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Lute gazes up at the ceiling, her face stained with tears. She clutches Adam’s halo tightly in both hands, her face bathed in its warm glow.
What even was it that she wanted to tell him, before all this happened? She isn’t sure how she would put it into words. She guesses that’s why she’s never voiced it before—she’s let all these years go by, always fighting faithfully at his side. His right hand. His lieutenant. His…friend, though not many people knew about that last part.
Their friendship wasn’t exactly a secret, but it wasn’t public, either. They both knew how weak it would make them look. How bad it would be for their image, if everyone knew they were soft. If they knew Adam was close with a woman in a non-romantic way.
So they never mentioned it. They let it grow quietly, they spent more time together, and no one really batted an eye. They had learned by then not to question Lute or Adam. Their image was solid. Unbreakable. They were strong, and they were seen as strong.
They grew closer. Opened up to each other more. But they never mentioned it. Never looked closely at it. She thinks now, looking back, that they were both afraid to look at it, to talk about it, because they were worried it would disappear. Adam, because everyone he’d ever been close with had left him. Lute, because he was the only person she’d ever been close to. Neither of them wanted to lose the other.
So they didn’t mention it. Sure, sometimes Adam would refer to her as his friend in casual conversation. Usually he’d switch back to “my lieutenant” in the next sentence, though. She only ever called him sir, hardly called him Adam. They both surrounded themselves with impenetrable walls, separated by fear and professionalism. Too scared to name it, because it was too precious to name.
But he was so special to her, and she cared for him so much. He was her world. He was the only person who’d give her the time of day, besides the other exorcists, and they weren’t exactly great conversationalists. Everyone else in Heaven is afraid of her. Which she likes. But it can get lonely sometimes, being feared. He was never afraid of her, but he respected her. That’s different. No one else respects her.
She used to imagine, during their last few years together, telling him how she felt. Breaking down the walls between them and finally letting herself trust that what they had was forever. Letting him trust that she wouldn’t abandon him like the other lowly scumbags in his life. She wanted that. She’d planned it, imagined what she would say in a quiet moment between them, but she could never get it quite right. She couldn’t put it into words.
“I really care about you.”
“I enjoy our time together.”
“You mean a lot to me.”
Silent tears roll down her face as she runs the sentiments through her head. Words she might have said. Words he’ll never hear from her. He died uncertain of whether she even liked him, she’s sure of it. She knew how deeply insecure he was, how afraid he felt of abandonment—she’s the only one who knew.
She knows a part of him always thought she only liked him because she was made to serve him. She worries about that too, in her quietest moments. What if none of what she feels is real? What if it’s just been programmed into her by Heaven? Who even is she, without him?
She shakes the doubt away for now, though she knows it will come creeping back. But no, she’s certain she really cared about him. She’s never felt that way about anyone else. Most people range from mildly irritating to infuriating to downright stabbable. He was the only one she could tolerate. Now there’s no one left for her.
She rolls over, curling up into a ball, wrapping herself in her wings. Her hallucination of him has dissipated for the moment, though she finds herself hoping it will come back, just so she can pretend it’s really him for a while.
“You know, I never got to tell you that…”
“You think I didn’t already know?”
“Did you?”
“No fucking idea. If you don’t know, I don’t know, babe.”
She grips her hair and pulls it until she feels the pain. Fresh tears roll down her cheeks and she sobs quietly, clutching at the bed sheets, half-expecting the door to creak open and a low voice to carry across the dark bedroom.
“Hey, Danger Tits, the hell are you in here all alone in the dark? You okay?”
Of course, no voice comes. The room is silent, save for her muffled sobs.
Did he know? Did he really know how much he meant to her? She wishes she had told him. She wishes she had known she didn’t have eternity to
“You’re the only one who understands me.”
“I don’t think I can live without you.”
“You’re really special to me.”
She curls up tighter, cries harder. It seems like all she’s been doing for the past few days is crying. Crying and punching things. Destroying things.
“I’m sorry about your records,” she says to the empty room. Not even her hallucination appears to reply.
Why didn’t she tell him? Why did she let him die not knowing how much he meant to her? Why did she never affirm with words how deeply she cared?
He was always there for her, those rare times when she had a bad day. Usually it was when Sera yelled at her, or when the exorcists weren’t listening to her, or when the general public just pissed her off. She’d curl up in the dark just like this, usually after punching several things, and he’d follow the trail of cracked walls and smashed vases to find her. And he was quiet. He was never quiet, certainly not for anyone else. But he’d ask her in a low voice if she was okay, and whether he could help her. He was the only person she ever let help her.
They never spoke of those moments after the fact. They left them in the dark, behind closed doors, just like the times when he cried to her about his life and his exes and his not-so-well-hidden self-hatred. They were each other’s safe person. The only one they talked to about their problems. He was perfect in front of everyone else, but he let himself fall apart in front of her.
That was trust. But they never mentioned it. He was always there for her. Always beside her, or at her back, or substituting as her chair. She smiles fondly through her tears, choking on sobs at the memories she should have cherished more.
What would she have said, if she had known that she could lose him?
She covers herself with her wings and sobs in the darkness, gazing into the light of his halo, and she knows exactly what she wanted to say. Three simple words.
“I love you.”
And now she never will. He’ll never know. He’ll never know, and she failed him. She let him die and she failed at her one true purpose.
Her new purpose is avenging him, and she’ll do it with everything she has. And after that?
There’s no need for her to exist anymore.