(A/N) Thanks for all of the support, and don;t forget to SLAM THAT FREAKING FOLLOW/FAV BUTTON WITH YOUR FACE SO I CAN BUG YOU WITH MY FRANTIC STORY UPDATING.

Disclaimer: I do not own PJO or HOO

Archangel Michael was panicking. A lot. He paced back and forth anxiously as he awaited the return of his messenger. He gazed at the stained-glass windows and saw the light filtering through them dimming, signaling the impending sunset. Where was he? His breathing was ragged and he clenched and unclenched his fists. Was this sort of some practical joke? Because it wasn't at all funny, just like how Perseus had once placed a whoopee-cushion on his throne, which he'd sat on during a very important conference with his brothers. It'd been mortifying.

"He's supposed to be here by now," the Archangel muttered to himself. What had happened to his messenger? Had he gotten hurt? Did one of his flight feathers choose to molt at the last second, causing him to have to walk all the way back? Then again, Perseus had told him he'd be out looking for the one who chopped off Nicolas' wings. He'd been obsessing over that for the past four years. Had he finally found the culprit? But something told Michael that it wasn't a good thing that his messenger angel wasn't home before dark. His nerves were overpowering him as he held the single blue rose in his hand.

After millennia working with the messenger angel, Michael had finally mustered the nerve to announce the beginning of his courting of the green-eyed angel. Sure, he was an Archangel and never once had Archangels even considered courting, much less taking a mate. He was pretty sure about his decision, though, and he was worried that if Perseus didn't get back soon he'd completely chicken out. Then it would take another couple millennia for him to get back the courage to ask, and he really didn't want to do that. He thought of the angel's soft, crooked smile, the way his green eyes glowed when he talked about something he was enthusiastic about (the color blue, for instance), and his constant and never-ceasing case of bedhead. It made his heart palpitate, if only a little.

Sure, he was an Archangel and not that bad looking, but what if Percy allowed Michael to court him only because of his status? What if he was afraid of refusing? Michael hoped that that wasn't the vibe he'd given out to the angel for these past centuries. His pacing became even more ferocious, and he worried his bottom lip in between his teeth, uncaring of the deep gauges he left in the soft flesh. The window of opportunity was slowly closing the later it got, because A) Percy may not show up, and this incredibly important question was something that was supposed to be asked in person and B) Michael's nosy handmaiden, Zoë, and his advisor, Chiron would come snooping around eventually when they didn't find the Archangel in his office, where he retreated during the night hours to work. He remembered the conversation he'd had with Zoë about a week after he began to get butterflies in his stomach whenever Percy was around.

-Ω-

"Have you ever thought of taking a mate?" Zoë asked suddenly whilst preparing him of the annual Hanukah Gala. His everyday armor had been discarded to make way for Michael's ceremonial robes, which the angel of nature was now furiously ironing. The Archangel sat off to the side in nothing but his boxers, though that wasn't unusual around his handmaiden. He'd chosen her because she'd sworn an oath of maidenhood and therefore wouldn't be all flirty with him and make him uncomfortable. Any other angel would've been discreetly showing off their wings and flaunting themselves before Michael, but not Zoë. It was one of the many things he was grateful for.

He had to admit, he was caught off-guard by the question. "A mate?" he parroted, sounding flabbergasted even to himself. "But neither I nor my brothers have ever taken mates."

"Is there some sort of law that Archangels can't take mates on Metatron's tablets?" Zoë accused. Metatron was the Scribe of God who wrote down His every word on clay tablets, and on some occasions scrolls, which were all stored in a gigantic archive in the Fifth Heaven. Michael shook his head no, and she continued, "Maybe you could be the first. There are many angels out there, both male and female, who would be more than happy to let Michael shook his head no, and she continued, "Maybe you could be the first. There are many angels out there, both male and female, who would be more than happy to let you court them."

"But why?" the Archangel asked, bewildered. "What would be the point?" Zoë snorted, shaking her head sadly and in her disbelief ironing out a wrinkle a little too ferociously.

"Listen, Michael. I'm not really the one to talk to you about this kind of stuff, but other than Percy, I am your best friend. I know I swore an oath of maidenhood, so I wouldn't know anything about mating and shit, but even I know that you need one. A mate," Zoë admitted, and Michael let out a huff, crossing his arms, though he wasn't really that offended.

