Chapter 12: Really, really bad ideas

                                    

                                          
Content warning: I think this chapter actually earns its maturity rating lol. Be warned.
November 30, 2006
11:22 A.M.
My apartment
Azerath just left.
11:24 A.M.
That's right.
Azerath, former Demon King and denizen of Hell, just visited my studio.
...If Archangel Ramiel ever finds out about this, I'm toast.
11:26 A.M.
Apparently, he—Azerath, not Archangel Ramiel—got worried when I didn't answer his calls and decided the best way to confirm I was okay was to track me down in my apartment. It might sound stalkerish, had he not been legitimately concerned. I had left not just my pink jacket, but also my wallet, my only credit card, all my cash, and an ID card with my address on it—in his kitchen two days ago. 
11:30 A.M.
...Don't look at me like that. 
I'm sure even perfectly normal angels lose track of important, life-sustaining items all the time and don't notice.
11:34 A.M.
At least Azerath had the sense to put on a disguise before visiting. And what a ridiculous disguise it was, too! He had adopted a fake beard and a giant puffy bomber jacket that made him look like an axe murderer, with a flannel shirt underneath and massive hiking boots. He was also wearing not one, but three pairs of sunglasses.
The moment I opened my door, he lowered the many pairs of sunglasses and held out my jacket, the wallet on top. His emerald eyes were grave, his expression apologetic.
"I won't stay long, or ask to come inside," he said, before I'd even had a chance to say 'Hello'. "I just wanted to return this... and say how sorry I am for forcing information on you that you didn't want." He sucked in a breath, and then added, "Regardless... of how you think of me, I want you to know that I only wish you the best. But I understand if you don't want to talk anymore. Goodbye, Nirael."
Through his speech I had stood frozen, shocked that Azerath had cared enough to track me down. As he pressed the jacket into my dumbstruck hands and turned to go, I suddenly found my voice again.
"Wait!" 
Unthinkingly, I grabbed his shoulder. My hand happened to land on one of the spots where he'd been stabbed two days before, and he let out a hiss of pain. I released him, instantly chagrined. 
"Sorry!" I said. "So sorry—"
"Abusing an injured person," said Azerath, rubbing his shoulder and wincing. "Is this your form of payback?"
"No, I forgot about your injuries, I swear—come in!" 
I beckoned him in, glancing up and down the hallway, but thankfully no one was watching us. Once inside, Azerath looked around at my small studio with considerable interest. Belatedly, I registered what a mess it was. I'm usually fairly tidy with my belongings. It's the one angelic trait I excel at, actually—that, and being very meticulous with all my written assignments. But the chaos of the past few days had taken its toll. There was a bra draped over my bookshelf, my bed was unmade, and my small, scuffed desk was littered with tea mugs. 
"S-sorry," I said, frantically stuffing items in drawers. "It's nothing like as fancy as your apartment—"
"Well, it wouldn't really be in the spirit of Heaven to give you new things." With a grimace, Azerath sat down at my creaky wooden desk chair.