”Someone told me once that shooting stars are really just angels throwing away their cigarettes before God could catch them smoking.”

“You really shouldn’t do that.” The taller whispers, glancing at the cigarette in the shorter’s hand. “It’s against our code to give in to Earthly pleasures - thats not why we’re here.”

“And who’s stopping me?” The shorter asks, taking another long drag from the cigarette before flicking the into the brown, damp grass.

The taller stays quiet, eyes still fixed on the others fingers, feeling his own curl into a slight fist and then unclench again. He doesn’t answer — Doesn’t say what he wants to say but instead listens to his fleshy, new heart thumping inside his ears as the words circle inside his head.

The shorter exhales the smoke and they both watch as it mixes with the hot air from his breath and floats up towards the sky — towards home. “It’s funny, being human — being alive.”

At this the taller nods, eyes trailing from the smoke to the others face, fixing there but their eyes still not meeting yet. He thinks about what the other has said, and the vows they took as elite angels, and what God had promised if they were to break them. Then he looks at the shorter again - really looks - and relaxes. “..Maybe what God doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

It is then their eyes meet, and so does their hands.