"And what makes you think that?" he demanded. "I've been coping just fine on my own. No Archangels have ever taken mates. My brothers haven't and neither have I, which is all right by me. It's just another person you have to impress and live up to their expectations-"

"You're missing the entire point of a mate, Michael," Zoë interrupted, something that no other angel besides his elder brothers would do, which was another thing he liked about her. "Mates aren't people who you're supposed to impress. Sure, maybe during courting to show what you're capable of, but it's perfectly okay to let your mate down. In fact, the entire point of a mate is to be relaxed and at ease around them. They're supposed to be understanding when things like that happen. Otherwise, they aren't a compatible mate."

"You seem to know a lot on this subject," Michael scoffed, though he couldn't help but feel all too interested in the subject. Whenever Zoë said the word "mate", his thoughts immediately went to Percy, which made him feel a bit guilty. Percy had been the one unfortunate enough to catch the eye of an Archangel, something that's never happened before, and Michael was unsure of whether the messenger would be okay with all of the firsts.

"I know a lot more than you do!" the angel of nature insisted, unplugging the iron and holding the robe up to Michael, who nodded to show his affirmation. As she helped the Archangel into his outfit, she continued to speak, "You spend all day working, Michael. You go days without sleep just because you can, and you just work and work and work. It's not even like you have anything to work on! Uriel and Raphael ask all the time if you'd like them to shoulder some of your responsibilities, but you horde them all for yourself. The statue that's going to be erected in honor of those who fell during the Wars in Heaven? Thy can easily handle that. The patrol schedules? That's right up their alley! Just because you're the second-in-command next to the Creator Himself doesn't mean you have to shoulder all of these burdens."

Michael shoulders slumped, and he frowned, the action scrunching up his entire face. "And what's a mate going to do to help with that issue? It's not like they can take on an Archangel's responsibilities."

"No, they can't, but they can help you," Zoë stated firmly. "Don't get me wrong, Chiron's a great advisor and all, but what about someone whose opinions you truly take to heart? Someone who thinks not only for the good of Heaven but also for your own good? Someone who looks out for you and you do likewise?"

"Nobody would want to work with a mate like me. They don't have to. They have all the riches and status in the world once they're mated to an Archangel. It's not like they'd mate with me for anything else." Michael's words turned bitter, and his jaw clenched as he refused to meet Zoë's gaze. His wings fluttered with his agitation, despite the angel of nature smoothing the puffed up feathers down in an attempt to comfort.

"But a true mate wouldn't do that. They'd mate with you because you're you, not because you're an Archangel or because you're pretty. A true mate would be happy to help," Zoë chided. "And with a mate, you'll be more motivated to get your work done and you'd never stay out late; you'd have a warm bed to return to every night. Maybe this huge palace would start to feel more like a home. You'd have kisses and cuddles and preening each other and maybe even a little fucking-"

"Enough!" Michael snapped, but there was no force behind it. Instead, he just sounded tired. "I don't even have a partner for the Gala. How am I supposed to find a mate?" Zoë had just finished fastening his robes and with that he whisked out the door, ignoring the angel of nature's pitying look. He tried not to imagine getting back from his office to see Percy waiting in his bed.

-Ω-

It wasn't like gender was a hindrance. If Percy really, really was uncomfortable with Michael appearing as male, he could undoubtedly change into a female form, despite the fact that he was a bit nervous about being on the receiving end of their…copulating. He could look however Percy wanted him to look, and the Archangel was willing to bend over backwards to make sure that the messenger wanted him as a mate. If he wanted Michael to be in female form so they could bear fledglings, he would do it. If the green-eyed angel wanted the meals to be more special than if they came from a personal chef, Michael would learn how to cook all by himself. He would learn to make the food blue because that's what Percy liked. He'd do anything, really, as long as the black-feathered angel accepted him.

It was taking a really, really long time for Percy to come back, and Michael knew that his time had passed. He wasn't disheartened like he thought he'd be, however; he was only more determined to find out why he was absent. He'd transferred from hopeless romantic to stern Archangel whose messenger was incredibly tardy, though he didn't think he could yell at or exact any punishment upon his messenger.

Archangel Michael was not one to spy, and he hated sending what were called Iris messages, for fear he'd show up in some intimate moment in someone else's life, curse that stupid angel of nature for inventing the damn things, but if Perseus was goofing off and not getting his sorry arse over here, Michael would have to reprimand him. His messenger angel did tend to get sidetracked, but he knew the rule to be back by dark and wouldn't dilly-dally if he was running late. Hesitantly, Michael walked over to one of the fountains of Holy Water and set one of his fingers aflame. It didn't hurt, only tickled slightly as he pressed the fire into the fountain. "Show me Perseus the messenger angel," he ordered. "Make it one-way." When it came to angels, you didn't have to know the location of another angel to Iris message them, just their name and occupation.

