YOU CAN NEVER OVERUSE SHIRTLESS ICONS. For the first time in a long time, Michael had trouble articulating himself. He was not unsure - it was just that his mind had been on everything. On Heaven and Earth, God and the Host, on the mortals walking around of whom he was obliquely aware of, and of course...
"You."
The lady Constance stumbled in moments later, carrying a clean, ironed set of Mister Preston's clothes. They were roughly the same size. No, that's not what she meant. What she meant was that their bodies were roughly the same size. Their builds. And... stuff. You know.
She looked slightly awkward handing them over and the fact that Michael accepted the offering and then just stood there probably wasn't helping.
He smiled at her and she smiled back. They could play this smiling game for as many centuries as she wanted to. He wasn't sure what she was thinking - there was something wrong with him and it was beginning to bother him - but the fact that she didn't look afraid or unsettled put the angel at ease.
She excused herself again when she caught herself staring. Mister Preston would probably roast her alive if he knew what she was thinking.
"I believe these are yours," he said after she left, and Michael held out the clothes Constance had handed him, offering them to Lucifer.