let's be real: when you've spent more than 1,200 years in hell you have a bit of a different perception of what is scary but oh, does adam like halloween! maybe it's his old soul talking but the atmosphere is nice, and he and michael? they go on walks when the occasion presents itself, be it at the local park nearby or somewhere the archangel can take them with a beat of his wings, with adam holding a hot drink or a sweet bun and autumn colors setting a warm, stark je-ne-sais-quoi on michael's apparition. they basically go on dates no matter how casual they are about it.

the aforementioned hot drink is more often than not a pumpkin spice latte and you have no idea how persistent adam had to be to get michael to take a sip and try it out. he eventually humored him, accepted the cup, and. . . he didn't like it much, but it was better than the skittles and at least someone found the experience entertaining.

the heart eyes and fond exasperation are fucking real y'all

also, you know that michael keeps adam's body temperature in check, so he doesn't feel the cold, neither of them does. well, they still wear slightly heavier clothes and a scarf an old neighbor gifted them once (well, it was meant for adam, but y'know—) just "for the hell of it". and just so you get the visual, vessel and apparition always match lol.

another reason to take your archangelic lover out during spooky season: there are people, but especially their children, around. michael can perfectly tell that that little zombie over there is nothing more than a normal kid, same for the teen zombie on his left, and he is still fairly neutral about humans for the most part, but the concept in on itself picks at his curiosity and it's... amusing, in a way. it's a bit of a combination of being fascinated and questioning for him really, most human customs are. the first time around especially—it was so funny to adam!

now, moving on: don't get me started on the show tunes. they're even more infectious than the christmas ones, as a matter of fact and oddly enough michael finds them more tolerable. which is lucky because otherwise, adam humming 'i put a spell on you' by hocus pocus frequently would be way more annoying than it is endearing.

also, no kidding, if he's feeling playful and up to sing out loud at the top of his lungs adam will 100% do it and mimic the lyrics (he honestly didn't remember that song to be so catchy) and though michael manages to look unimpressed and amused at best the kid really should have no right to come across as flirtatious as he does. adam's mission in life and source of entertainment is managing to crack michael up to the point where he probably will end up getting himself flustered instead so that's a daily occurrence in the privacy of their own home these days!

what else? well, of course, their normal movie nights turn into halloween themed movie nights once or twice a week. because it's not like adam remembers the movies he watched when he was alive anyway, and what kind of guide would he be if he let michael go without watching the addams family or the copse bride, come on! they take turns picking a movie, too, so to be fair, michael brought casper on himself. adam may or may not have felt like crying for that one.

the history behind halloween traditions is very fascinating actually; adam doesn't remember much of it if anything at all, but rest assured michael looked it up on the internet and read some books while adam was sleeping (all in the same night, yes, adam always makes a point to wait at least a week before returning michael's books to the library). so he's not at all confused when adam brings up the idea to carve some pumpkins. he used to do it with his grandparents and mom when he was little and. . . well, it'd be fun right?

spoiler: it is fun! meaning it's hilarious how michael gives out observations and objective opinions and adam rolls with it completely ignoring that he's being helped in picking pumpkins by the oldest most powerful multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent in existence. nonetheless, he can totally carry the pumpkins they chose himself, thank you very much. except they're not playing macho man here, so it doesn't take much convincing before they switch control and the people around see this blonde dude making a confident beeline for the exit with a heavy armful of pumpkins as if it was nothing.

they carve a couple of pumpkins together. adam shows michael how it's supposedly done first, only for michael to go for it like a pro because hey, he's good with blades, we know that! and he's also good with his hands. well, adam's hands. or, huh, his apparition's hands. you get my point, anyway— i can totally envision them carving the first pumpkin together, michael subtly making sure adam doesn't cut himself, and then one each afterward. it's really all about the activity itself and the "i think i'm done! look at my pumpkin, isn't it great?" at the end.

one of the carved pumpkins doesn't get lit up with a candle inside because their cat (yes, they have a cat. his name's midam) decided to make it his new second home and refused to get out of it.

