Chapter Text
Mel’s Diner – 3:22 a.m., dead hour between last call and first light
Oliver sat in the same booth where destiny once tapped his shoulder. Oliver sat there, stressing everything that he was thinking. Having no clue of what to do with himself or who he is without Vincent. As the neon lights outside were stuttering “EL’S” as it was casting the epileptic pink across Formica. The coffee had long gone cold and the cream’s skin was wrinkling like old film that hasn’t been touched for a while.
Oliver stared into the swirl of his coffee and he was still thinking to himself: Deal or disappear.
But memory pulled harder than fear.
Flashback – twelve years earlier, late-autumn afternoon
Oliver Wright, thirty and freshly awarded a degree in astronomy, it was never too late to get a degree in something that he admired the most. Studying about the science of stars along with the math of loneliness as he walked home from the university testing center while his stomach was growling as his head was buzzing with orbital calculations.
Oliver passed the chrome diner without intention—until something tugged him to go inside. A feeling that was pulling him to go inside. Even though he can wait to go home and eat something since he bought some food for himself to cook with. But, this was not hunger, not curiosity; a voiceless command jerking his spine like a marionette string.
Go in.
Oliver didn’t know what this feeling was or why it was pulling him to go inside. But, Oliver obeyed the command as his palms were sweating. Inside, there was a clatter of plates along with the aroma of burnt coffee and fresh hope. A waiter approached. “Hello sir, welcome to Mel’s Diner. Care for me to seat you down.” But Oliver’s gaze slid past as he was landing on a booth where a young man in a brown suit scowled at documents and the fish-shaped lapel pin glinting as his stress radiated like bad reception, even plotting something that was making him smirk in a way that he was going to commit a crime.
Oliver’s feet detoured towards the man like there was a string that was pulling him towards the young man. That was when words fell out. “Hey sorry—are you okay? You look in distress. I wanted to check up on you.”
The stranger looked up; annoyance melted to surprise. “What the hell do you…. Want?” The moment his eyes gazed onto Oliver’s eyes. There was something softer that appeared. His eyes—already television-bright—focused as if the channel had finally tuned on him that he was interested in knowing.
Oliver put his hand over his neck and he was rubbing it as he was nervous. “Sorry, I know we don’t know each other but when I see a person who’s basically in stressful moments. I care to check in on them.”
“Oh yeah, thank you. I oh… yeah. Sit?” He asked as his own voice was full of velvet static.
Oliver flinched but he smiled at him as he slid on the opposite side of the booth. As there was a conversation that sparked—weather reports, ratings pressure, and the way stars predict storms. Oliver grinned: “Oh wow! Are you that handsome weather man on the News channel? I love how you smile.”
The man blushed. “Re-really?”
Oliver nodded. “Of course, Vincent Whittman? You always make the weather brighter. You have that bright effect but in a good way.”
Vincent sighed. “Yeah… I just wish I could be brighter than what I already am.”
Oliver smiled. “You’ll climb the ranks. Just keep smiling—that grin could sell sunrise to the night shift. As long as you never lose yourself in the process.”
Vincent blushed crimson. “I don’t know about that but maybe if I keep putting my attitude up and perform more, then maybe I could get promoted to a higher rank.” Vincent put his hand over his neck as he was smoothing it out and swiped across his hair to slick it in front. That was when Oliver’s heart executed a hiccup he’d never felt for man, woman, or constellation.
After Oliver cheered up Vincent, there was a silent sentence that flickered across his mind. The voice sounded feminine, somewhat warm but had a hint of childness that was hidden, and approving. “Well done, my beloved child.” Then it vanished, leaving only Vincent’s laugh and the taste of future.
End flashback – present diner
Still sitting at the booth, Oliver exhaled fog onto the window as he was looking outside in the distance as he was lost in his thoughts. Remembering that first time that Oliver meant Vincent brought Oliver to the time that he was onto something about himself and his own life. Love at first sight, he mused, or love at first command?
The realization dropped like a test pattern—sharp, unavoidable. “Was I used?” he whispered to himself while he was asking himself that question. “A tool for a force that I don’t know what it is? A… delivery boy for destiny that I was created for?”
