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Description
The Fourth Tale
Bedside Issues

Steve Smitland was not happy.

This wasn’t quite normal for him. Aside from your expected teenage grievances, he was usually a very happy young man. He was in an excellent school, he had many friends, he wasn’t starving, and he had fairly good grades. But, at the moment, he was unhappy. And when I say unhappy, I mean pissed.

It was Azrael that had done it. Stupid, stupid Azrael. Ever since he’d started following them around that day, things, in his opinion, had gone from bad to worse. He could’ve had a nice first day of school with some fairly boring classes and his best and only female friend, and then he had to happen. He didn’t like him. Not one bit. He... he could hardly think of the right thing to say about him. Nothing could be good or bad enough.

All in all, he was somewhat relieved when three o’ clock came along. As soon as class ended, he walked out of the door of the high school building, ran down the steps, and sat on the bottom one. Though there were people streaming out all around him, in that one moment he felt calm, at peace, and most of all, Azrael- free.

He pondered what he would do with the rest of his afternoon. He had arrived late to the school that day, so he hadn’t had any time to find or assemble his dorm. He figured he’d spend a few hours setting that up, chat a bit with his new roommate, do some homework, and then meet up with Anya and go into town. They could go to the movies, or pick up Chipotle, or hide in alleyways and scare anyone from Avenshire (their sports rival from the next town over) that went by, just like they did last year. It’d be fun, so long as she didn’t bring-

He heard footsteps approaching on his right. Horrified, he jerked up, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Anya. She was standing on the first step above him, carrying her clarinet case in one hand. Most, if not all Angel’s Way students were caught in a battery of extracurriculars, whether it was sports, clubs, or regular detentions. Soccer tryouts weren’t until the next day, so Steve had nothing, but band wasn’t so forgiving.

“Hey, Steve,” she began, looking down at him, pleasant as always. “What are you doing down here all alone? It’s-”

“What am I doing all alone?” He jumped up. “What are you doing all alone? Where’d the freakshow go?”

“Freakshow?” Anya blinked, then realized what he was talking about. Her face grew serious. “Azrael said he had to go and do something on the other side of the campus. Why are you calling him a freakshow, Steve? He’s-”

“Oh, come on, Anya, are you blind?” He threw his hands in the air, and pointed at nothing. “Azrael is a freak! A creeper! A sketch! One of those! I don’t know what you were thinking when you let him tag along with you, but really! He’s elitist, he’s obnoxious-”

“Steve, I talked to him, he didn’t talk to me,” Anya interrupted, sounding annoyed. Her hands tightened on the clarinet case. “He’s new, he’s not used to-”

“New? To the planet, maybe! Honestly, I don’t know where he spent the last sixteen years, cause I don’t think he’s ever seen the light of day before. I mean- look at him! Look at his hair! And his voice- he talks like an old book! Who talks like that, huh? Anya, he’s either really, really stupid or he wants attention. Or both. Don’t tell me you don’t see any of that.”

“Well...” She hesitated. “Yeah, of course I see it. I have eyes. But looks aren’t everything, Steve, you know that. If you look past that-”

“Looks aren’t everything? Were you even paying attention in Lit class? He was flirting with the teacher, I swear it. Said he’d read that book we were assigned today last summer. For fun. Who the hell reads The Picture of Dorian Gray for fun, that’s what I want to know! And then they had this twenty-minute discussion on the French anesthesia or something. I could barely stand to listen to it all, it was so stupid. And P.E! He freaking SKIPPED P.E.! He was just sittin’ outside pickin’ his pretty little fingernails the whole time, and when I asked him, hey, why weren’t you in freakin’ P.E, he just said-” He threw a hand in the air, imitating him. “’Oh, I am not required to attend P.E., Steve, I have a medical excuse.’ Medical excuse, my ass. He was skipping.”

“Steve, it’s perfectly valid for him to have a medical excuse. And it’s aesthetic, not anesthesia.” She looked confused, and there was a tone of tension in her voice. “Look, I know he’s a little weird, it’s impossible not to acknowledge that. But why are you so annoyed with him? It’s really not worth getting this worked up over.”

“Look, I don’t know, alright? Everything about him... he just pisses me off!” He grabbed his head with his left hand. “I’ve been dealing with him all day, for five hours, just to keep you happy, but I’ve had it with trying to accept him. You can be his friend all you want, I’m fine with that, but don’t expect me to even pretend to like him.”

