[ENG.] Azazel - Lucifer's Son

4. Sweetness

It was right after that exchange that his gaze stopped landing on me - even by accident. And for that, unlike what I'd thought just moments before, I was grateful.

At the sound of the bell marking the end of the last, agonizing period, I gathered my things and headed straight for the door, with Sebastian and Danielle right behind me. How a man I knew nothing about - other than his name - could make me feel this way was beyond me. He was objectively compelling, and his mannerisms had clearly been refined over the years, honed to the point where even the smallest expression on his face seemed to be communicating something deliberately. Every gesture, every glance, was like a puzzle that left behind a subtle, lingering unease.

"One of you absolutely has to explain what dulceață means. Although, from the syrupy way he said it, I think I can already take a pretty good guess," Danielle said, wrinkling her nose with an amused look as she adjusted the strap of her bag.

"Sweetness," Sebastian replied, pressing his lips into a thin line. "And trust me, Jo - if I had even a shred of self-respect left, I would've stood up and tried to smash that arrogant son of a-"

"Okay, okay, Seb," Danielle cut in, raising a hand to stop him. "We get the idea."

"Besides," she continued, shooting me a mischievous glance, "it kind of looked like you two already knew each other. Are you hiding something from me, Jolie?" She gave me a light nudge with her elbow, her thin bracelets jingling.

"You're completely off base, Dani," I shot back, rolling my eyes. "I've never seen him before. I swear."

We said our goodbyes at our respective cars, and after dropping Sebastian off at his place, I headed back to my apartment. The moment I closed the door behind me, a sigh slipped from my lips. The silence was almost deafening, and a strange hollow feeling crept over me. It was like the echo of the day was still buzzing inside my head.

I made myself a sandwich and curled up on the couch, mindlessly flipping on the TV. That evening I had my waitressing shift at the White House - the hottest spot in Sheffield, where I worked to support myself. It was always packed, full of energy, and the tips were great, especially on weekends.

I found myself staring at the screen without actually watching anything, my thoughts still tangled up in the folds of the day. I kept thinking about Dimithryus Stan - that sharp gaze of his, that rough voice. He was the last thing I needed: another puzzle to solve, another mind to figure out.

When the doorbell started buzzing insistently, I jumped to my feet, my heart suddenly picking up speed. I opened the door without even checking the peephole and found Sebastian standing there, cheeks flushed from the cold, wearing an exasperated look.

"Dragă, it's always the same thing with you - you're always asleep! You're impossible!" he said, waving his hands as if trying to explain something incredibly complicated.

"Sorry, Seb, I didn't even realize I'd dozed off," I replied, running a hand through my still-messy hair. "Wait - what time is it?"

"Dozed off? Jolie, you were in a coma. I lost count of how many minutes I spent out there pressing that damn doorbell! You're worse than a hibernating bear," he burst out, shaking his head and stepping inside without waiting to be invited.

"Okay, okay, you caught me. But don't say jet lag - we've been here for almost two years," I shot back, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, almost two years and you've always got some excuse to sleep. Go get ready, it's super late. It's 6:00 PM and our shift starts in an hour," he said, tossing his jacket on the couch and glancing around as if looking for something to complain about.

"Pack my bag while I'm in the bathroom," I replied, planting a quick kiss on his cheek and slipping away before he could get a word in.

I took a fast shower, pulled on my black jeans and the restaurant's white button-up, and twisted my hair into a bun that I already knew would fall apart within an hour of working. I did my makeup quickly - just a coat of mascara and a swipe of lipstick.

When I came out, Sebastian was standing right in front of the bathroom door, nervously tapping his foot on the floor.

"Finally! I was almost falling asleep myself," he muttered, tossing me my bag.

"Let's go, before Bred has our heads," I replied, giving him a light shove on the shoulder as we headed for the door.

The place was already buzzing when we got there. Bred, our boss, greeted us with his usual worried frown, arms folded across his chest.

"I was seriously starting to think you two were going to bail on me at the last minute," he muttered, furrowing his brow. "If you'd sent me some message like 'so sorry Bred, but you're on your own,' I would've tracked you both down and had you serving drinks in handcuffs."

"I'm sorry, boss," I said, holding up my hands in surrender. "It's my fault. But Sebastian saved you tonight."

"Then I should at least be rewarded with a double round of drinks," Sebastian added, winking.

Bred shook his head, his frown softening into a half smile. "You two are going to drive me crazy. Go get changed, or tonight's tips are going straight into my pocket - and it's a Friday, so it's going to be packed." He grinned, stepping aside to let us through to the staff locker room. I started down the little hallway, but not before sticking my tongue out at the boss - who responded by shaking his head, clearly entertained.

Bred was a man in his fifties, a little on the shorter side, who camouflaged his receding hairline with a carefully arranged combover using what was left of his salt-and-pepper hair. I think it was his sense of humor - combined with the roundness of his face - that made me like him so much. He was kind and easygoing with everyone, and it showed in his small eyes, even when he tried to look angry or stern - which he never quite pulled off. At work, he was like a father figure to his entire staff. I never once met anyone who showed even the slightest hint of resentment toward him.

Once in the locker room, I caught Sebastian pulling off his shirt, and at the sight of his perfectly toned body, I turned beet red. Even though there was never going to be anything romantic between us, he was objectively good-looking - and the way his arm and stomach muscles flexed with every little movement definitely didn't hurt.

"Stop staring, dragă - you'll wear me out," he said, raising an eyebrow as he unbuttoned his pants.

"Turn around, Sebastian. I don't need a strip show. I have to get changed," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to hide my amusement behind a fake glare.