arms. he didn't know if eddy had used 'angel' as a term of endearment or as just a nickname, but either way it sent nervous flutters to his stomach.

then, the morning after, brett would wake up without a single doubt in mind that he felt something for eddy, whatever it was.

there was one problem, though. the two of them kept experiencing this feeling. they'd hear it pump in their hearts and feel it in the pits of their stomachs. they would even see it in each other's eyes. but neither of them could put a name to it, and someone up in heaven was getting quite frustrated at the prospect.

•••

"archangel michael, are you quite alright?" one of the maid-angels inquired carefully, setting down his tea.

"yes," he responded, tone clipped, "thank you."

he sat alone, perched upon the center throne, deep in thought, eyes hooded with frustration. being the head archangel meant that he had direct contact with god, which was supposed to be a good thing, except for when said god was mad.