He took several deep breaths, trying to refill his lungs after all the hard work he’d done. It occurred to him that he’d been ranting- and rather loudly to boot. Thankfully, no crowd had gathered, but as he looked up at Anya, his best friend, he saw that her face had changed. She appeared shocked, maybe even a bit frightened. She hadn’t teared up, but she looked like she was close. “Tha-that’s alright...” she was stammering. “I-I’m not forcing you to like him or anything...”

“Uh...” He took a step back, slightly ashamed, but not willing to admit it. “It’s not like that... well, maybe it is like that. Look, I’m sorry I vented at you. I could’ve just yelled at a wall, or punched a pillow or something more constructive...”

Anya just nodded. Steve sighed, and looked to the west, where the sun was beginning to climb just slightly lower in the sky. “I’m... going to go find my room. I need to relax.”

“Oh, okay.” She smiled, a small, shy smile. “I need to get going too...practice is in a few minutes. See you later.”

“Yeah, see you.” He looked down at the ground, and then remembered something. “Hey, if you want to go to the movies tonight or something, I...”

He looked up. Anya was walking around the other side of the building, not having heard a word he’d said. He looked at her receding back for a moment, and then, resigning himself to the fact that he’d run into her later, walked off the steps and into the middle of the campus.

All of the buildings at Angel’s Way Academy were arranged in a semioval, which surrounded a large courtyard furnished with benches, a fountain, a statue of the school’s foundress, Sister Maria Angeline, and some sparse trees here and there. The buildings themselves were ringed by a variety of sports fields, and beyond that a layer of forest extending to the end of the property. The high school building, being the oldest and tallest of them all, sat at the head of the semioval, casting a shadow over the rest of the complex. The middle and elementary school buildings sat on the left side of this behemoth, and the gym, dining hall, and Artisan’s Cottage, which were used by all the grades, sat on the right. Next to the elementary school was a small chapel. Theological courses of study in the school had not been compulsory since 1993, however, they were still available to take (encouraged, in fact), and the chapel was kept open and tended by the last remaining nun, Sister Agnes Grace, for any student or faculty to use.

Nearest to the school’s gate were the dormitories. There was one building on either side, girls on the right, boys on the left. The faculty had dormitories as well, available for any who needed it in the remodeled convent housing. The students’ dorms were each four stories high, with sixth and seventh grade on the top floor, eighth grade and freshmen on the third, and sophomores and juniors on the second. The seniors got the ground floor to themselves, sharing it with the vending machines and a rec room. (Children in the elementary school were not allowed to board unless they were living with an older sibling.) Because of space limitations, each child was paired with a roommate of their own grade. Each floor had forty-four double rooms, with two triple rooms set aside in case of odd numbering, except for the ground floor, which had half as many at double the size.

Anya had told Steve about her room assignment that morning- she was in the junior triple room with two girls he barely knew, Evie Martin and Gabriella Delsol. Steve had received his room number- 232, a double room- but knew nothing about his roommate. As he walked across the courtyard, his mind started racing again. He was hoping for someone from the soccer team, or at least someone calm, who he could get along easily with. Heaven forbid it was a some sort of neurotic, or someone smelly, like Danny Zhao was last year. Or...

He blocked the evil thought before it could form itself. No. That couldn’t happen. Not in a million years.

He walked into the dorm building, swiped his new student ID at the door to the stairway, and walked up to the second floor, where he swiped his ID again for entry. The second floor hallway was just as he had remembered it last year- long, sparse, and smelling faintly of deodorant. Luggage was stacked in piles on either side of most of the doors- if it wasn’t, then either the room was empty or the bags were inside, being unpacked. He walked down the hallway, checking the door numbers until he got to the one he wanted- 232. Only his luggage pile was outside- his roommate had already unpacked. Somewhat nervous, he swiped his ID again, picked up the top two bags in his pile, and opened the door to his room.

The dorm room was somewhat small, simple enough, and perfectly symmetrical. There were two small beds, two dressers, two desks, and two chairs, with one set near the front, and the other in the back. He smiled at it- as far as he was concerned, he was now home. The front side of the room had already been claimed and furnished, something he didn’t mind at all. There was a sports bag in the corner, several bags on the bed, a closed Macbook on the desk, and a large “REDSKINS” pennant on the wall. All good signs, he thought. He walked to the back of the room, threw his bags on his bed, and went outside to get the rest.