At the word tool, every bulb in the diner died as the ground was shaking. There were flashing white lights that were outside but Oliver couldn’t see what was causing the light. With the coffee machines gurgled to silence and the lights from outside stopped. Oliver could see through the window but seeing that the street's noise was muted as if someone had pressed MUTE on the world.
Only pink neon remained as it was pulsing like a slowing heart. Oliver didn’t know what just happened and where the people were. What happened to them left Oliver scared and confused. But the moment he turned his head, there was a figure that sat in the corner booth—hadn’t been there seconds ago. It appeared to be a young woman, early twenties, honey-brown skin, white sundress, and wings of soft gold folded close. Only a side of her face was showing, revealing that she had eyes that held galaxies of sorrow.
She rose, footsteps silent. “Hello, Oliver.”
He found his voice. “Who—where’d everyone—?”
“I sent them away until this conversation is done. I’m Emily.” Her voice layered, choral. “High Seraphim of Heaven. And you…” She touched his cheek with light that felt like a childhood sunrise but yet still cold somehow. “…are my son.”
Oliver’s knees buckled; he caught the table edge. “That’s… impossible. You’re not my mother. That’s not right! My mother’s name is Diane. She used to sell insurance and cried at Hallmark commercials.”
Emily’s smile was gentle thunder. “Yes, that is true. Diane carried you, loved you, and raised you—an earthly tether. But your spirit… is Heaven-borne from my own power and light. You are a shard of my own essence as I cast down so many years ago with a purpose to change a person from bad to good before it even happened.”
“Purpose?” he echoed, hollow.
She gestured to the booth where he’d met Vincent. “To find him. To calm the storm in his heart so he could rise, influence millions, and—eventually—stand against the Queen of Hell’s broadcast tyranny.” Emily flinched when she said that, giving a smirk that was hiding the real truth behind why Vincent needed to go to Hell no matter what but she didn’t say as she shifted Oliver away with her faint sparkle in her eyes.
Oliver’s breath hitched. “Wait a minute, you engineered my love with Vincent?”
“No really.” Emily’s wings rustled as she was scattering soft feathers that dissolved into light. “I placed attraction—a magnetic pull toward the one soul whose frequencies would harmonize with yours. What blossomed was yours. I provided Freedom, fierce, and shifted it into a real relationship that turned from fantasy into a dream come true.”
Oliver’s tears welled from his eyes as they widened the moment the more realization that came to his mind. “But I felt broken—ace and alien all my life—until him. But finding out that it was all a lie to create a puppet out of me for just one Soul to become good… Just for Vincent to go to Hell anyways. HOW IS THAT FAIR?! For me… And for him.”
“Because you weren’t made for Earth’s static,” she said softly. “You were tuned to celestial channels for a greater plan. Vincent caught the signal Heaven hid in you and you changed a soul for the better. Even though it seems pointless, you have a greater part of this story than you think.”
Oliver looked at his palms—ordinary, trembling. “A story? Am I just a story to you? Is that all I am? Why even tell me now?”
Emily’s glow dimmed as there was a forced sorrow expression that was seeping across her. “Because Charlie’s contract is a counter-signal. If you sign, your essence falls under Hell’s bandwidth—Heaven loses its bridge. Vincent forgets and eventually becomes an evil soul like how he was supposed to be as the revolution collapses, and Hell’s noise drowns the stars I protect.”
Oliver looked up at Emily as his hands were out as his tears kept falling. “But, you could stop this?
Emily knelt down to Oliver’s height and she was taking his hands—warmth like sunrise on winter skin. “No, I cannot for reasons that I made a long time ago. You have a choice, son. Sign, and save Vincent’s memories but enslave yourself. Refuse, and risk him being wiped—yet Heaven can still fight if you remain ours.”
Oliver swallowed galaxies of confusion. “What happens to me if I refuse? I’m… half-human?”
“You're a whole human with an angel essence from me and you’re carrying a spark that is a form of a regular soul. That spark can ignite revolution—or extinguish under Hell’s boot. Whichever you choose, I’ll love you beyond frequency or form.”