"well, you made the eyes big enough for him to fit in, kid."

the others look neat when they set them up and michael turns off the lights with a snap of his fingers though! it's definitely worth the mess in the kitchen from when adam playfully threw (read: tried to throw) a bit of pumpkin flesh at michael.

side note but i can't help but think that michael saw one or two memories of a five-year-old adam making little ghosts out of paper napkins, a marker, and a string, and so one day there is one hanging by the lamp on the desk. i don't know why, but their cat has one too that he rolls and chases around everywhere so i'm adding this lol.

stuff is baked, too, obviously! i'm talking about anything you can put the remaining parts of the pumpkins in but also cinnamon, chocolate. . . we know adam has a sweet tooth after all, and this way, michael nags him a bit less for his eating habits!

no, really, you don't understand: trick or treat is a thing and so the sweets are mandatory, but the amount of unhealthy sugars adam puts in their shopping cart at the beginning of the month is sickening.

for this bit specifically, let's skip forward in time! more or less, either five-ish years or any moment in time from then on, when adam has a stable job at a hospital. nurse, doctor... eternity is vast and they need to move around every two decades or so, so take your pick. the thing is, dr. milligan is, to put it simply, weird. he's nice, but sometimes his mood swings completely and he has his quirks. when october comes along, there is one of them!

one of the nurses says that this habit of his reminds them or their granny — "or most old people i know." — to which adam shrugs and idly says he's an old soul anyway. he's only half-joking; after all, he is an old soul, and that must be the reason why across him, michael's apparition stands looking every bit unimpressed.

he has his hands in the pockets of the white coat of his apparition; pockets that, differently from adam's, are empty.

the archangel reckons that carrying all that sugary sweets in the pockets of their white coats and clothes is better than adam wanting to eat them all himself. he tosses a whole lot of them in the shopping cart when they go out for groceries at the beginning of the month. michael was so astonished at first, that he projected himself out of their body and watched in disdain as their cart filled up with treats: candy, lollipops, gummy bears, chocolate and/or caramel bars etc.

then he pointed out that halloween night was still far, to which adam replied, "true. but these are also for work."

i'm literally going down with this headcanon, it's the sole reason why i'm still ranting because listen, adam may not be the absolute best with children, but the hospital isn't a very happy place to be in, to begin with, so he goes about his day, does his job, and when he's done fixing up some stitches or drawing blood or visiting a patient, he. . . trick-or-treats them! puts a hand in his pocket or, sometimes borrowing michael's grace, pulls a treat out of nothing, and then he hands it to the kid. and it makes every single one of them so happy!

michael watches over the scene with fondness every time, and meanwhile, over the weeks, adam becomes quite popular among the younger patients of the hospital. really! i'm convinced that once, after they had traded control of their body so adam could rest for ten minutes during a long shift, michael felt a tug at their white coat, and when he looked down he found one of the children. he remembers every room number and face, so he recognized them immediately, and it was so funny because he stood there, quirked an eyebrow, shoved a hand in adam's right pocket without breaking eye contact, and then gave this little kid in pokémon pjs a kinder bueno. only to receive a toothy smile and a 'thank you, doctor!', to which he nodded and said, 'you're welcome.'

adam tuned in not even ten seconds after, all mirth and "they're adorable at that age, right?" y'know, like the little shit of a loving husband he is <3

one more thing and then i swear i'm done: i want them to have friends who they can trust enough to be open about being two people in a body and all, and in all of eternity there are people like that! this means there are also halloween parties, but even if there weren't, even if they just decided to go out on halloween night, adam will absolutely do his best to get michael in a costume. one that isn't a trash bag because they're not dressing up as their fathers thank you. just because why the hell not, right?

his most heartfelt attempt is a set of devil horns that adam finds hilarious on michael (and frankly quite attractive, but don't tell him i told you this) and that michael hates. adam's literally over there cackling about how michael’s the 'speck of infernal bile' now and michael’s just sitting there with this headband on his head like, "okay. time to erase this thing from existence," except he eventually only sighs and grumbles while he lets adam have fun for a bit. but the fork will have to go.

i'm also convinced that they're such cryptids, and they seem so weird from an outsider's point of view, that one day they'll be the mysterious unsettling owner of the spooky house at the end of the street or up the hill or just outside of town who occasionally pops in to buy some milk. or maybe somewhere in the world, in the future, they'll be one of the local legends or something. either way, i'm done! :D

so to celebrate have them being like—

adam: *losing it* michael:

It's mostly little bits and pieces he picks up here and there between his shifts and a trip to the grocery store, but Michael listens to him nonetheless. Adam knows it, and in a way, he has come to understand why — he can feel Michael's grace tinkle, and the whirlwind of his very core buzzing with a warm sense of calm and contentment. It's kind of the reason why he keeps doing it, keeps humming stray melodies. And to be honest, music's good for Adam, too. It makes his soul flutter uniquely, or so Michael has noticed, not without a mix of confused endearment and curiosity. It's actually normal for pretty much any human out there, but well, it's not like Michael pays attention to any soul other than the one nestled next to his grace. Like now, for instance, while they sit in comfortable silence, watching a TV series that even Michael seems to be fairly interested in. Adam shifts for a bit, eyes on the screen, where the Negative Man has just started, to his surprise given what kind of character he is, to sing. And sure, it's probably because of the context and the lyrics and the bubbling crescendo of good feelings in his body but—the point is, that suddenly, from his side of the bond, Michael hears him think ‘what the hell’. Then he stands up and holds his hand out to the archangel. "Alright, come here," Adam says, eyes expectant and a tad bit nervous. A good kind of nervous though, Michael notes, studying him with furrowed brows. It doesn't take him much to understand what exactly Adam is asking for, and no matter how much he is always willing to humor him if there is anything that the archangel Michael has never done that is dancing. So he shifts his gaze from Adam's outstretched hand up to his face and pointedly says, "I think I'll pass, kid." Michael's lips are pursued in a deadpanned, but not an unamused or grumpy line, and that's enough for Adam to nudge him. Not to mention, he's most certainly not exposing himself to take no for an answer. "Oh, come on, old man," Adam presses, idly and unafraid to clash with Michael's stubbornness, the corners of his lips lifted upwards and his blue irises alight with something akin to mischief. "It'll be fun!" "Adam, I don't dance." "Just this once?" Michael quirks an eyebrow. Not much, but it still holds one hell of a whirlwind of expressions and gives Adam the impression to be looked at through and thorough — he is... bubbly, content, and a billion different little human things. And, while on the TV screen the main character's bandages start to disappear, making him look human again for the first time after decades, his soul's ringing feels a little softer. With an exasperated sigh, Michael eventually takes Adam's hand and stands up in a swift motion. "Just this once." Adam grins, cheery and maybe just a little smug. From this up close — aside from their breaths meeting and the buzzing sensation of skin against faux skin — the flow of his warm-colored mirth pulses more clearly than before. It's tangible; radiant.