It took him about five minutes to get all his stuff inside, and another few to open them all. He set up his laptop first, then got to transferring his clothes from his bags to the dresser. He was just packing away his underwear when he heard a creak- the door was opening. His adrenaline went into overdrive, and he shoved it all in the drawer, shut it with a bang, and stood up straight, trying not to look nervous, and failing miserably.

“Ey, this is open... is someone in here?” Someone poked his head in through the door, then walked inside, keeping one hand on the doorknob. His chief fear was set to rest with a second’s glance- this guy was shorter, more muscular, and towheaded. They both recognized each other a second later, and the boy broke into a wide smile. “Hey, Smit!”

“Hadwell!” He returned the smile, and ran towards him, aiming a friendly punch at his shoulder. Hadwell caught him in midair, bent his arm back, and punched him with his free hand. They both laughed, Steve freeing himself as he did so. “How you been, man?”

“Doin’ good, Smitland, doin’ good.” He held up his fist, and hit it against Steve’s. “232, right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure.” Relief was flooding through him- things couldn’t have been better than this. Maximiliand Hadwell had been his roommate in seventh grade. He was a good friend, played striker on varsity with him (Steve himself was a centerfielder), and was, most importantly, about as laid-back as you could get. It didn’t help him much when it came to grades, but it made him a good roommate. “Oh, geez... you don’t know how happy I am to see you right now.”

“Why, man, what happened? He tilted his head to the side, looking just the slightest bit confused. He obviously wasn’t too keen on letting the happy mood slide.

Fortunately, neither was Steve. “Eh, you know,” he said, walking back towards his bags, “Better to not have a loser for a roommate, y’know?”

“Eh, I wish,” he said, face serious for a split second before he laughed, undid his tie, tossed his bags off the bed, and crashed down on it, bouncing once. “Just kidding. You knew that, right?”

“Oh, screw off.” He started unpacking another bag, taking out and unfolding a series of black button-down shirts. “I’m better off with you than, you know... some creeper from who- the- hell- knows- where with freaky hair and a stupid voice and a snobby elitist attitude...” He failed to notice he’d been smoothing the same shirt the entire time he was talking.

Hadwell blinked. “Yeaah... so, what y’got planned for the next few days? I was just gonna take it easy tonight, y’know, veg, eat crappy food, watch those movies I swiped from my old man, you know the deal. Then you know the old team’s goin’ out for burgers after tryouts tomorrow. You are going to tryouts, right?”

“Course I’m going to tryouts, why wouldn’t I?” He put the shirts in the drawer, then moved on to his jeans. “Plans...I was thinking, y’know, do some homework, then go into town with Anya...”

“Oh, I see, out with your lady.” A grin spread across his face. “What are you two thinkin of doin, hm? Gonna get a little back-to-school present?”

“Hadwell, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. Anya’s a friend, and she’s staying a friend.” He began to mumble, in the hope that Hadwell wouldn’t hear. “There’s other girls, but she’s not one of them. Besides, I didn’t catch up with her yet. She had to go to band.” He threw his clothes bag off the bed, and started unpacking his books.

“Oh, come on, Smit. You should’ve dealt with this back at puberty like I told you to.” He bounced on the bed again, and folded his arms behind his head. “You don’t know how lucky you are, really. She’s got a sweet ass.”

“Mmf.” He didn’t respond. Hadwell just started at him, and lifted first one eyebrow, and then the other.

“Okay, maybe I wasn’t kidding about the loser thing.” He was opening his mouth to say something else, when he stopped, and a curious expression came across his face. “Hey, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Steve looked up.

“There’s someone rattling the doorknob...” He jumped up, brushed off his pants, and walked towards the door. Steve put down the book he was holding and followed him. The doorknob was indeed shaking rather quickly, and very loudly, as Steve could tell as he got closer. He was a bit curious, but he didn’t start panicking until he heard the voice on the other side- a voice that was all too familiar.

“Oh my, how unfortunate this is... if I must go on like this, I will never find it...”

His heart nearly stopped. “Ack! Wait, Hadwell-” Before he could stop him, Hadwell had opened the door. Steve’s jaw dropped- it was just as he had feared. Azrael McArthur was standing outside in all his glory, student ID in one hand and doorknob in the other. His tie was undone, as it should be, and his unusual hair was somewhat disheveled, but his facial expression was entirely unchanged.

