There are dying flowers in his hair. His eyes are shining. He's singing. There's never been anything more beautiful.

He hits a wrong note, his tongue tripping in his mouth. "I don't know what comes next," he says, and you can hear the wrong note in his laugh too.

"That's okay." You smile up at him from where you're lying in the grass. "It was beautiful."

His buttercup halo shines gold in the glow of the sinking sun.

"… D'you think I'll be an angel?"

You swallow around the lump in your throat. "You certainly sing like one."

He laughs. "Great – I'll fit right in."