Milo is woken by the first light of dawn. Milky beams of sunlight creep through the blinds and they lay in pure bliss before the realisation of what they have done settles in. An awful dread seizes their heart and squeezes it tight as they turn and stare at Thomas. 

Dust particles drift past between them, some undoubtedly descending upon the soft eyelids and round cheeks belonging to Thomas that they kissed a million times over yesterday. They wish they could stay and do it a million times over again, but today is tomorrow. Milo knows they need to face the consequences of breaking one of their cardinal rules. There is no escaping the eye of God. 

They slip out of bed with the grace of an angel. Then they shake off the stench, the sweat and the grime yesterday's sins had left on their body before slipping back into their rumpled clothes. The trick doesn’t work on their emotional state, nor does it alleviate the stinging pain in the lower half of their body. Nevertheless, they would not want to miss this pain for the world, for it will soon be the only keepsake they have of Thomas. 

Dejection is the feeling that settles into their stomach as they tiptoe to Thomas’ side of the bed. Will remorse lessen their punishment? Milo does not believe so. Falling into temptation had not been a one-time action: from the very first sip of alcohol to their inherent longing to be human. They would do it all over again, save for one thing; they would have never involved Thomas. He does not deserve to be punished for Milo’s crimes against the heavens.

Milo leans forward -their heart heavy- and presses a soft kiss to Thomas’ temple. Tears sting at the corners of their eyes and they are barely able to keep them at bay. “I'm sorry,” they whisper one last time before they walk to the window. They open it and jump outside. 

As soon as Milo feels the fresh air against their skin, they know it was a mistake to transform. Half-formed feathers sprout from their arms, their nose hardens into a crooked beak and it is only a split-second before they hit the ground that they manage to take flight.

The winds no longer carry them like they used to. Harsh air beats down on their brittle wings. They are horrified to find they can no longer take to the sky and zigzag between cars, dodging terrified tourists and traffic lights before finally seeking refuge behind an ally dumpster. 

They press their shaking body against the cool metal and curl up into a ball as they transform back into Milo. Bones quickly snap back into place. They can feel the movement of their organs beneath their muscles. The pain is excruciating. Is this part of God's punishment? The inability to return to the sky- His domain? Feathers slowly retreat into unrelenting skin leaving a dull ache behind. Will they forever be stuck in this mortal form? Is this the consequence of longing to be human? 

A heavy blanket of grief for all that is perceived to be lost cloaks them from head to toe and agonizing bodily pain wraps around every appendage. It is the cost of being alive. They are half the human they wish to be, half the matchmaker they ought to be. 

Heavy sobs wreck their frozen form but after what feels like an eternity, Milo is finally able to stitch themselves back together. They stand back up with renewed determination; their Alluno should still be at the Duomo, if only they could reach them… Everything might be alright.

Conscious of their broken body, they scale the steps of the cathedral. Shallow breaths -sharp as a needlepoint- wreck their sensitive lungs. Still as a pillar, their student stands on the edge of the roof, facing the deathly depths of the plaza below. They are waiting. They have been expecting them. 

Having learned from their teacher, their form is no longer all brutalist angles and harsh lines but has softened and sharpened into the spires of the Duomo itself. Milo, now all too aware of their possible mortality, looks ill-at-ease so near the thin ridge of the roof. 

Finally, their student turns around to face them with their hands intertwined, their brilliant smile a mockery of upturned arches. Basking in the warm light of their newly acquired angelic glow, Milo loses all hope. Their Alluno’s dark eyes are a bottomless lake of understanding. 

Milo’s body convulses in anger at the betrayal. They shakily point an accusing finger at their student. “You did this to me!” They spit.

Their Alluno’s smile remains but it is void of pretension. They fold their arms open in a peacemaking gesture. “You did this to yourself, my dear Insignante! I only put the pieces in place; just like you taught me. I passed the test with flying colours, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Why?!” Milo’s voice breaks on the vowel. Tears drip down their cheeks but they wipe them away with an angry motion. Their exhausted corporeal form can’t spare these tears… They feel lightheaded. The tangy notes of yesterday’s wine lay heavy in the back of their parched throat. 

Their student steps away from the edge of the roof. Their tall, threatening shadow casts Milo in bittersweet darkness as they approach with slow, measured steps. They crouch down to make their current form appear less threatening but already Milo finds it difficult to comprehend the shifting features of their face. Be not afraid. Milo is a scared animal -worse, a hurt human- and their Alluno knows to approach them with caution. 