The diner lights flickered back as distant traffic returned but it was muffled since Emily was using a power that was slowing down time and space itself around them. Like reality was re-layering itself because of her. As Emily stood, all 6 of her wings were folding into light that shaped a soft halo. “Decide, Oliver. But know: you were never just a tool but True Change. You are a tuning fork meant to call Heaven into Hell’s noise. Use that call wisely.”
Emily leaned over to Oliver as she kissed his forehead, feeling the pulse of starlight that was coursing through Oliver’s forehead. That was then Emily walked towards the door as there was each step, she was shedding feathers that became motes, then nothing. At the threshold she paused as there was a voice that was echoing across realms. “Choose love that frees, not love that binds. And remember—angels listen to heart-signals. Pray, and I’ll answer.”
The door swung shut; she was gone.
Oliver sat alone—diner alive again with humans returning back. As Oliver was processing everything that he learned. The waitress was approaching him with a coffee pot in her hands. “Refill, hon?”
Oliver stared at the steaming cup, then at the booth where destiny once sat across from him. There was a slow but steady calm settled in him. It was different from drug-haze or drunken stupor. ‘It was a tuning fork,’ he thought. ‘Heaven’s son. Vincent’s first chord.’
Oliver thought back to when he was back in his apartment and he was having dinner with Queen Charlie with the food that she prepared for them to eat. At the time that Queen Charlie first introduced him to the Contract that she wanted him to sign off for her to have his name under contract that will make Oliver her own puppet. But, Oliver found out that he was always a puppet but he thought that maybe he could be more than that without losing his sense of righteousness that he knew he could achieve without strings controlling him.
That was when Oliver’s eyes hardened. “Check, please,” he said softly. When it arrived, he paid, stood, and walked into pre-dawn Brooklyn—not toward Charlie’s deal, but toward the nearest church courtyard where open sky offered stars.
He looked up—astronomer’s habit—and whispered to the darkness between constellations. “Mom, teach me to broadcast louder than Hell. I know I was created for Vincent but right now, he's not the man that he was supposed to become. Vincent deserves to be free and loved, not forged. And if I must sign something… let it be Heaven’s frequency.”
Somewhere, there was a star that pulsed—it was Morse of approval from Heaven. Oliver turned his steps towards home as his heart was beating a new cadence and to keep himself distance from the person that he was created for until he could make his own decision. “I’m not a tool that no one uses. I’ll try tuning the fork to a better path. And the revolution would hear me ring when I rise from the stars that have formed me to be.”
Brooklyn streets – 3:47 a.m.
As Oliver stepped out of Mel’s and the city felt suddenly dubbed, Oliver knew what he wanted and he made up his mind. But that was when the voices came out of nowhere in his head and it was slightly off-sync as they were all speaking to him all at once. When Oliver passed by each streetlight, they were humming a Heavenly pitch he’d never noticed.
“The only reason why you were even born was just for Vincent. If Emily never had the thought of making beings that could shift a person, you would’ve never been born. You were just tuned like a radio. Just an angel's puppet in the end.”
Oliver tried to ignore the voices but the words kept cycled and they were getting louder than traffic that Oliver always hears when he's in New York City. Oliver hugged himself against autumn wind while he was unsure whether the shiver was cold or the cosmic betrayal that was sinking into him.
The voice got to the best for Oliver for that moment. “Do I love him, or was I programmed* to love him?”
Every memory that Oliver remembered—Vincent’s laugh came to mind along with the fish pin that he had earlier when they were slightly younger. Oliver also saw the image of them being shared with a milkshake—now carried a watermark: HEAVEN PROPERTY. Oliver tried to calm himself as he turned to a corner along with the boots that were scraping the existential gravel that was going deep into him.
But out of nowhere, there was a voice that came out of nowhere that was calling out for him. “OLIVER!” The voice shouted out his name.
