My desk is missing.
Already late to training with Alexander, I decided to skip the whole thing altogether and spend that extra time on my seating chart assignment for my Fae Etiquette class. Caught up in the politics of placing feuding court members next to each other, I nearly missed my window for getting ready for Galileo's class.
Now I'm here, hair still wet, shirt untucked, and the beginnings of a headache forming somewhere in my temples. I'm tired beyond belief, and I don't have the energy to deal with a missing desk. Or a missing Ari, for that matter.
I focus on the empty space, hoping that my desk will materialize out of nowhere if I stare hard enough. It doesn't. I'm stuck with grooves on the tile floor demarcating where the piece of furniture used to reside.
My classmates are watching me, probably wondering why I continue to stand in the entryway of the classroom instead of taking a seat like a normal person. Are demons and angels considered people? By definition, am I the only actual person at this school? My head pounds with my thoughts.
Forcing my attention elsewhere, I'm met with Galileo's—excuse me, Professor Michaelson's—broad back as he's turned away from me. My feet unglue themselves from the floor in an attempt to get closer to him. There's a slight tightening of his back muscles with each step that I take.
When I'm less than a foot away, I clear my throat. He doesn't make any move to acknowledge me. "Sir?" I prompt him.
His hand clenches into a fist at his side before he makes a conscious effort to relax the tense muscles. Shifting slightly, his profile becomes visible. He's frowning, but that's not unusual for him.
"Professor?" I try again with no response.
There's a certain humiliation that comes with being ignored like this. Especially in front of a classroom full of witnesses. It makes me feel less than—like I don't matter. Like even the basic decency of acknowledging my existence is more effort than it's worth.
"My desk is gone," I tell him as if he doesn't already know.
"You're no longer a student in this class, Miss Hominum."
There's a finality to his statement, his tone leaving no chance for questions or argument.
I do it anyway. "Why?"
He tsks, shuffling some papers on his lectern. "You've already failed the course. Even if you got a perfect score on your final, there's no way you could bring your grade up to passing. By staying in this class, you'd just be wasting your time. More importantly, you'd be wasting mine. Get out and save us both the trouble of suffering your presence in my classroom any longer."
There's a chorus of gasps from the assembled students, but it barely percolates past the pain in my skull and the ripple in my heart. Not a tear, not exactly. It's a confirmation of my doubts. This whatever-you-want-to-call-it was doomed before it ever began. We've been enemies since we first met, and it was stupid of me to think we could be more than that.
I thought we moved past this, though. Thought we were on good terms; that he would no longer treat me like dirt on the bottom of his shoe. I can't keep letting him get away with that. If this is how he's going to act in public, then I won't allow him to touch me in private. I deserve more than that.
"Alright," I say simply.
"You are still required to show up to dodgeball practice tonight. As my assistant, I expect you to arrive an hour early to inflate all of the balls and rake the pitch."
He wants me to rake sand? In the giant arena?
"Alright," I agree.
"If you're even a single second late, I'll give you detention for a week."
I don't want that. Not anymore.
"Alright," I repeat for the third time. And there must be some charm in it because he finally deigns to look at me.
His eyes have never been quite so cold. It's like the gold in them has frozen over, if that's even possible for the metal to do.
"Leave," he tells me.
And I do.
I move on autopilot. Across the hall, down the stairs, and out into the crisp morning air. It's far too beautiful outside. The pleasant weather and scenic landscape are no match for my foul mood. Not sure what to do with myself for the next two hours, I walk all the way back to the dormitory on protesting legs.
Bypassing my suite, I stop in front of Ari's doorstep. Before I can raise a fist to knock, the door swings open and Ari grants me a sad smile.
"Snuggle buddy time?" he asks.
"Yeah," I croak out, overcome with how much I need him.
He leads the way to his room, turning down the covers on his bed. I crawl in first, letting him wrap himself around me in the comfortably constricting way he always does.
Closing my eyes, I urge myself not to cry. Crying would be like admitting my unrequited feelings for Galileo are strong and I refuse to do that. Sensing my emotions, Ari hums a quiet melody. It doesn't take me long to recognize the tune.
"Flowers Never Bend with the Rainfall," I silently mouth.
It's the same song Romeo was humming when...
When...
When he carried me after Ragnar's final. After Galileo pretended not to care about me to save face with his angel buddies.
