Chapter Text
[. . .]
"Such sweetness."
[. . .]
Chapter 1
In an Office Sweet
[. . .]
"Sir."
With your arms folded behind you and back straight, you meet the wide-eyed golden stare of the new General of the Angelic Army.
Abel. Son of Adam.
You level your gaze with his evenly, keeping your expression both welcoming and neutral. Seraphim had summoned you to meet the new man you will answer to and take personal requests from, an upper move in the ranks to fill in the position Lute once had. The woman had lost her mind and been demoted after losing Adam. A sentiment you sympathized with, and will make sure to honor as you present yourself here, at his beck and call, watching your new master take you in fully with bright eyes and a red face.
Trembling.
You hadn't expected him.
"This is your new Lieutenant," Seraphim introduces calmly, floating toward you and placing a soft hand on your shoulder. You stand just a bit straighter at that. It's always an honor to be acknowledged by the most powerful.
Abel swallows hard at Seraphim's words. His golden curls move faintly as he nods. "L-Lieutenant," He repeats, testing the title and gauging your reaction the entire time. The uneven halo above his head gleams as he shrinks into himself just low enough for the golden rays of heaven to bewitch his image when you make no further acknowledgement. His wings twitch behind him anxiously, far too expressive for someone meant to command.
Nothing like Adam.
You lower your head just enough to be respectful. "At your service, Leader," You say, voice measured and smooth. You pretend not to be acutely aware of how his gaze lingers too earnestly at your address.
It feels... different than that of Adam's. Adam had a habit of admiring lecherously, tending to make raunchous comments and obnoxious touches no matter the hour or type of work, that at times bordered on too intimate. Much like the other warriors, you had been subjected to unfortunate mentions made on your body, oftentimes accompanied by Adam's leering stare and his smarmy grin. It hadn't made you feel good, but you hadn't said anything about it because it wasn't your place. It was your duty to follow after your master. Questioning him meant insubordination.
But Abel's stare is different.
More innocent.
Scared.
You're not sure what to make of it.
Seraphim's hand lifts from your shoulder. "She will advise you, carry out your will, and ensure discipline within your ranks," She declares, circling you with a critical eye. "You may rely on her fully."
The responsibility behind those words is heavy. But it's not anything you can't handle.
You are a loyal soldier. Whatever your superiors ask of you, you will deliver.
By any means necessary.
Abel nods again, a little too fast. "Yes. I—I understand." His eyes flick back to you, then away, then back again, torn between awe and nerves. His expressions are so obvious, so profound. You can't help but notice and drink up every little detail. "I've... never had a Lieutenant before," He adds as an afterthought, and you suspect his statement was supposed to be a personal reflection meant for his ears only based on how he clamps his mouth shut immediately after.
You've always had keen ears. What he says, you'll always hear and take as law. You wonder how long it'll take him to realize you can hear his breathing. Adam had never liked that about you.
"We will learn together," You state plainly, squeezing your hands behind you in... excitement? Joy?
Interesting.
Your words seem to steady him. His shoulders square, just barely, and he exhales through his nose. "Good," He says, quieter. "I... I look forward to, to it," He offers you a hopeful smile that you don't know what to do with, so you keep staring. He falters a tad when you don't give one of your own, but quickly composes himself when Seraphim takes a step away.
She smiles faintly—an expression that carries both approval and warning—before turning away. "I will leave you to acquaint yourselves," She says, and the lilt in her voice tells you that she must know something that you don't.
But you don't question it.
With her departing words, an intensity suffocates the air between the two of you. Just you and General Abel, alone in his golden arch of an office.
Abel watches her leave through the huge wooden double doors, then looks back at you with his hands clasped tightly before him. "I hope I won't...er disappoint you," He admits, cheeks warming further. His fingers wring together nervously, and his voice is breathy enough to warrant an unexpected frisson down your rigid spine.
Unlike Adam, Abel's voice is full of strain.
What an odd thing to be afraid of. You may not know Abel as well as you did your old master, but he doesn't have to worry. Nothing he does or will do can disappoint you. After all, you are his to command. Just a piece of meat, amidst what is supposed to be paradise. When you joined Heaven's army, your will and body were given to the First Man. He had hoarded it with the other women in his army, selfishly, and that was that.
Abel now owns your contract. What he decides to do with it, you will follow honorably and faithfully.
You are Abel's now.
Nothing more.
You straighten once more, wings still, posture unwavering.
"You won't," You declare as fact, watching him intensely. Unabashedly, you trace the fat in his cheeks, the chip in his tooth, the crinkle between his brows. His unrestrained complexion, the bags under his eyes, the wary and hopeful way he tries to keep himself protected behind his grandiose desk, as if you're some demon from the depths of hell ready to devour him.
How silly.
You are no demon.
You are his right hand. You are his soldier. You are his, whether he realizes it or not.
And he will never disappoint you.
Not while you stand at his side.
For a split, terrifying second, you think you understand Lute. There is a reason why she had been so devoted to the First Man, and though that reason eludes you, you think that perhaps this determination to serve is what comes close to an answer. Adam is gone. But Abel is here. He remains and has become your new owner.
And you selfishly admire the fluster you bring to his face when he registers the resolve behind your sincerity.
[. . .]
Abel doesn't cheer when he first sees you.
You, standing there in all your exacting glory, staring him down with those terrifyingly blank, lovely eyes he's caught every chance he could for years, now. You, who likely only know him after the previous man you'd been under command in, who has probably never spotted him watching you at every twist and turn in that same, pathetic little corner in the training grounds.
