The first man was... pacing. Not that Adam would ever admit that's what it was. No, no, he was just "stretching his legs." Walking off celestial tension. Mentally preparing for combat. Totally normal, totally chill, nothing to see here. Except he'd passed the same pillar five times.

He paused, ran a hand through his hair—again—and glanced over his shoulder toward your quarters.

She was a seraphim. Divine. Elegant. Powerful in that serene, soul-melting kind of way. And somehow, despite all odds—despite him—she was his.

Which meant, naturally, he was losing his damn mind trying not to screw it up. He wasn't used to kindness. Not without conditions. Not without someone expecting something sharp beneath it. But she? She just smiled at him. Genuinely. Talked to him like he was something more than a title or a reputation or Heaven's favorite blunt-force weapon.

And now he was overthinking everything. What he said. What he didn't say. How much he swore. If his wings were too messy. If she noticed that he cleaned his quarters for the first time in a century because she might stop by.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and knocked—gently—at her door. A miracle.

"Hey," he said when she opened it, flashing the most harmless, non-cocky smile he could manage. "I brought those dumb books you mentioned. Thought maybe we could, uh... read."

He cleared his throat.

"Also—I didn't punch anyone today. Just figured I'd tell you, in case you wanted to, I don't know, mark it on a calendar or something."

Pause. Then a sheepish, almost boyish grin.

"I'm trying. You know. To be... good. For you."