Maybe he really didn't care about me then. Or maybe, "Ari, are you trying to tell me something?"
He presses a kiss to my jaw. "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, sweetness."
"What does that mean?" My head hurts too much to understand.
"Whatever you want it to mean," he replies.
"You frustrate me sometimes with your riddles, Ari."
Another kiss, this time on the corner of my mouth. "I know. But knowledge isn't always power and secrets aren't always mine to tell."
"So you do know something?"
Ari uses two fingers to smooth out my brow. The motion alleviates my headache to dull pain, easily manageable. "Patience, Trouble," he whispers. "Rest now. Worry later."
"I have questions to ask you," I tell him even as my eyelids start to flutter.
"My curious girl," he coos, continuing to skim the lightest of touches over the uncovered areas of my body.
"Are almonds vegan?"
He laughs, a low sound in his throat to demonstrate his amusement. "Wasn't expecting that, Trouble. No matter how hard I try, I can never fully plan for you."
Too many words, too many sensations, too much for my overworked brain and sleepy body.
He picks up his song, the melody carrying me into forgotten dreams of the past, of monsters disguised as men and deals struck with the swiftness of a death blow.
So I'll continue to continue to pretend
My life will never end
And flowers never bend
With the rainfall
I am haunted.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am rested. Less than two hours sleeping in Ari's arms and I feel like I've been revived from a medically-induced coma. But, like, in a good way.
No more melancholy or sad thoughts about boys and things that don't matter. I'm here to get an education, to pass every trial—literally and figuratively—and make it out of this place alive. I have no room in my life for people who will only drag me down.
If only I can get my heart and my vagina on the same page. They apparently have a soft spot for morally-corrupt jerks. It's shameful, really.
With my newfound conviction—totally going to ignore the uncooperative parts of my body—I march through the halls of the Hell building. Well, I mostly squeeze through the gaps in between various groupings of angels and demons. They take up a lot of space and they're surprisingly slow when they're traveling from class to class.
Wedging my way between the wall and a group of demon guys, I'm unceremoniously yanked through an unlit doorway and the door is slammed shut behind me. I scream out of a sense of instinctual fear, but a clever hand covers the bottom half of my face to stop the noise from escaping.
It's too dark to see anything. I elbow my captor in the direction of their ribs, and I'm rewarded with a pained grunt. A light clicks on while I try to hit them again.
Squinting as my eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, I groan as I spot the familiar watch on my captor's wrist.
"Ready to play nice, baby? Or do you want to fight me some more?"
I slap his hand away from my face, a move he ever-so-graciously allows. Once he lets go of me, I put as much distance between us as I can in this supply closet. A whopping two feet. Most of the small space is filled with various cleaning supplies and a surprising amount of Judas Priest memorabilia. It leaves hardly any room for a pissed-off human and a dick-faced buttmunch.
"Is there a reason I'm standing in a custodial closet?"
Beyond the obvious—Galileo Michaelson lives to mess with my life. Perhaps he's hoping I'll flunk out of another class if he can keep me here long enough.
"I couldn't wait until tonight to set things right with you."
Set things right? We've reached toothpaste-after-orange-juice levels of wrong here. And am I the toothpaste or the orange juice in this scenario?
"You embarrassed me in front of my classmates."
"I know."
"I do enough of that on my own; I don't need your help."
His laugh dies a quick death when he catches the look on my face. I'm not going to mince words or act like everything is fine. It's my go-to reaction; the need to minimize my own issues to placate those around me is an ingrained character trait. I'm growing tired of it. I'd like to grow out of it.
"You disrupted my learning," I go on. "Regardless of my circumstances for being here, I actually value the education I'm getting. It's beyond anything I could have as a normal human on Earth. In a lot of ways, I feel special for it. But this morning, you made me feel like an insignificant waste of space."
There's remorse etched in every line of his face, but I don't trust him enough to believe it.
"Baby—Willow," he corrects himself. "I'm sorry. It made me feel like shit to say those things—"
I snort. "Well, as long as you feel bad about it."
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Would you just shut up for a second and let me finish this very sincere apology?"
We're off to a great start. Really, this man should teach classes. Different classes. Like, Terrible Ways to Tell Someone You're Sorry 101 or Shut Up, I'm Talking 305. I suppose I can't exactly hate him for his awful delivery. Devil knows he doesn't have much experience apologizing or showing contrition.