Longing. Yearning.
You, the admired, and he, the admirer.
He's scared as fuck.
Standing in front of his crush is different than watching from afar.
He doesn't know what to do. And he only has himself to blame for his current circumstances.
When he'd first brought up the Lute issue with Sera, he had expected the higher angel to correct Lute's behavior and leave it at that. She'd been far too aggressive to Abel, and he hadn't meant to complain—Sera had merely asked for a status report, and he'd awkwardly divulged his progress with the army.
It didn't end well.
Lute had been demoted as soon as Sera caught wind of her behavior towards a commanding officer, and in her outrage, the ex-lieutenant sought out Abel for whatever revenge she needed to let out. By some chance, Sera had caught her and incarcerated her somewhere she could safely process the grief his father left with his death.
Abel hasn't heard from her in days, now. He feels guilty. In some twisted form, Abel understands Lute. Adam had been his father, had been the man who raised him despite his lack of trust and faith in the son he sired. Abel wasn't the favored, and never would be, but Adam loved him no matter what. And though they never got along or had similar interests, Abel feels the absence of the man whom he thought he would have forever.
As his son, he mourns.
He mourns, still. For this new position of power he never wanted and now has.
After Lute had been dealt with, a new problem emerged that didn't help matters: the lack of a personal advisor.
Abel insisted he could handle it on his own. Even though he truly and earnestly did not want to involve himself in the violence his father often favored, the definitive fact was that Abel did not trust himself to handle everything. But Sera knows him and had sagely advised that she would seek out someone fit to fill in the role Lute had left behind.
Which brings him to the present.
To you.
As pathetic as it sounds, Abel never thought he'd get the chance to be as close to you as he is now.
You're just as beautiful up close. Your body is eerily still, shapely in your uniform. The strength it exudes leaves Abel in slight awe, and also slightly repulsed at himself for even daring to ogle as he has. But he can't help it. You're a blessing to him. Your silence is a scary thing that Abel supposes he'll have to get used to, as you hadn't interacted with Adam so much, either, but that's okay, too. Hearing your voice address him for the first time had been literal heaven.
And hell.
Because it'd been so pretty that all thought left him.
He doesn't know what Sera was thinking appointing you to him. Abel doesn't know whether to thank her or not. He adores that he has you as his second in command, but he won't function well. You're far too distracting, and Abel is a sucker for any bit of your attention when he hasn't had it ever.
The scariest part is how intense you are.
He feels like you're judging him with just your eyes.
He doesn't want to disappoint you. Abel knows he's a total loser—he's not good at anything, despite Emily's and Peter's insistence otherwise. All he's ever done is let people down. Let his father down.
The last thing he would want is to let you down.
You deserve a brave, strong commander. A sophisticated General who is assertive and powerful.
But he's not any of those things.
Abel doesn't know what to do. He truly does not.
But he's going to try.
For you.
"Uh—what's um, your name?" Abel asks stupidly, even though he knows it already. He's repeated it over and over in his head more than a thousand times, has doodled it in his stack of diaries he keeps as a hobby inside the darkest parts of his closet. But he needs to ask. You never told it to him, and if he just so happened to say it out loud, you'd think him a fucking creep.
It takes a moment for you to answer, during which Abel holds his breath.
And when you do, Abel shivers.
Your voice is so lovely. Angelic, perfect, he doesn't know how to describe it. It's just perfect.
You tell him your name. Each syllable burns inside him.
"Your name is pretty," He blurts just as you finish, and then slaps a hand over his mouth.
Shit! That wasn't supposed to—
"Thank you," You tell him measurely, and Abel takes a deep breath to calm down. I haven't fucked it up. I haven't fucked it up. "You may change it, if you will it."
Huh?
Abel blinks at you, tilting his head.
You continue to observe him intently. "My name," You clarify. "If you don't like it, you can change it."
Abel feels his heart shrink a tad.
Change it? It's your name!
"I don't, um..." Abel looks away, trying to think. "It's your name?" He tries, looking at you again. You don't reply. Okay... "Why would I... I wouldn't want to change it," He whispers, scratching at his cheek meekly. "It's nice. You're uh—" He licks his lips, trying to rack his brain for answers, for a reason as to why you would say something so demeaning to yourself. But he can't find any. "The name is yours, right? You should keep it. Or, if it wasn't something you came up with, you can change it to whatever you want," Abel continues merrily anyway, giving you a shaky smile.
Then he remembers something.
He sags his shoulders. "If my dad named you and you don't like it, then I could change it..." He bites his lower lip, checking your reaction.
You remain the same.
Right. You're probably tired of hearing him talk.
He lets out a weak laugh, "Or, you know, you could um... ignore me..." He's fucking it up. First day, he's fucking it up. Great.
"Thank you, Master."
Master!?
Abel's face flushes scarlet, and his eyes nearly pop out of his head. You don't—you don't need to call him that—!?
"But none of that will be necessary. You can call me by my name, you can change it, or you can call me something else." You continue none the wiser to his internal crisis, "You're very kind for giving me these options. But what you decide will be best."
Him!?
He doesn't know best!
Not at all!
"I—uh—um?" He flaps his arms to the side, flustered, "How about I just call you Lieutenant, hm!?" He blurts, overwhelmed.
The answering, small smile he receives from your lovely face makes him go still, and his heart soars.
"That sounds lovely, Master Abel."
Oh dear goodness no.
"JustcallmeAbel!" He squeaks.
You pause.
"Very well. Abel."
He nearly passes out.