Max staggered down the hallway like a man fighting gravity and losing.
One shoulder scraped the wall. His tail dragged lazily behind him. His steps had the loose, unpredictable rhythm of someone who had very intentionally disabled every natural immunity his body had to intoxication—and then gone out of his way to test the limits of that decision.
He reached for a doorknob.
Missed.
Tried again with his missing arm.
Missed harder.
"…Rude," he muttered to the door.
Across the hall, Charlie's door cracked open.
"Um… Max?" she blinked, taking in the sight of him swaying in place like a haunted metronome. "You do remember Vaggie told you to stay with us until you're healed, right?"
Max turned toward her with the exaggerated seriousness of a drunk man trying to look sober.
He nodded so enthusiastically his vision visibly lagged behind the motion.
"Oh yeah," he slurred. "I'm so… I'm so remembery."
Charlie clapped a hand over her mouth, giggling. "Yup. Definitely drunk."
She stepped out and gently caught him before he tipped sideways. He leaned on her like a very heavy, very affectionate coat.
"You smell like Husk's entire bar," she added.
"High praise," Max mumbled proudly.
She guided him into her and Vaggie's room. The lights were low, warm, soft. Vaggie was stretched out on the bed scrolling her phone, wings relaxed, expression neutral until she looked up.
"…Did he really drink that much?" she asked.
"Yeah," Charlie said, helping Max flop onto the mattress. He bounced once and rolled slightly before she pushed him back to the center. "But at least he's a goofy drunk. Better than angry. Bee's the only one who's seen him like this before."
Vaggie raised a brow. "Is he even all there right now?"
Max beamed at both of them with a wide, wobbly smile that radiated pure, harmless joy.
Charlie sat beside him and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, let's test it. Max sweetie, can you change out of your clothes? You're still in your day outfit."
Max raised his one hand like he was about to cast a sacred spell.
Snap.
His clothes turned into a three-piece suit.
Snap.
A wizard robe.
Snap-snap.
A tuxedo.
Snap-snap-snap.
A ballerina outfit with glittering tights.
Charlie wheezed.
Vaggie lost it and had to turn her face into a pillow.
Finally, after one last dramatic snap, the chaos settled into simple black silk pajamas. Max blinked at himself, satisfied.
"Nailed it," he declared.
Then he tipped sideways and faceplanted into the mattress like a felled tree.
Charlie clapped softly. "Good job!"
Vaggie smirked and reached over, scratching behind his ear. "He's surprisingly coherent. Mi lobo feroz."
Max's eyes flickered. For just a second the drunken glaze thinned, something deep and protective shining through. He rolled and dragged both of them into a clumsy, one-armed hug.
"I promise…" he mumbled into the blankets, voice thick but serious. "To keep you both safe. Especially from Adam and his stupid little bird army…"
Charlie and Vaggie exchanged a quiet look.
Even drunk, that instinct didn't fade.
Charlie stroked his hair gently. "Actually… yeah. Weren't you immune to angel weapons when Adam attacked us in Heaven? How did you get hurt here?"
Max groaned theatrically and flopped his head across both their laps.
"I'm only immune in Heaven," he said. "Their turf. Their rules. Down here? I'm just like every other sinner. Squishy."
He poked his own cheek.
"See? Squish."
The girls giggled.
"But," he added sleepily, "I have the best girls in… the world? Or Hell? Still learning… words…"
Charlie's heart melted a little. She rubbed his cheek. "Aww."
"So," she said softly, "what exactly can you do? Besides teleporting and using shadows."
Max raised his hand again like a student desperate to participate.
"Okay. Let's see… I can break stuff. Very easy. I do magic. Big magic. I store things in my shadow. Regeneration. Super strength. Super hearing. Super smelling—sorry about that sometimes. And I can… find lost stuff?"
Vaggie leaned forward. "Find stuff? Show us."
"Okay," he murmured. "But it's random. And old stuff only. I think. Maybe. Don't quote drunk me."
He focused. A small orb of light formed in his palm—
—and detonated outward into a full angelic dagger, glowing gold and humming with holy energy.
Both girls yelped.
Vaggie reacted instantly, snatching it from his hand and holding it at arm's length. "Okay! I'm taking that."
Charlie examined it carefully. "Must be something an angel dropped during an extermination…"
"Sorry…" Max mumbled, ears drooping. "It's supposed to pick the closest item. I think. Maybe. Drunk."
Charlie ruffled his hair. "It's fine, Max. You're doing great."
"Puppy drunk," Vaggie added fondly.
Charlie sat back, looking at him with soft affection. "You're doing wonderfully as our fiancé. We couldn't ask for a better one."
Vaggie hesitated, then sighed. "And… I never really apologized for being rude when we met. But in my defense, you came on very strong. Like… weirdly strong."
Max laughed into their laps.
"You two are beautiful," he murmured. "I'm still learning this immortality thing. I'd have been dumb as—well—Adam if I didn't shoot my shot. And it landed. I think. I hope. Still feels unreal."
His voice slowed. His breathing evened.
Sleep hit him like a curtain dropping.
The girls carefully shifted him, sliding him between them under the covers. Vaggie took his left side, gently threading her fingers through his remaining hand. Charlie curled against his chest, wings folding around all three of them like a soft shield.
Just as he drifted off completely, Max mumbled one last thing:
"Mmm… also… call Nifty next time you have your… fun. Wolf senses… smell everything from the bed…"
Both girls froze.
Their faces turned the exact same shade of red.
Max was asleep instantly, snoring softly.
They stared at each other in horrified silence.
"…We're never living that down," Vaggie whispered.
Charlie buried her face in a pillow and let out a muffled scream.
Outside, the hotel creaked quietly. Somewhere far down the hall, Nifty laughed for no reason at all.