Immediately a spray of water rocketed into the air and formed an image. At first the water droplets made it fuzzy, making the Archangel's eyes hurt, but eventually the picture focused and sharpened. He wished it hadn't. Perseus was laying on his back, hands chained to the uncomfortable, lumpy-looking bed he was laying on. Silent tears streaked down his face and his shoulders shook as he held in sobs. An urge to protect surged within Michael, one that would be so much more potent had Michael just mustered the courage to ask Percy to be his mate, but the fury that came along with the protectiveness had to be shoved down, lest it cloud his senses. Now that the anger was out of the way, a wave of sorrow crashed into him as he regarded the ragged stumps where the angel's beautiful, powerful black wings once had been. He'd spent much of his time admiring those gorgeous wings from afar, and even though the angel seemed to be bandaged up, there was still no explanation for why he was chained and his wings were missing. He extended his superior senses and found that he was unable to locate the messenger's exact location. Normally, Archangel could find anything and anyone, but Michael crashed into a wall as a result of his many attempts to locate the shine and power of Percy's angelic soul.

The messenger continued to cry, and Michael couldn't bear to just stand by and watch for any longer. For a few moments he just stared forlornly at his messenger, wishing that he'd made the Iris message two-way (Later he found himself unable to create a two-way Iris message), and then slowly cut his hand through the Iris message, lowering his gaze to the ground. A single tear found its way down his cheek and dripped onto the floor. He would've tried to speak with him, would've forced his Iris message through and announced that even if he was fallen he would begin his courting of him once he was found, reassured him that he was still watching over him and keeping him safe, but he could do none of those things. The Creator's laws still applied to him, and he couldn't associate with the fallen. Even a fallen who had been an intended mate. If he did, his own brother, no matter how reluctantly, would have to saw off his wings and cast him down to Earth, where he would have to live amongst mortals, powerless. Uriel wouldn't want to exile him, but it was his job, and if he didn't uphold it he'd fall, too. No matter how raw and unwaveringly Michael felt for Percy, he didn't want to end up like his eldest brother. Like Lucifer.

He staggered a bit at the reality, his gaze distant. Feelings aside, Perseus had been the best messenger angel in all of time. He was quick, agile, and fast on those black wings of his. He had been beyond loyal, honor bound beyond belief. He wouldn't've let Archangel Michael down for the world. He was always on time and worked himself hard in order to get the job done, unlike no other messenger angel that had ever existed. It was why Michael had chosen him that fateful day, when a headstrong, blue-eyed, brown-haired messenger angel and a humorous black haired, green-eyed angel of nature had brought their son to demonstrate his skills to apply for the role as an Archangel's messenger. Now he was anchored to the ground, just like Nicholas, destined to walk on foot or drive in one of those wretched metal beasts that the mortals had created. No more flying. No more anything.

His legs acted of their own accord, and he was so lost in his thoughts that he only realized he was walking down the hallway towards Perseus' room until he was halfway there. He let his feet carry him there, for they knew the way by heart, and the blue rose in his hand was getting abused by the clench of his fist. He couldn't find it in him to care as the flower withered with the Archangel's sadness. His mind wandered to all of the memories he and Perseus had shared, and yet another tear fell as he stopped outside of the messenger angel's room, the door slightly ajar and looking so unsuspecting, completely unlike what Michael expected the door to a missing person's room to look like. He stepped over the threshold before he could stop himself, and he couldn't help but take it all in. It was painted blue, obviously, and all of his belongings lay dormant, still and serene exactly where Percy had left them. His bed was unmade and covered in black feathers, which would've made anyone think that he was out on a stroll and not gone forever.

Michael looked around and the wanting, the longing for his messenger angel to bound inside with a scroll in hand, was overpowering. He wanted to see Perseus smile, just one last time. He wanted to see those beautiful green eyes shining with happiness and not dripping with tears of loss and self-hatred. Then he noticed a note on the dresser that was carefully folded and tied with a red ribbon. He knew he shouldn't read it, for it could've been a love letter written by him or a kind, gentle female seraph, and the thought made the Archangel turn all the more bitter. Even so, it may have a lead on where he went, and Michael took it gingerly in his hands, untying the ribbon and opening the note. It read:

Dear Lord Michael Admiral Asshole,

If you're reading this you're probably worried sick and want my head on a platter for being tardy, but I have a good lead. I think I know who the person(s) is that's taking the angels' wings, and I may be gone for a few days. I'm terribly sorry and guilty that I will be technically letting you down in order to go off on my own adventure that may even lead to a dead end, but I'm pretty sure that I've found the culprit. It's a good thing I found them before they found me. I'll be back soon, I promise.