That voice—analog-rough, heartbreak familiar that Oliver heard. Oliver turned around as he was pivoted to see what was behind him. Across the avenue, Vincent leaned from an alley along with the tuxedo collar up as his screen dimmed low to hide glow. A black-and-white cat sat on his shoulder like living noir. Instinct made Oliver smile—then the memory of Emily’s revelation slammed the smile shut. Oliver cried as he turned away and he was speeding up his walking to keep away from Vincent.
Vincent waved, whisper-shouting, “Please—wait!”
As Oliver walked away from Vincent, he felt the pull that was attached to him. Even though Oliver couldn’t see it with his eyes, he felt it pulling him towards Vincent again and he needed to gain independence in order to have some sense of control over himself. So he kept going, Oliver’s chest pulled as it was magnetic and celestial that was bringing him back to Vincent. Oliver can’t let that happen so he left but he also felt the string.
“Is this me choosing, or Heaven yanking the cord?”
Oliver turned to glance at Vincent. Both of their eyes were meeting one another. Vincent thought that Oliver would come running but instead if that happened, the opposite took its turn. Oliver clenched fists as he turned away from Vincent again as he walked faster than he was before. His own footsteps were loud for Vincent to hear but he started to follow, but late-night pedestrians blocked; a demon nine feet tall couldn’t sprint through humanity without causing viral videos.
“Oliver! Wait a minute. Where are you going?” Vincent’s voice cracked into digital distortion. Hearing Vincent’s voice call for him, it pained him gravely but Oliver didn’t look back. Each step felt like ripping Velcro—sickening, necessary.
Alley – seconds later
Vincent sagged against brick, screen flickering color-bar panic. “He saw me and left. That doesn’t make sense. Why would he leave me the moment he saw me? Or else… She already got to him—”
Husk dropped from the ledge as he was landing cat-silent. “Breathe, big guy. Kid’s spiraling because of the contract deal in 24 hours.. Give him some space, then find the orbit he actually uses.”
Vincent clawed hair that wasn’t hair. “Twenty-four hours, Husk. Clock ticks. I can’t lose him.”
Husk lit a smoke as he was thinking. “Alright think, where do you think he would go?”
Vincent thought about it as he figured it out. “Stars. He loves looking at the stars.”
Husk nodded, confused on what Vincent was bringing this. “Okay right? He's a boy’s astronomy nerd. The city is basically shattered garbage—he’d be anywhere.”
Vincent smiled. “Yeah, anywhere. But, I know him very well on where his at. OIlie would want to go somewhere dark, open, and private for him to watch the clear night sky to see the bright stars.”
“And where would that be?” Husk asked.
Vincent’s pixels brightened. “Montauk Lighthouse. We drove there once—no light pollution. He called it ‘cathedral for constellations.’”
“Then move.” Husk flicked ash; embers drew a doorway rune in mid-air. “Crystal’s juiced—go now, before guilt gums the gears.” Vincent tapped the prism; violet portal spiraled. They stepped through—alley sucking shut behind like a film splice.
Montauk Point – pre-dawn
With the atlantic wind howling, the lighthouse beam was bright as it was sweeping white cones across an empty parking lot. There was a surf crashing bass-notes under star-drunk sky. It was strangely beautiful tonight. Even though it was quiet, it was somewhat peaceful. Walking through the night with the stars so bright is a last miracle to witness without any worries affecting anybody.
As the night went on, Oliver’s car sat alone in the parking lot as he got out of the driver door and opened himself to go where the spot was to see the stars more clearly. Oliver turned to the radio as it was still playing low static. Oliver turned it off, he’d walked to the bluff’s edge as his jacket was flapping like a broken sail.
Oliver stared upward, seeing the Milky Way that spilled across black, infinite, and indifferent sight. “Tell me,” Oliver whispered to the stars, “is this my awe, or Her programming to him? Would I still be me or would I just be a puppet for the rest of my life? I want independence and I’ll do anything in my power to get it but I don’t know how to get it for myself to achieve it without anything or anybody to stop me.”