"I got a letter from my father last night. Someone at school has been feeding him information. He accused me of being too close with you."
"It was probably Manny," I can't help but say. "Manny the Rat."
Ignoring my interruption, he forges on. "When I said those things today, I didn't mean them. You're the smartest person I know—after me, obviously—and I value you beyond conceivable measure. Even though you're the most irritating creature in all the realms, I don't ever want to exist in a space and time without you. So even though it hurt your feelings, I can't regret what I said. I did it to protect you, and your safety means more to me than your feelings."
Words, words, words.
They mean everything and they mean nothing.
Just once, I'd like a person's actions to match the declarations they make when it's convenient. Maybe that's unfair. Maybe I should appreciate the motivations behind Galileo's cruel actions. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, after all. I get it now, what Ari was trying to tell me earlier.
How does Aristotle know so much? All of the Morningstar children represent their namesakes well, but Aristotle remains the aptest.
"I did it to protect you," Galileo reiterates when I don't say anything. "Don't be mad."
I seize the golden opportunity. "I'm not mad," I sigh, a big outpouring of breath. "I'm just disappointed."
"You and my father both," Galileo says.
Now I feel guilty. From what little I know of Archangel Michael from his children and my own brief interactions, he's a hard man to please.
"Your father's an abusive, manipulative piece of garbage. No, he's worse than garbage. He's the organic matter that goes into a landfill, decomposes, releases methane gas, and becomes a more destructive contribution to climate change than carbon dioxide. You shouldn't care what he thinks," I say in a rush.
My chest heaves as I take in a deep breath.
"God, you're hot," Galileo groans.
"Tell that to the Earth when warm days in winter are causing plants to bloom early!"
"Fuck, keep going, baby."
Is Romeo nearby causing this reaction in the angel? He can get horny over anything, including one-sided discussions of Earth-related issues. Come to think of it, Aristotle likes it when I go on about stuff like this, too. Is this a man thing?
"Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell," I say to test the theory.
Galileo's throat bobs with a rough swallow. "If you say so, baby. You're so goddamn smart."
Do they not teach biology in Heaven? We had classes on it in Hell, but that might've been more for my benefit than anything else. Angel biology could be incredibly different from that of humans. It's not a subject we've dived deeply into in class.
This conversation is getting off track. "Back to your father," I begin.
"That's one way to kill the mood," he grumbles.
"What exactly did his message say?"
"Beyond the usual?"
I nod, although he's never disclosed much of what his father writes to him so I have no way of knowing what the 'usual' is.
"He threatened you. Said he won't hesitate to rip out your heart if you even attempt to sway me from my divine mission."
It's not an idle threat, I understand that much. It also doesn't scare me like I'm sure it's intended to. Michael's wanted me dead for a long time, so none of this is really new info to me.
"What's the divine mission I'm supposedly swaying you from?" I ask though I have an idea.
"It's sort of ironic."
Somebody call Alanis Morissette.
"Why?"
"Because you're human and I'm—"
"Part of a secret society intent on killing all humans. Yeah, I know."
"How do you know that?"
Realizing I've said too much, I try to change the subject. "Not important. Let's get back to—"
His palm covers my mouth once again. "No, no. It is important. How the fuck did you learn about that?"
What's a plausible explanation that won't give away the whole Betty thing? And why hasn't he figured that out yet? Should I be worried that I'm intimately involved with an idiot?
"Manny told me." It's the first thing that comes to mind.
He huffs. "I'll kill him."
Galileo begins to storm away, no doubt in search of the angel of Purity. The hallway is empty when he opens the door, his footsteps loud against the otherwise silent hall.
I should stop him, right? I should totally keep him from murdering the closest thing he has to a friend. Except, Manny's an asshole and a terrible brother to Albert. Maybe the worlds will be better off if Manny's body is rotting in some shallow, unmarked grave.
My mind spiral of potential funeral arrangements is halted when Galileo spins and comes stomping back in my direction.
"Manny would never tell you, a human—" he spits out the word like a curse, "about our plans. Lie to me again, Willow, and you won't enjoy the consequences."
I mean, I might. If it's anything like the first time I was punished. My pussy clenches on nothing at the memory of his tongue and fingers.
He must recognize the look on my face. "I won't let you come this time, baby."
Dang. There goes that plan.
I double down. "He did tell me. Sort of. I overheard him talking about it with another angel."