-Private Perseus

Michael wiped furiously at his eyes and tucked the note into is armor. Perseus' promise would never be fulfilled, for he was never coming home. He would cherish the note forever, read it over and over until he'd memorized it, and then read it some more. He'd run his hand over Perseus' sloppy yet endearing handwriting more than once, for he couldn't admit that Percy hadn't left a huge hole in his heart, and the missing chunk was now anchored to Earth along with him. He knelt by the bed, still gripping the dead rose tightly in his fist, and it soon perked up and bloomed, its color returning like it'd been before, but only because the Archangel had willed it, not because he was happy.

"Perseus, son of Sally and Poseidon and messenger angel," his voice cracked as he lay the rose down on the bed, nestling it in amongst the black feathers there. "I formally ask to," a shaky inhale, "court you. You may accept for decline my…my…affections, but I am hoping you will find me to be a suitable," a small sob, "mate and we may live out the rest of…our days t-together."

Michael wept.

-Ω-

"Alright, angel boy, you need some breakfast and some exercise," the mortal named Luke announced gruffly. Though he was unwilling to encounter the other humans in this facility, Perseus had to admit that he was excited to be able to walk around, for there was a kink in his neck that he just couldn't get rid of, and all of his muscles were tight from disuse. He allowed Luke to unchain him without biting a chunk out of his arm (he'd become more comfortable with the humans since he first woke up here), but was disappointed when a set of handcuffs was placed onto his wrists, along with a blindfold on top of that. He felt the cold barrel of a gun between his shoulder blades and walked in the direction that the human escorted him, unwilling to enter the Healing Slumber again.

Perseus was not at all fond of Luke, preferring Jason out of all of the people who lived in the facility. The powerful aroma of angel blood clung to the sandy-haired mortal wherever he went, as if he drank it daily, which was disgusting beyond compare. The thought of Luke ingesting the blood of his brothers and sisters like some sort of demon creature made him want to heave, though he wouldn't've put it past Luke in the first place. All he saw was white fabric as he was escorted down the halls, and he stepped cautiously, as if there was a deep chasm in front of him that he was walking right into.

"Keep it moving," the human ordered and jabbed the gun even harder into his back, causing slight pain to flare up in the stumps that were once his wings. The area was now beyond a pressure point, it was practically an Achilles heel, especially the small of his back, which just so happened to be where Luke was jamming his gun. He gritted his teeth through the pain, making well sure that the human didn't know that he was bothered, and soldiered on, though he wasn't planning on making it easy for Luke.

"Well you're a charmer," Perseus scoffed.

"And you're an angel," the human replied matter-of-factly, his voice holding this simplicity that made it sound like that was the worst thing in the world. "Or, you were." Talk about a low blow. Perseus used to be unable to even think about what he once was without bursting into tears, but now this numbness had settled over him, a cold acceptance that also came with the feeling that made him want to kill every human in this facility, even Jason. Every time he looked at the blue-eyed boy only served as a reminder of what he'd lost, and Luke's words were like a knife twisting in his gut.

"Whatever," he replied, feigning nonchalance and unable to come up with a proper comeback. The humility of it made his ears turn pink, but he could only pray that Luke hadn't picked up on his uneasiness. Since he couldn't see the human's face, the angel was unsure of whether he was cross, amused, or even both. Luke placed a large hand on Perseus' shoulder and steered him to the left, and immediately afterwards he gave a violent jerk to fling the hand off, ignoring the dark chuckle from behind him. The angel had completely forgotten that he should've been mapping out how many paces he took before he was turned right or left. It was a lost cause now, since he'd waited too long.

"Don't try anything or I sent a bullet through your head. How'd you like another coma?" the human snarled threateningly and Perseus stayed put as he heard the sound of a door opening. "Inside. Now." The cold air slammed into the angel like a wave, and he shivered; after all, he was only wearing jeans. He didn't have socks or a shirt, and the frigid air nipped at his bare skin and caused his hairs to stand on end. The blindfold was removed rather roughly, as were his handcuffs. Perseus brushed himself off indignantly, as if he were trying to get rid of the human taint that had been left on his body when Luke had touched him.

