He remembered Michael — those confident eyes, those strong arms — a ditzy smile quivering Lucifer's lips, then his wings unfurling to curl up close to his body, hugging his form.

"Stay. There are those chairs on the rooftop. Let's go up there and count how many ripples there are in the water" "We would never finish." "That's alright. We have all eternity."

"I've become so dependent on you. What would I do without my beloved?" "Beloved?" Lucifer, smiling and scoffing, moved to the bed, settled down at the edge, right at the side of Michael. "Your beloved what, exactly? Beloved friend? Brother?" "Simply my beloved."

"And you still do not know who you are." "I am yours, Father." It came out so naturally it ached. "What I am is yours."

He longed, ‘Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!' with nothing less than hysteria. ‘Kiss me more!'

Pray to this body, mold you into holy communion, cry your name like psalm.' "Let me worship you."

What if there was no God, no "Father"? Only you and me, who are like Him, who together are greater than Him? We could be kings, gods.'

And they tried to look at all that was in the Lord's young garden, but they could hardly see anything more than each other.

‘Do I really wish to be alone with my thoughts any longer?'

"I come with an open heart and wish to make an earnest request of him." "You promise that it's earnest?" They were both smiling. "It's a little selfish."

It ached, horrifically, to fly and to break out into sobs that raked his body. Vision blurred — his rasps made the rhythm of his wings fracture until he had to stumble onto the street. Utter devastation tore his arteries, and his hands, raised to his face, couldn't mend them.

"I will come into your garden every day and worship you until you tire of me." "I would never tire." "Then I would worship you eternally."

He'd run into him and Gabriel, once. Gabriel had said, "Ah, your eyes are so sad, Lucifer. Is something wrong?" Of course something was wrong.

It makes perfect sense, doesn't it? The most beautiful angel in Heaven and the strongest; don't you think they complement each other? Like the two halves of an apple.

"Stay. There are those chairs on the rooftop. Let's go up there and count how many ripples there are in the water" "We would never finish." "That's alright. We have all eternity."

It makes perfect sense, doesn't it? The most beautiful angel in Heaven and the strongest; don't you think they complement each other? Like the two halves of an apple.

"You are truly great, Father." 'Ugh.'

You gave me tears, finally, and a voice, and I sobbed violently: "Kimah, Kimah, Kimah!"'

"Paradise, what is paradise, whose paradise, paradise for who, paradise for the angels? Paradise for who?"

All the fire he'd ever felt, in anger and in shame, all ripping from his body until it composed him.

How terribly lonely that must be, to be so beautiful that others think of you a thorn.'

Michael. That was a nice name.

"This is probably a bad time to remind you that I've never been wrong about anything." "You're right," Raphael grumbled. "It's a bad time."

He forced thoughts of the Lord, hoping he'd see Him again, in his sleep, and sit beside the great Throne. Instead, he dreamt of Michael.

"I don't know how— how to respond to your kindness." "Will you respond to it with friendship?"

Lucifer couldn't contain his laughter. It was just another simple moment in his repetitive life; but he was happy — happy, happy, happy. What else could an angel be but happy?

There was no paradise anymore, no angel of worship, no angel.

He longed, ‘Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!' with nothing less than hysteria. ‘Kiss me more!'

"I feel drunk," Michael murmured against him, then shuddered. "Your mouth— When you were created, your lips must have been laced with liquor."

"We could have had eternity, we could have had forever with one another, we could have counted every ripple in the sea."

Freed of flesh, Lucifer was the most beautiful of all the angels and, by virtue of that beauty, the most grotesque, most eldritch.

Longing churned his stomach. He wanted to sit there with him, he wanted to hold him, he wanted to wrap his arms around the other until they were so close, he'd struggle to know where his body ended and Michael's began.

"What is the point," the Father seemed to muse, staring at the writhing, tortured angel at His feet, "of such a body, if you are going to treat it so delicately?"

Freed of flesh, Lucifer was the most beautiful of all the angels and, by virtue of that beauty, the most grotesque, most eldritch.

I overthrow God, or I immolate myself until I become as close to death as death. Creation at last — the death of an angel.'

As he walked back to the Father, He said, "There is nothing more important than remaining clean. An angel that becomes impure becomes unworthy to live in paradise."

‘You do not desire me.' A pleased smile on Lucifer's lips, as he lifted a tender gaze to his beloved, stern archangel's face. ‘Because you know I am already yours.'

He longed, ‘Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!' with nothing less than hysteria. ‘Kiss me more!'

"They don't kill?" "Not unless forced." "Then are they really beasts?"

To be something so abstract as beauty — it was as if Lucifer weren't more than an abstraction himself, an idea, a fantasy, the figment of a lonely, longing imagination.

I overthrow God, or I immolate myself until I become as close to death as death. Creation at last — the death of an angel.'

He gazed at his muscles, again, thinking a bit about how God had created Michael, lovingly carved the details — the dips by his smile, every eyelash, each curve of his knuckles, a dark freckle at his hip. Creation as an act of love.

"No, don't cry, Lucifer!" "You say all those things," Lucifer's voice wobbled, teetering over an edge, "then expect me to hold myself together?"

"But it'd be difficult to hate you," Michael replied, his voice rumbling, shaking the Earth, with amusement. "If someone asked me to despise you, I don't think I could."

He listened to the noises of Earth, the off chirps and squawks and far cries of beasts, the buzzing of insects, and the coos of the winds; all was alive, and all, according to Michael, would die.

It makes perfect sense, doesn't it? The most beautiful angel in Heaven and the strongest; don't you think they complement each other? Like the two halves of an apple.

"Tell me what has gotten into you — why did you run from me?" "I wondered if you'd chase me." "Are you happy now that I did?" "Delighted."

One of Lucifer's other three faces thought, instead, 'nostalgia will tempt you,' and another, 'you will live a hundred million years,' the third, 'and spend the rest looking back.'

Soon, he'd ask Michael if he could lay with him in bed a while, just to try and disappear into the soft duvet and the warm body of the prince. And beautiful Lucifer would be no more. No more, no more.

"And you still do not know who you are." "I am yours, Father." It came out so naturally it ached. "What I am is yours."