(As if Michael didn't love him enough already.) ‘You're insufferable.’ Michael's grace whispers, but the tacit affection threaded within the words spoken over their bond is so evident that it glimmers in his apparition's eyes, and Adam, for the life of him, can't help but blush. Not too much alright, but, if only to ignore the light heat rising to his cheeks and for the sake of his so-called insufferableness, he shrugs in a what can you do kind of way and says, "Heh, you like me anyway and you know it." Michael looks him dead in the eyes. "Do I." "Hey." Michael tilts his head with an amused glint of his grace and really, sometimes, Adam almost misses when back in the days he was about as expressive as a marble statue. Or a rock, for that matter. He shakes his head with an equally playful scoff and takes a step back, pushing the coffee table with the back of his leg in order to have a little more space. Michael looks at his movements with rapt attention, specifically when Adam shows him where to put his hands and by consequence moves a little closer. "Here, just..." Adam's murmur is slightly muffled by all the singing that is going on on the TV screen, but that doesn't make the light flustered note on his voice any less obvious, clearly. His eyes meet Michael's, and Adam takes in a breath, their noses almost touching. He finds himself feeling a little off, a little mesmerized really—but not necessarily in a bad way. His lips twitch, glimmering irises and warm blue. "...hey," he exhales. His cheeks start to hurt a little because of the amount of smiling he stupidly feels like doing right now. Michael doesn't make that kind of ache go away with a brush of his grace, he's come to associate it with the good chemicals that fizzle all over their body and the happiest his vessel — his only friend, his... Adam—can be. So, the archangel mimics the gesture, in his own way, while tracing the fabric of Adam's shirt with his fingers. "Hey yourself," he says, voice is low and deep despite the light playfulness dripping from his words. Under his touch, Adam shivers and hurries to shrug it off. "Right, so, you gotta— relax your shoulders, there. Good. Don't think, just..." Adam starts to sway a little, left and right, with growing confidence as his movements begin to follow the music. He's not in perfect sync with it, at all really, but hey, they're in their home after all! His hand is pressed against Michael's side — it tingles a bit with the echo of the buzzing, unleashed power concealed within the archangel's apparition and the thrill Adam feels blossom in his chest first — and with a light pull, it sets a playful invitation to move along. Michael does as much, if a bit stiffly and mostly to humor him, and Adam chuckles. Dancing is not much different from eating or taking a shower or a bath, to Michael, that much is clear. It's better than eating, for sure, but it's still too human, for him at least, to come naturally or even make sense, or hold some kind of appeal. Nonetheless, Adam's sensations latch onto his own in the same way their fingers entwine. They flow in through lowered veils and walls, carrying genuine amusement and happiness, and Michael finds — unsurprisingly, for the most part — easy to take them in and let himself be carried away by them. Enough for his faux body to move more fluidly, naturally even. Which is ridiculous: he's a soldier, definitely not a dancer. (The things he does for love.) "Wow, you're not that bad, you know that?" Adam chimes in, all ringing soul and silvery voice. "Very funny," Michael scoffs, a pointed look that accompanies his dry remark. "I think I'll leave you to the rest of the song now. I'll be fine for the next couple of decades." He takes a step back, lifts his arm, and twirls Adam around.　 　　People like us, we've gotta stick together, 　　Keep your head up, nothing lasts forever... Adam laughs. And he spins on his heels, too; a fluid movement before he winds his arms around Michael's shoulders and finds himself closer to him, chest to chest. (Within their shared body, between grace and soul, it feels like pure euphoria.) 　　Here's to the damned, to the lost and forgotten... Their noses brush, tenderly. And damn it, he said decades, which—okay, Adam digresses, but damn, does it make his heart flutter! Still, stubbornly and gleeful, he grins, mirroring the state of their truest beings. "Too bad, you're not leaving me at the chorus, Michael, it's literally the best part to sing along!" "I'm not singing." And that's not debatable. "Nah, I know that. But I sure as hell am!" Because listen, Adam is in no way, shape, or form the kind of guy to be, you know, a party animal or anything of the sort. But this is far from the most embarrassing, stupid thing Michael saw him do. They're well past that, thank you very much, especially when it comes to his singing. Maura and Larry's voices resonate in the room, powerful and beautiful in their unity, Adam's own promptly in tow. "We are all misfits living in a world on fireee. . .!" he sings, spreading his arms, his soul vibrant and alight. Nested around it, the grumpy old solar fire projected right in front of him fills his body with an iridescent rush of warmth. Michael doesn't sing along with him, Adam doesn't expect him to, but his eyes crinkle in that fond way of his, and his body moves along the lively melody. He's mesmerized, captivated by the human in front of him so much that if any one of them were the type, they would say that suddenly, it's like they're not even in their little living room anymore. Music does that, too, doesn't it? Bringing colors and life to the people like them, that is. 　　Sing it for the people like us — Adam entwines their fingers. They are, of course, the mirror image of one another, and fit together like puzzle pieces. He stumbles a bit on the lyrics, which to be fair he is not all that familiar with, he's mostly following the characters' lead, but it's not important. It doesn't need to be perfect. Not that Adam would care, given how Michael takes most of his attention. "They can't do nothing to you," In tune with the music and with laugher on his lips, Adam steps towards Michael. "They can't do nothing to me," Michael's grace scoffs in mirth, and amusement dances in his eyes while he takes a step himself, his hands tight around Adam's and in motion. "This is the life that we choose—" It's a happy moment, Adam's voice is as vibrant as his soul, and yet, Michael senses the echo of an unspoken promise when he sings: "This is the life that we bleed." It sinks in the threads of his grace and the line of his mouth, as the quickening rhythm tries to slither into the lessening space between them and lights up Adam's grin. They meet in the middle, and their foreheads rest against each other despite the frantic rhythm. Quicker and livelier by the second. "So throw your fits in the air. Come out," Their hands clenched around each other and the tip of their noses bump playfully, causing Adam's voice to crack with amusement and a dash of sheepishness for the proximity. "Come out if you dare!" And it doesn't take much for Michael's impossibly blue eyes to slide from Adam's own to his beaming lips. "Tonight we're gonna...!" Then the distance is no more. 　　—change forever. Adam goes stiff out of surprise for a moment. Michael, eyes closed, can feel the tangible quirk of his lips, smiling against his own. Then Adam's arms are around Michael's neck, and when they part, his heart is beating furiously and he would very much like to spare an offhand comment of any kind, but he doesn't. Larry's daydream dissolves abruptly into harsh reality; the music, the song stop. Meanwhile though, in that odd little living room, for once in their very long lives, reality is sweeter. Not idyllic or easy, but quieter; tangible. Theirs.　 　　Sing it for the people like us, the people like us.

Adam's presence at the back of his mind, inside their body, only does so much to mellow it. He is too tired to bother, actually, so the message is pretty clear. Anyway, between a moment and the next a brief conversation seems to go through between archangel and human. (“Man, I hope I never have to see them again.”)

(“If anything's amiss the only person who needs to contact me is Amara, so don't worry about it, kid.”)