"Sit," the mortal ordered and hustled him to a table in the corner of the room, farthest from the door. Perseus considered breaking his neck and making a run for it; just because he was fallen and without powers didn't mean he didn't have superhuman speed and strength. Then again, Luke had the gun, and the messenger didn't want to risk the repercussions for attacking. He also had no idea to get out, considering he hadn't paid attention to the hallways when he was blindfolded. So, grudgingly, he sat. There were other tables as well, but these were placed farther away from his table. Rude.

Luke chained Perseus to the leg of the table, and Perseus knew that, even though he could easily drag the table behind him, it would be a gigantic hindrance to his escape. Luke left for a few moments, and in that time Perseus sat quietly and tried to find the best means of exodus, though it may not be on as grad of a scale as Moses'. After a short while (he must've been rushing, unwilling to leave the angel alone), Luke returned, and he seemed surprised to see that Perseus was still sitting there, waiting patiently. Scowling, the human placed a plate full of food in front of him, and after giving Perseus a wary look he stalked over to the other tables. That's when the door opened again and more people filed in. Perseus recognized a select few of them.

Jason and the little imp creature, Leo, were chatting animatedly, though their conversation immediately ceased, along with everyone else's, when they walked in to see Perseus sitting all by his lonesome. Just to be a little shit, he gave a sarcastic wave, ignoring the furious glare from Luke. There was Reyna, who'd introduced herself a day or two earlier and had talked with him, though it was more like an interrogation. He easily dodged all of her invasive questions that either hit a little too close to home personally or would be an act of treason against Heaven if he answered them. She was polite but left with a slight crinkle in her brow, having not gained any more ground tan before she'd talked to him. Perseus liked to know that he was making these humans' lives a living Hell.

Two other people, Gwendolyn and Dakota, walked in, with Dakota chugging from a flask in an unhealthy manner and Gwen looking on worriedly. He didn't care for them, and was about to assess his food when another human walked in, bringing up the rear and closing the door behind her. His mouth dropped open. She was pretty, no, she was gorgeous. Her hair tumbled over one shoulder in a cascade of honey blond curls, and it was completely natural, judging by the look of it. Her sharp grey eyes scanned the room and Perseus got lost in how much depth and intelligence lay within the shifting layers that gleamed in the florescent light. Her face was perfect, neither blemish nor freckle speckling her skin, and she had the perfect tan despite the cold weather. Perseus was surprised that she was an angel hunter and not an angel; he had only seen angels with such perfection before.

Her gaze locked with his and he felt his cheeks heat up. He quickly looked away and concentrated on his food. He was an angel. He could not fall in love with a mortal girl or risk toppling into Hell. But you're not an angel. You're a fallen angel. You don't have to go by the rules anymore, a voice in his head chided. He ignored it. He refused to become smitten for a rotten human girl, especially when she was an angel hunter. She was probably responsible for the disappearances of many of Perseus' friends. She had turned to a life of sin.

But he couldn't help but turn around to look at her as she sat at the tables, starting small talk with Luke and the others. They were nice enough, he supposed; the only one who seemed to have a chip on his shoulder was Luke. Then again, Perseus didn't know whether the girl hated him or not. She seemed like the girl in a mortal school who the crowd would part for as she barged passed. She didn't show fear, she was meant to be feared. She was also obviously the leader of the entire group of angel hunters. Her posture was erect and she had a sort of responsible and intelligent aura emitting from her. That was all the more of a reason to not fall in love with her.

Dakota hadn't been very decent, but then again he had been extraordinarily intoxicated when he had first entered Perseus' cell. His face had been flushed and his eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. He had waved a wine bottle at the angel and made a few very rude and childish gestures, then had left. At the time Perseus had been confused, but he eventually suspected that he was an alcoholic, and a dedicated one at that. Even now as he watched the angel hunter he saw his eyes were half-closed and he was grinning like a madman while joking with Gwendolyn.

Speaking of Gwendolyn, she had been a very nice girl. She wasn't that into angel hunting and preferred to stay at the facility to organize the others' trophies and check Leo's traps, which was at least slightly more decent than everyone else. They had talked for a brief moment, but Perseus could see her discomfort as she spoke, as if it was an offense to be speaking with an angel, and a fallen one at that. He was able to figure out that she was strong and independent, but also mildly timid, at least around him. She kept casting glances back at him, which made him feel like he was under a magnifying lens, and kept quiet, preferring to listen rather than speak.