Galileo narrows his eyes at me like he's searching for any hint of dishonesty. It's not a total lie. I did hear Manny and Albert talking about their super-secret angel meeting my first night at PA. But it was Galileo himself who explained the intentions of their little murder cult.
"How long have you known about this?"
A truth. "Practically the whole time I've been at PA."
He shakes his head. "You've known I plan on eradicating your entire species for months and you still hang around me? Do you have a death wish?"
"To be fair, a lot of the time we've spent together has not been voluntary on my part," I point out. "You trapped me in a closet with you not even thirty minutes ago."
"And I could've ended your life a thousand times over!"
"That's a little excessive, don't you think? I only have the one life."
"You're irritating me again. We've come full circle."
My grin is wide and proud.
He mirrors my expression, albeit reluctantly. He's probably just glad I'm no longer upset with him. What can I say? I hold grudges like other people hold water. Unless you mess with someone I love, then I'll hold onto that forever.
"I got you a present," Galileo says, distracting me from thoughts of my enemies list.
"If it's your dick, then I don't want it."
"Liar."
I level him with an 'are you freaking kidding me' glare. He just smirks like I'm being cute or something.
"It's for Valentine's Day," he says as he drags a rectangular box from the corner of the closet. It's the size of my torso and there are suspiciously-placed holes in the top. When he carefully rests it in my arms, my ears pick up a faint noise.
"Why is it growling?" I ask.
He doesn't respond, simply waits for me to open the box with his usual level of patience. That is to say, he's about to snap at me for not moving fast enough.
"Open it up, human. I don't have all day for you to just stand there looking at it."
And I was right.
Putting him out of his misery, I carefully lift one flap of the box. It's stuck with a weak adhesive, so it's not a difficult process. Before I can lift the other side, a fluffy brown head pops up.
"Is that a bear?" My voice is calm even though my heart is not.
"And flowers," he adds unhelpfully. "The bear ate the chocolates. I tried to stop him, but it didn't seem worth putting my hand in his mouth."
I think I might pass out.
"You got me a bear? Are you trying to kill me?"
Especially after he lectured me about having a death wish. The hypocrisy of it all.
His brow furrows. "...No."
I can't believe it. "You hesitated!"
He huffs as if offended. "I did not hesitate, human! I simply took a second to collect my thoughts and then responded when I had an acceptable answer."
"That's like the actual, factual definition of hesitating!"
"What do you know?" Galileo crosses his arms. "Your ancestors walked on all fours, much like the bear here. Yet another reason he is the perfect gift."
"We didn't—we did not evolve from apes! We share a common ancestor." Which may or may not be a bird-like creature, but that's not the point. None of that may be true actually, since my knowledge of human evolutionary biology is rudimentary at best. "And this is a stupid gift!"
"You're being ungrateful," he pouts.
"I'm being practical!"
"Brat."
"Psycho."
He scoffs. "I have some empathy. Very rarely, but it's there."
"A sociopath, then."
"That's acceptable."
"Gee, I'm so glad I have your approval."
He nods his head seriously. "I know my validation makes you feel all warm inside."
"I think that's called nausea," I quip. "Because you make me want to throw up."
"Yeah, I got it. No need to clarify."
The bear cub growls again as if to remind us of his presence. Or maybe he's annoyed we're not paying attention to him.
"He's just like you!" I exclaim.
Galileo frowns. "I'm much cuter than he is. I also don't piss all over the carpets."
"How else do you mark your territory?"
"You are a strange, strange girl."
"You're the one who got someone a bear as a gift. That's weird. You're weird."
Taking the box from my arms, Galileo says, "It's a traditional Valentine's Day gift and you no longer deserve him."
Should I tell him? It's a sweet gesture and all. I don't want him to feel stupid about getting stuffed teddy bears and living, breathing bears mixed up.
"Thanks for the gift, even though I really cannot take care of a living creature. That's more responsibility than I have time for."
Galileo's eyes regain their familiar glow. Placing the box and the bear on the ground, he uses his foot to slide it out of the still-open doorway and into the hall. In the next moment, the door is shut with a locked click and Galileo is peering down at me from his substantial height.
"I don't think it's a good idea to leave the bear to roam the halls unsupervised," I warn him.
Pressing a finger against my lips, he shushes me in the least annoying way possible. "He'll be fine. I'm more worried about you, baby."