Steve waited for Hadwell’s reaction. It was slightly less than he expected or wanted, but it was sufficient. He looked Azrael up and down, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then finally said, in a hesitant voice, “Er... can I help you?”

Azrael wasn’t paying attention. To Steve’s horror, he looked right past Hadwell, and locked eye on him. “Ah, Steve!” He pushed past Hadwell, and stopped just inches from his face. “I did not expect to see you here. Well, I did not expect to see the inside of this room at all... and what a fine room it is, I must say...” He looked around the space with an approving look. “But you are even more of a surprise.” He grinned at him.

“Uh, yeah...” Steve grimaced, and took a step back. He tried to avoid Hadwell’s eye- he didn’t want to see how he was reacting to this. “Thanks, Azrael... uh... what are you doing here?”

“Oh, yes, my apologies.” He straightened, and lifted his hand toward his face. “I was told by your friend that this was the male dormitory building, and that I had a room located somewhere on this floor. However, I was not informed as to where this room would be. I am aware that this card will open my correct room-” he waved the ID in the air- “-so I have been using it in all the doors, knowing that one will eventually open. So far, I have not found my room. I know I will find it eventually, however...” His eyes glazed over, as though he were talking of some sort of lost treasure.

Steve twitched. Hadwell, who was now in a bit more shock, looked over at him and arched an eyebrow. “Uh... wait,” he said, to the back of Azrael’s head. “Didn’t they give you your room assignment at the office? And wouldn’t you know your room because... your luggage was in front of it?”

“Ah...” He turned to face him, as though he had only just noticed that he was there. “I suppose I should have thought of that. But, things like that can slip from my mind so easily.” He laughed. Hadwell kept a straight face. “But, yes. Say, I don’t recall ever having seen you before. Are you another friend of Steve’s?”

“Um...” His eyebrow remained staunchly raised. “Yeah, I am.”

“Oh. He has many friends, I have been able to gather.” He turned back to Steve, who had been sitting on Hadwell’s bed, trying hard not to be noticed. “Steve, it would be polite if you would introduce me to your friend.”

Hadwell snorted. Steve stared blankly at him for a second, before getting up and approaching them. His face was stone as he pointed to each of them in turn. “Azrael, Hadwell. Hadwell, Azrael.”

“Azrael McArthur,” the eponymous added on as he held out his hand, evidently expecting Hadwell to shake it. “Hadwell... that’s quite an interesting name. You don’t often meet many Hadwells.”

“My first name’s Max,” he mumbled back, taking the hand out of habit more than anything. “I don’t see why you’re talking,” he mumbled under his breath. Azrael didn’t seem to hear.

“I see... Max Hadwell. That’s somewhat less unusual.” He let go of his hand rather quickly, and stepped out of the room as soon as he could. “Well, Steve and Hadwell, I thank you for your assistance, and I hope to see you in class at some point and time. Evening to you.” He waved his hand in what was probably supposed to be a salutation, but looked more like a flirtatious gesture. Steve nearly heaved.

As they watched, Azrael turned around, took a quick look at the rather small pile of bags on one side of the door across the hall, and then slid his ID through the slot. To their surprise, and Steve’s horror, the door clicked right open, and Azrael walked inside. The door was left slightly ajar, so the two of them could hear all too well the resulting conversation.

“Oh... uh...”

“Hello. I take it you are my roommate?”

“Uh... if you got in, yeah. I heard your name in History... you’re An- something, something really weird...”

“Azrael McArthur. And may I inquire as to your name?”

“...Danny. Danny Zhao.”

“Danny Zhao. It’s lovely to meet you, Danny. I will try not to be obtrusive to you. I’ll just go and collect my things, and bring them-” He paused. “I say, Danny, what is that stench?”

“What? I don’t smell anything.”

Hadwell closed the door, effectively blocking out the rest of the conversation. The atmosphere in the room was uncomfortably tense for a few moments, as the two of them attempted to take in what had just happened. Finally, however, Hadwell turned to Steve, and tapped him on the shoulder. Steve looked over at him, and was surprised to see that he was shaking. His hand was over his mouth, which was twitching.

“What the hell was that,” he said, sputtering and choking on his own laughter. “What. The hell. Was that.” Not able to contain himself any longer, he fell onto his bed, consumed by his giggles.

