Human Things

The realization hit Elias with the force of a freight train.

For years, he had wallowed in the dark, gritty corners of the city, convinced that his capacity for love was a defect that made him entirely unlovable. He had believed he was trash. But here, sitting in the ruins of a cheap coffee shop, was the absolute, undeniable proof that he was wrong. His little brother had looked at the infinite, perfect glory of heaven, and traded it all for a broken barista in a neon-lit alley.

The anger, the bitterness, the centuries of defensive walls Elias had built—they all dissolved in an instant, washed away by a torrential flood of pure, agonizing love.

Elias scrambled forward on his knees through the broken glass. He threw his arms around Micah, pulling him fiercely against his chest. He buried his face in his brother’s wet hair, crushing him in a desperate, protective embrace.

Micah gasped, his charred wings wrapping around Elias's back, returning the embrace with a desperate, clinging grip.

"I'm sorry," Elias wept, his tears falling freely, soaking into the collar of Micah’s coat. "I'm so sorry, little brother. I should have never left you. I should have fought for you."

"You're here now," Micah mumbled against his shoulder, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. "I found you."

They sat there for a long time on the ruined floor, two fallen angels holding onto each other as the rain battered the spider-webbed glass of the front window. The ambient noise of the city rolled over them, loud and messy and beautifully imperfect.

Eventually, Elias pulled back just enough to look at his brother's face. He reached up, wiping the tears and dust from Micah’s cheek with a gentle thumb. He let out a wet, breathless laugh, looking around at the absolute devastation they had caused. The espresso machine was dented, the tables were kindling, and the pastry case was a memory.

Micah sniffled, following his gaze. A faint, watery smile touched his lips. "I think we broke your café."

"It's fine," Elias chuckled, the sound foreign but incredibly warm in his chest. He ran a hand through his hair. "I hated that pastry case anyway."

Elias stood up, wincing slightly as a bruise flared on his ribs. He reached down, offering his hand to his brother. Micah looked at the extended hand for a moment, then gripped it firmly. Elias hauled him to his feet, pulling him into one last, tight, one-armed hug.

"So," Micah asked, his charred wings slowly retracting, hiding themselves away in the space between realms as he settled into his new, permanent human disguise. "What happens now?"

Elias looked at his brother, the phantom ache in his own back finally fading, replaced by a solid, undeniable warmth. He wasn't loveless. He was a brother. And that was far better than being an angel.

"Now," Elias said, slinging his arm around Micah’s shoulders and guiding him toward the back room where he kept the broom and the dustpans. "I teach you how to be human. First lesson: when you throw someone through a window, you have to help sweep up the glass tomorrow morning."