The Angel

CHAPTER FOUR

Azriel woke up the next morning with an ear-splitting headache. He groaned, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead, then rolled onto his side.

Tyler’s alarm clock had been ringing nonstop that he could practically hear it in his dreams. It would stop for ten seconds and then would ring again like it was on some obnoxious loop.

He raised a hand and curled it into a fist, half out of habit. The stupid thing should’ve already crumpled in on itself, its gears snapping, restoring the silence.

But nothing happened.

Azriel raised an eyebrow and sat up. He tried again.

The stupid clock was still ringing like crazy, every bit of its vibration pulsating in his head. He looked down at his hand.

Gabriel really wasn’t messing around when he said that he wouldn’t have his powers with him for his job. It made him wonder if having access to it would’ve already gotten the job done.

After all, a little miracle here and there would always do the trick for these humans.

Azriel swung his legs over the side and pushed himself up, still rubbing at his temple. That was when he noticed that Tyler was no longer in his bed.

With a groan, he stepped out into the living room to find him. Not there. He checked the bathroom, the sink, the cupboards—still no Tyler.

He then went out into the hallway.

The dormitory hall was long and narrow, lined with arched windows that let in a pale wash of morning light. Stone walls rose high on either side, banners in the school’s colors draped along them.

He started looking around.

A student council officer was making rounds, already wearing his uniform with a clipboard tucked under one arm. He stopped when he saw Azriel.

“Why are you still here? You’re going to be late,” the officer said matter-of-factly.

Azriel squinted at him. “Late for what?”

The officer looked him up and down like he couldn’t tell if Azriel was joking. “For class, obviously. Do you even know your schedule?”

Azriel didn’t bother answering. The officer sighed, plucked a folded slip of paper out of his clipboard, and handed it over. “Here. Room 3-B. Down the west wing staircase. Move it, or the teacher’s going to mark you absent.”

Azriel followed the directions. He passed through a set of carved oak doors into a corridor lined with tall, stained-glass windows and ended up outside a room buzzing with voices. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, still in his wrinkled pajamas.

The room went quiet for half a beat, then laughter broke out in waves.

“Is he serious?” some guy snickered from the back.

“Are those ducks on his pajamas?” another said, half-laughing.

A girl by the window, though, nudged her friend and whispered just loud enough for Azriel to catch the words, “Okay, but… he’s sort of hot, don’t you think?”

That made the laughter splinter into murmurs, and a few more of the other girls joined in. Azriel ignored them all, his expression flat. If anything, he looked faintly amused.

The professor in front of the class cleared his throat, arms crossed. “Mr… Azriel, is it? This isn’t a sleepover. Go change into the proper uniform and return. Now.”

Azriel, finally spotting Tyler at the back of the room, narrowed his eyes and let out a long, unimpressed sigh. He turned on his heel, the door groaning on its hinges as he left.

Ten minutes later, he returned with the crisp blazer and tie that he’s been issued the day before, hair still slightly mussed from sleep but somehow making the uniform look deliberate. He walked up to the front of the class without hesitation.

“Introduce yourself, please,” the professor said.

“Azriel,” he replied simply.

A beat passed and he said nothing else.

Whispers darted through the class again, but the professor waved him off. “Fine. Sit anywhere that’s open. I believe there’s one beside… there, with Tyler.”

Azriel’s gaze slid across the room until it landed on him. Tyler, as a form of response, began stacking all the books he could grab from Spencer on the empty seat beside him, his expression set like stone.

Azriel didn’t miss a beat. He strode over, knocked the books off the chair with one sweep of his arm, and sat down like he owned the place.

Everyone’s gaze was instantly on them.

He looked over to Tyler and was just about to open his mouth when he held his hand up in front of him. “I’m not speaking to you.”

Azriel frowned. “What did I do?”

“What didn’t you do?”

“That’s not really shedding any light, is it?”

“The only thing I should be shedding is you.”

Azriel just stared at the side of his head like he was trying to comprehend the last sentence. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Tyler folded his arms and continued staring ahead. “I was hoping you’d sleep through the whole year.”

“You enjoy tormenting me,” Azriel realized, and the latter scoffed loudly.

“Nah, torment implies effort. You make it too easy.”

“Well, you could’ve at least warned me about class.”

“And miss the chance to watch you parade around in pajamas? Not a chance. Although—” He straightened up and turned to look at him, “—those pajamas, they look familiar.”