Leo was a genius, and Perseus couldn't deny that. That braniac gleam in the boy's eyes was all the fallen angel could focus on when the human had come to give him lunch. There was also a hint of mischief mixed in with the intelligence that drove Perseus mad; it was as if he was taunting him, his eyes clearly stating, "I know something you don't know." Leo had been friendly and happy to engage in conversation with the angel, talking about mechanics and other things. Perseus was not that into mechanics, but he was an angel; he was required to study up on every aspect of culture, academics, and professions, and knew a great deal when it came to tinkering with spare parts, something that Leo clearly did a lot of.

Then there was Jason. He was the one who usually brought Perseus' meals and he made an effort to make sure he was comfortable, even sneaking a blanket into his cell. He was humble and had plenty of remorse, which the angel was proud of. He did anything and everything in order to repent, to make it up to Perseus, though the angel had no idea what was going to make up for the loss of his wings. Jason was a pretty decent person at heart, but the lure of money to pay off his debt had led him astray. He was kind, loyal, and honest to a fault, not to mention sickeningly optimistic. His presence could be tiresome at times, even though it was supposed to lift Perseus spirits, but he couldn't deny that he enjoyed the human's company. It was always nice to have someone to talk to who didn't give you odd glances and made snide remarks.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice someone had pulled out a chair next to him and had sat down. When he looked up, he saw the blonde girl he'd been admiring beforehand, in all of her grey-eyed glory. His heart skipped a beat and Perseus scolded himself for it, even though it wasn't technically against the rules for a fallen angel to love a mortal. If he let himself fall head-over-heels for her, it would be an all-time low. Any chance of earning his wings back and becoming a messenger angel again would be crushed and that's what he wanted most in the world; to be able to go home.

He gulped and looked down at his plate, pushing his food around with his fork. She said nothing, just watched him. Her grey eyes bore a hold into the side of his face and he couldn't help but shiver a little. Finally he said hesitantly, "Hey," just to fill the uncomfortable silence. There was a pause.

"Hello," she replied, her tone guarded. Perseus chewed on his lip and still didn't make eye contact with her, but he could still feel her chilly gaze scanning him as if he were an interesting specimen she was raring to dissect. He hoped that he wouldn't be dissected. Who knew how far human curiosity could go? "So you're adjusting?"

"Slowly, but yes," Perseus replied, and rather curtly at that. He hated talking about how he was basically a prisoner in the stupid facility. It pained him to think about life not long ago, where he could fly free and deliver messages for Archangel Michael without a care in the world.

"How was it like?" she asked suddenly, her voice sounding rather distant.

"To what?" the angel questioned and finally mustered up the courage to meet her gaze. Her expression was rather distracted, but she immediately shook her head and managed to focus.

"To fly," she answered matter-of-factly, as if it'd been obvious. The other angel hunters had stopped what they were doing to watch the whole thing unfold from their table in the middle of the room, and Perseus could hear them whispering amongst themselves in hushed voices, trying to overhear the conversation. They knew it was rude, but Perseus could see the curiosity sparkling in their eyes. Even Luke seemed mildly interested, and it made goosebumps crop up on his arms at the intense scrutiny.

"It was…good," the fallen angel slowly. The girl seemed to become annoyed, her brows knitting together and her mouth turned down at the corners. A part of Perseus didn't want to make the girl upset. He felt guilty that he had let her down, and had he still had his wings, they would've flattened in apology. Before that, however, they would've been raised up and out in a flirtatious gesture, trying to lure a potential mate in.

"No, in more detail," she insisted, but it sounded more like an order rather than a request.

"It was amazing, okay?" Perseus snapped, "I was able to feel free. Soar above the clouds and feel the wind on my face and ruffling my hair. My wings…God, my wings could carry me anywhere. They were powerful and reliable and I could always trust them to take me where I wished. They were everything, they were what made me happy and were a part of me," his voice cracked, "and now they're gone."

There was silence. Someone could hear a pin drop as the angel hunters stared at Perseus with awe and guilt written all over their faces. The blonde girl, Luke, and Reyna however looked indifferent, their faces like the masquerade masks they wore when they hunted angels. Perseus quickly returned his concentration back to his food, which lay uneaten. He didn't seem to have much of an appetite anymore now that he had confessed.

"I think it's time to go," Luke growled, and with that he blindfolded the angel, handcuffed him, and dragged him out of the dining hall. He didn't even learn the girl's name.