“Why?” They repeat with astonishment. “Because it is what you deserve.” Their voice rings true. It is the sound of a thousand bells, of shattering glass leaving a hundred cuts and of a calming brook rippling over the freshcut wounds to mend them. 

“Because you are fated to be with him and because we wish to thank you for your devotion to the heavens.” 

“This is not a punishment for my indiscretions?” Milo forces themselves to look up to their former student, their current form as unsettling as looking directly into the sun. 

“It is the truth… But it is not the full truth,” their Alluno admits with regret, “and it is not in my nature to be deceitful.” 

Noticing Milo’s discomfort, they change into a more palatable form but the form they chose only heightens their teacher’s distress. Taking the shape of the Milani barman from the Palazzo Cordusio, they continue: “Your current form -stuck between matchmaker and human, satisfied with neither- is due to your own emotional inflexibility.” 

“Wha- what do you mean?” Milo gasps wide-eyed. 

The look in their eyes almost approaches one of sympathy and they kindly take Milo into their arms. They hold their head and keep them close as they speak. “My eyes -your eyes- are the eyes of our Lord and we have seen the way you look at humans… You wish to be among them, to be entertained by them. Your Promethean love for them is more than the Father’s for all of his creations. You ache to experience the world in the same way they do and have been developing the same emotions that make them flawed: anger, sadness, jealousy… love.” 

Milo relaxes into their embrace, tears dripping onto their Alluno’s immaculate outfit. Their body is one of a living creature; it holds a warmth they can understand. 

Their Alluno -no, their friend- continues, gently patting their curls. “My dear Milo… Those emotions you experience- They are not fit for an objective matchmaker. Now, we can reset your form but we may not reset your mind. We want to make sure you receive your happy ending -your reward for lifetimes of service- before your feelings escalate and form a threat to His reign.” 

"I seem to have no choice," Milo mutters. Desperation chokes their voice as they slowly come to understand that their corruption has been centuries in the making. They were doomed far before they stepped foot into the Palazzo Cordusio and met the man with hunger in his eyes. 

“You always have a choice,” their friend sighs. “The match of humanity within you has been struck and all it may do now is burn up. However, how many others it will light in the process is up to you. Agency is the gift God has given you and we shall respect it but your choice will have consequences. We wish not that you shall fall and join those we dare not speak of.” 

They hesitate and take a step back to look Milo in the eye. Milo’s tear-struck face slips from the crook of their shoulder. Their Alluno adds with a warmer intonation: “As your former student, I do not wish to see you fall that far.”

Milo looks to the ground in deep regret, steadying their ragged breathing before facing their Alluno for what may be the last time. “I see…” Their words convey an indescribably melancholy. “I hold no ill will against the Father. If I could turn into something that threatens His position, I will accept the offer.” They temporarily divert their gaze before adding: “even if it means I must abandon a role that I love dearly.” 

Milo believes they can see their sorrow reflected in the eyes of their friend but perhaps their eyes are simply mirrors: unable to show any emotion of their own but always reflecting the emotions of others outward. 

“Does this mean I will never see you again?” They ask, afraid of the answer. 

Their Alluno’s deep-rooted sigh is a wistful breeze whistling through the trees. “You were the one to teach me the rules, Milo. You know them better than I do.” 

Their grief pools around them but Milo manages to gather the courage to answer: “Alunno?” 

“Yes?” Their friend responds, raising an eyebrow. Milo’s heart sparks with pride when they notice the little mannerisms their companion had picked up from them. 

“I will miss you.” They whisper, placing urgent emphasis on every word. 

“And that is exactly why you must go,” their friend answers with an indulgent smile that vanishes into the half-moon that stands starkly against the morning sky. “But, if it brings you any solace: your knowledge shall live on through me and through those who it will be my pleasure to teach. I am grateful for having known you. You will not be forgotten as long as I -and my future disciples- are in employment and that is more than most can ask for.” 

By the end of their answer, their voice is little more than a rustle in the wind. Milo finds themselves standing all alone on the rooftop of the Duomo Santa Maria Nascente. For now, their strange new body is filled with nothing but discomfort and a hollow loss, and these feelings will forever remain. But so much more lies on the horizon of this day; there will be many more feelings to fill their heart, and many more sunsets to ride into. Teary-eyed, they are welcomed into a bright new world as they say their goodbyes to the next.