Azriel blinked. “No, it doesn’t.” He could almost feel the edge of a horn tingling across his scalp with that lie.

Tyler seemed to buy it though. But he still narrowed his eyes at him.

By the time the school bell rang for lunch, Azriel was already slumped on his table, hands pressed tightly against his stomach. He’s never felt this empty before like his insides are begging for something.

What that something though he has yet to find out.

“Aren’t you going to invite him for lunch?” he heard a guy say to Tyler but the latter just got up, casted a quick glance at him, and left.

Isaac followed promptly. The guy who was asking was still standing around, though.

“You wanna join us for lunch?”

He turned his attention to him. He had mousy brown hair and warm hazel eyes, features that were gentle, unassuming, and so disarmingly human it was almost jarring.

Azriel narrowed his eyes at him. “Lunch?”

“Yeah. Aren’t you Tyler’s new roommate?” He held his hand out for a shake and Azriel took it. “I’m Spencer. I was his roommate before you.”

“Ah. The ex.”

Spencer chuckled. “You could say that. So, lunch?”

Azriel narrowed his eyes again, like he despised the word completely. But he stood up and followed him out anyway.

He knew it deep down that it was impossible for someone like him, even in a mortal flesh, to be hungry or thirsty. That’s just not possible. But with the way he’s been feeling right now, it was almost too obvious.

He still doesn’t believe it though.

He has lived for a while, five centuries to be exact—which is a baby in angelic age. But not a day has he ever became hungry, thirsty, or even tired enough to sleep. Sleep! He has done that twice now. And though it felt nice, he still couldn’t believe he slept.

“Are you hungry?”

Ha! He could spit on the word. “No.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Azriel’s mouth dropped and looked at him like he just accused him of heresy. “You did not just call me that.”

“What?”

“Take that back! I am not a liar.”

Spencer chuckled at him. “Okay, fine. But I can hear your stomach grumbling, you know?”

He looked down. There really was some grumbling.

Spencer just smiled and pulled him towards a set of double doors in the middle of the castle. When they came in, more than half the school were already in there, and half of them were looking at Azriel.

Ignoring the looks, they made their way towards the middle of one of the long rows of tables. Tyler, who had been watching them the whole time, was glaring at Azriel’s head. He turned to Spencer. “Do you want a slap?”

“Uh… is that a trick question?”

“Why’d you bring him here?”

“Because it’s lunch.” Spencer settled into his chair and told Azriel to do the same. “Besides, he’s your roomie now. Play nice.”

Tyler looked irked by the suggestion. “He’s only been here two days and he’s already stirred up so much s**t I could practically taste it in my mouth.”

Azriel gave him a disgusted look. Tyler replied with an eye roll.

The servers started handing out their food. A tray of roast chicken pieces, a bowl of chips, a jug of gravy, and a dish of vegetables were placed down the middle of the table. There was also something that the server called ‘shepherd’s pie’.

Azriel stared at the pie and wondered if it was made out of shepherds.

“Well? Do you like the food?” Spencer asked, his eyes scanning Azriel’s face.

He started poking things around with his fork, his eyebrows gradually creasing with every weird texture. “What is this?” he asked and pointed at the bowl of chips.

“French fries. But we just call it chips over here.”

“French fries?” He poked his fork at the craggy, hand-cut wedges. “What are they made of?”

Tyler raised an eyebrow at the ridiculous question. “French fries are made out of potatoes. What the hell did you think it was made out of?”

“French people?”

Isaac blurted out a laugh and Spencer chuckled. Tyler wasn’t amused though.

“Where the hell do you even live that you don’t know what a French fry is?”

“In heaven. But if you’re asking where I’m from, I just got back from hell.”

Tyler just stared at him blankly and shook his head.

“Here. Just eat an orange if you don’t like the food.” Spencer handed him one and he glowered at it.

“No, thanks. Every time I eat an orange, I feel mildly disappointed.”

Tyler scoffed. “That is what having a conversation with you feels like.”

Azriel glared at him and Tyler glared back.

But before either of them could even say something, a hand slammed into their table, startling the both of them from their staring contest. It was Percy. He just brought them their detention slips.

“Give me that.” Tyler grabbed the slip from him and his face immediately turned an alarming shade of red. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What, why?”

“They’re making us clean all the toilets.”