DAMIAN'S POV
The next day, I woke up really late. I groaned and reached for my alarm clock. 11 PM.
I blinked at the numbers, my sleepy brain struggling to process them until realization hit me like a truck.
11 PM!?
I shot up from the bed, yanking off my shirt in a hurry—until I heard a loud clatter, like a pan hitting the floor. I froze.
Still groggy, I stumbled out of my bedroom and into the kitchen, where I found the silver-haired man from last night standing stiffly in front of the counter. Coffee beans were scattered everywhere, a pan lying upside down on the floor.
Okay, so yesterday really did happen. Not a dream. Wonderful.
"What are you doing?" I mumbled, stepping forward. I crouched to gather the beans, tossing them back into the pan.
He stayed silent. When I looked up, I caught the guilty expression on his face.
I turned to the coffee machine. Oh, he tried making coffee.
"I thought you didn't like coffee," I said, scooping the excess beans into the coffee bag and taking a cupful with me.
"They were supposed to be for you," he admitted, his voice soft, brushing against my skin like a cool breeze.
"Oh."
Oh.
"...Thanks. I appreciate it, but I thought I was late for work."
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "On a Sunday?"
"It's Monday."
He shook his head. Frowning, I walked to the living room and checked the calendar.
Oh.
"It's Sunday," I exhaled in relief before heading back into the kitchen. "You're right."
He just nodded.
"Well, I guess I can show you how to make coffee properly." I took the ground coffee and placed it in the machine. As the familiar click sounded, I grabbed a cup, set it beneath the dispenser, and pressed the button.
"It's simple," I began explaining, but then stopped mid-sentence. You know what? I'm too tired for this. He'll figure it out.
I turned off the machine and lifted the glass. "Here. Raw, bitter coffee."
He stared at it in awe, fascination flickering in his silver eyes.
"This is common knowledge?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Not really. I worked part-time at a café when I was in uni."
He nodded, absorbing the information.
"I have to go," he said suddenly.
That caught my attention.
Go? Why?
Call me crazy, but I hadn't had any strange nightmares last night. And I actually felt safe knowing someone else was in the other room—especially after everything that had happened.
"Go where?" I asked.
"I..." He hesitated, struggling for words.
Was it that hard to say?
"Will you come back?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"Evening."
Relief washed over me.
"Okay then."
…
"You'll be alright?" he asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Without answering, he slipped off a silver bracelet from his wrist and handed it to me.
"Wear this. It'll protect you when you go outside. No demons—" he stopped himself, correcting, "Nothing will come after you."
I raised a skeptical eyebrow but humored him anyway. As soon as I slid it on, it adjusted itself to fit my wrist perfectly. I stared at it, dumbfounded, before glancing back at him. He was smiling.
My heart thudded.
"Is that a new feature for the brand?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"It's from my home. Very special."
"Oh." I looked at the bracelet again before dropping my hand. "When are you leaving?"
"Noon."
"Okay. Have you showered?"
He nodded, though he was still wearing the clothes I had given him last night.
"I'll get you a change of clothes."
I went into my room, grabbed a pair of black pants and a light cream shirt, then handed them to him. Once he took them, I went to shower, deciding to make breakfast afterward.
I made pancakes—as best as I could, since I hadn't cooked homemade food in a long time. I barely ate two, leaving the rest for him.
After breakfast, he sat at the dining table while I did the dishes.
"Now can you tell me what's going on before you leave?" I asked.
"Damian," he said softly. "You have to promise you'll listen to everything I say and try to understand. No matter how… absurd it sounds."
I dried my hands on a tablecloth and turned to face him. "Okay, fine."
He took a breath. "Demons are real."
I rolled my eyes.
"So are angels. And God. And Heaven. And Hell."
I raised an eyebrow.
"I'm an angel."
"Does that explain the weird powers?"
"Yes."
"What is an angel doing on Earth?"
"I—"
"On my front porch, beside my door?"
"...I just chose there."
"You chose my apartment out of all the better-looking ones?" I deadpanned. "Why?"
"I don't know."
"...So why did you bother coming inside?"
He hesitated. "I just felt like the person inside might be in danger. So I waited."
Oh.
That meant it could've been anyone. Anyone else getting attacked by those creatures… having that quiet moment in the garden… waking up to him trying and failing to make coffee for them.
For some reason, that didn't sit right with me. But that was dumb.
Eager to change the subject, I blurted, "Let's watch a movie."
We watched Inside Out until 2 PM.
"I'll be back," he said as he stepped outside.
I hesitated before calling out, "Wait—what's your name?"
A beat passed.
"Cassiel."
My heart stumbled.
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place where I'd heard it before.
I nodded. He turned and left.
Locking the door behind him, I grabbed my favorite depressed blanket, flopped onto the couch, and stared up at the ceiling.
"Cassiel."
I whispered the name again, turning it over in my mind. Why does that sound so familiar… yet so distant?