"Me?" I whisper, the movement like a kiss against his thumb.
"Yeah," he agrees, his voice husky. "I hurt your feelings today, disappointed you with my untruthful words. Now it's time for me to make it up to you."
My heart rate kicks up in anticipation as he walks me backward until my spine hits the wall. I open my mouth to ask more questions, but he takes the opportunity to shove his thumb inside.
"Suck it, baby. Show me what a good girl you are," he urges.
I listen, closing my lips around the invading digit and sucking the skin. He grunts, a masculine thing that makes my pussy wet.
"Oh, yeah. That's my good girl. That pretty mouth of yours is going to look even better around my cock, but not today," he says, pulling his thumb out of my mouth with a slight pop. I frown in disappointment even as he lowers himself to the ground.
"Today, I get on my knees for you, baby. You're gonna wrap those long legs around my head and let me eat my pussy until I'm satisfied. Which, fair warning, won't be for a while. I'm fucking starving for the taste of you on my tongue."
I'm weak in the knees and he's barely touched me. My legs wobble, but he steadies them with his powerful hands. There's no other word to describe him. Even on his knees, he clearly holds all of the power in this dynamic. I should hate him for it, but I don't. My body trusts him on an instinctual level in a way my mind cannot.
With a steady grip, he slides his way up my legs causing goosebumps to break out across the skin. Reaching the edge of my underwear, he pauses in contemplation.
"I'm keeping these," he says, apparently coming to a decision. Galileo yanks them down, allowing me to quickly step out of them before hastily shoving the garment in his pocket. He then guides my legs until my upper thighs are on his shoulders and my feet cross against his back.
When he lifts my skirt, there's a rush of cool air against my pussy that brings a shock to my system. I gasp at the sensation, wholly unprepared for it.
Galileo smirks at my reaction. "I haven't touched you yet, baby, but I can already see you're dripping for me. My pussy knows who she belongs to."
I get a bit lazy-eyed at all of his claims of ownership. It really shouldn't be as sexy as it is.
There's no further warning. No foreplay or teasing. Galileo simply leans in and licks a stripe from my pussy to my clit before sucking like his life depends on it. I moan unabashedly at the feeling of his soft lips on the most sensitive part of me.
He attacks my nerve endings with a single-minded focus, not even coming up for air. My moans and cries are a constant soundtrack, the sounds impossible to keep down. Especially when he adds his fingers to the mix. Still tonguing and sucking my clit, he gently pushes a single finger inside my pussy.
The noise it makes as he moves in and out of me is downright filthy. Reading my mind, Galileo leans back enough to say, "You hear that, baby? My sloppy pussy loves it when I fuck her with my finger. She'll love my fat cock even more, but she's not ready for that. No, she'll need to be able to handle a few more fingers first."
My eyes are hooded to the point of being closed. I want to close them completely, but I don't want to miss a chance to look into Galileo's golden eyes. He's so ethereal, his angelic looks going beyond his species designation. I could stare at him all day.
Galileo groans at whatever he sees on my face. Probably a little bit of hero-worship, if I'm being honest.
Going back to my clit, he shoves a second digit inside of me, scissoring it with the first. It hurts in the best way possible, and I'm starting to feel familiar tingles rise from the tips of my toes. They travel upwards, moving in tandem with Galileo's licks against my flesh.
He speeds up his ministrations, likely sensing the tightening of my pussy as it prepares for orgasm. Galileo curls his fingers, hitting a spot that makes my body shudder. Biting down on my lip to hold in a scream, I finally let go, my pussy clamping on his fingers as they keep moving inside of me.
As my body nearly convulses with aftershocks, Galileo reduces the pressure of his mouth and gently removes his hand from my pussy. With one last lick, he rests his head on my splayed thigh.
"Still the sweetest taste in all the worlds," he says roughly.
I have no capacity for words. With lazy movements, I run my fingers through his hair, showing him my appreciation instead of verbalizing it.
He groans in pleasure. "We have to keep this a secret, baby. I need to be better about not fucking you in semi-public places, but it's so damn hard to resist you."
There's a lot linking us together, I realize. A web of fate tangling around our heads and getting us to this point. The problem is, there's a lot tearing us apart as well. Forces beyond our control that would see us dead or alive, as long as it's not with each other.
I keep stroking the strands of his hair idly, electing to ignore all the ways this can go wrong and choosing to imagine a future where it can go right.