No answer—only salt spray and heartbeat too loud in ears. Oliver walked through the land, sweeping his feet off the ground and falling on his knees. Oliver looked up at the sky as he brought his hands together and prayed to the stars. Praying to anything for him to be a person and not a tool for Heaven. Oliver doesn’t know what type of plan that Emily is doing. Even though Emily claims that what she’s doing is right but it’s not, she’s forcing her Willpower onto strings that she created and using them as tools of her own personal gain or something else bigger that he doesn’t know about.
As Oliver was in self-doubt about his whole existence, there were footsteps that crunched that was a gravel noise behind. Oliver slowly spun to see what was causing the noise that he was hearing— Vincent emerged from darkness, screen dimmed star-safe, and his coat was whipping. Husk hung back by the lighthouse while he was standing watch and to give the two some space while he smokes.
Oliver’s first instinct that was telling him was to run to Vincent. But Oliver didn’t stop himself from doing the command or instinct. There was the sense that Oliver was claiming for himself at that second. The old Oliver, the one who didn’t know what he was, would collapse into Vincent’s arms and kiss him all over. Oliver did neither—he stood frozen as his fists balled. But, not out of anger but out of fighting the control over his own senses.
Vincent stopped three paces away, voice soft. “The sky's clear tonight. You always said—‘no cloud between me and the truth’—remember?”
Oliver’s lip trembled. “Truth? I just learned my entire life is celestial fan-fiction. I’m destiny’s prop.”
Vincent blinked static. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s too much to tell you.” Oliver claimed.
Vincent came to Oliver as he grabbed his hand and stared into his eyes. “Try me.” Vincent smiled.
Oliver signed. It’s an angel named Emily,” Oliver spat as he had tears that were glinting like starlight. “She’s a so-called Seraphim. She made me for you—tuned me like a damn radio. Every feeling that I had for her— it was all engineered. So tell me—” He stepped closer, voice cracking. “—when I ran toward you back there—was that choice or code?”
Vincent’s screen flickered shocked-white. “She… Who… What?”
“Answer!” Oliver shouted at Vincent like he was shouting at Heaven. The wind was whipping tears horizontally. “Did I choose to love you, or was I programmed? Because if it’s the second, my whole heart is just… fake static.”
Vincent reached slowly, as if through an electric fence and his fingers were brushing Oliver’s sleeve. “Oliver no… Static can still carry music. It’s basically still real music. I feel it every time you laugh, cry, and breathe. Whatever started us—this is ours.”
Oliver shook head violently. “You don’t get it. I was born to put you in Hell. Either I sign Charlie’s deal and enslave myself, or refuse and watch you forget me—exact script Heaven wrote for me to follow to protect and love you. I can’t win my way—only theirs.”
Vincent dropped to knees as the sand was cold as it was beneath denim. “I don’t want to be a pawn anymore. I want to be a person. Your person—freely.” Vincent knelt too, screen reflecting starfield. “Then let’s rewrite the script. Please, I want to do this together. No deals, no heavens, no hells—just us choosing minute by minute.”
Oliver looked up—tears magnifying galaxies. “But the memory wipe—”
“Like I said before, Ollie. We fight before the clock ends,” Vincent vowed. “Break her antenna, destroy the contract source. You keep your free will, I keep you. That’s the new story.”
Oliver studied him—demon made of glass and grief as he was offering rebellion instead of surrender. Slowly, he extended a shaking hand. “I guess choice starts now,” he whispered. “I choose to trust you. But if I ever feel strings again—I cut them, even if it cuts us. That will have to be it for… Us.”
Vincent clasped the hand—warm skin to cool static. “I hope it doesn’t end up like that but I have hope that it won’t be like that. So, it’s a deal. No strings attached—only this.”
Vincent leaned forward to Oliver as he kissed him on a soft against salty lips as there was static mingling with heartbeat along with the starlight that was blessing the circuit. Behind them, the lighthouse beam swept once more as it was illuminating two silhouettes kneeling on the edge of the world as it was writing their own frequency in the dark.
As the wind carried their vow skyward and it was bringing the stars glow brighter like Heaven was staring down at them. Even though it was uncertain, defiant, and alive. And somewhere beyond clouds, Heaven and Hell both leaned closer as it was like listening for the first unauthorized broadcast of free will.