“That,” Steve said, less amused than he was perturbed, “Was Azrael. I’m sorry you had to see that.” He glared at the door, trying to ignore Hadwell’s mirth.

Well, he thought, he had to think of some positives. Azrael wasn’t sleeping in the same room as him, for one thing, and he had to find it at least somewhat uplifting that he was roommates with the infamously unrepentant cologne abuser. On the other hand, he was still within five miles of him, let alone right across the hall. Until that fact was rectified, he wasn’t going to be happy.

He walked over to his bed, and lay down on it, staring at the ceiling. Vaguely, he wondered whether he should give Anya a call, before remembering that her practice had not yet ended.

Description
The Fourth Tale
Bedside Issues

Steve Smitland was not happy.

This wasn’t quite normal for him. Aside from your expected teenage grievances, he was usually a very happy young man. He was in an excellent school, he had many friends, he wasn’t starving, and he had fairly good grades. But, at the moment, he was unhappy. And when I say unhappy, I mean pissed.

It was Azrael that had done it. Stupid, stupid Azrael. Ever since he’d started following them around that day, things, in his opinion, had gone from bad to worse. He could’ve had a nice first day of school with some fairly boring classes and his best and only female friend, and then he had to happen. He didn’t like him. Not one bit. He... he could hardly think of the right thing to say about him. Nothing could be good or bad enough.

All in all, he was somewhat relieved when three o’ clock came along. As soon as class ended, he walked out of the door of the high school building, ran down the steps, and sat on the bottom one. Though there were people streaming out all around him, in that one moment he felt calm, at peace, and most of all, Azrael- free.

He pondered what he would do with the rest of his afternoon. He had arrived late to the school that day, so he hadn’t had any time to find or assemble his dorm. He figured he’d spend a few hours setting that up, chat a bit with his new roommate, do some homework, and then meet up with Anya and go into town. They could go to the movies, or pick up Chipotle, or hide in alleyways and scare anyone from Avenshire (their sports rival from the next town over) that went by, just like they did last year. It’d be fun, so long as she didn’t bring-

He heard footsteps approaching on his right. Horrified, he jerked up, but relaxed when he saw that it was only Anya. She was standing on the first step above him, carrying her clarinet case in one hand. Most, if not all Angel’s Way students were caught in a battery of extracurriculars, whether it was sports, clubs, or regular detentions. Soccer tryouts weren’t until the next day, so Steve had nothing, but band wasn’t so forgiving.

“Hey, Steve,” she began, looking down at him, pleasant as always. “What are you doing down here all alone? It’s-”

“What am I doing all alone?” He jumped up. “What are you doing all alone? Where’d the freakshow go?”

“Freakshow?” Anya blinked, then realized what he was talking about. Her face grew serious. “Azrael said he had to go and do something on the other side of the campus. Why are you calling him a freakshow, Steve? He’s-”

“Oh, come on, Anya, are you blind?” He threw his hands in the air, and pointed at nothing. “Azrael is a freak! A creeper! A sketch! One of those! I don’t know what you were thinking when you let him tag along with you, but really! He’s elitist, he’s obnoxious-”

“Steve, I talked to him, he didn’t talk to me,” Anya interrupted, sounding annoyed. Her hands tightened on the clarinet case. “He’s new, he’s not used to-”

“New? To the planet, maybe! Honestly, I don’t know where he spent the last sixteen years, cause I don’t think he’s ever seen the light of day before. I mean- look at him! Look at his hair! And his voice- he talks like an old book! Who talks like that, huh? Anya, he’s either really, really stupid or he wants attention. Or both. Don’t tell me you don’t see any of that.”

“Well...” She hesitated. “Yeah, of course I see it. I have eyes. But looks aren’t everything, Steve, you know that. If you look past that-”

“Looks aren’t everything? Were you even paying attention in Lit class? He was flirting with the teacher, I swear it. Said he’d read that book we were assigned today last summer. For fun. Who the hell reads The Picture of Dorian Gray for fun, that’s what I want to know! And then they had this twenty-minute discussion on the French anesthesia or something. I could barely stand to listen to it all, it was so stupid. And P.E! He freaking SKIPPED P.E.! He was just sittin’ outside pickin’ his pretty little fingernails the whole time, and when I asked him, hey, why weren’t you in freakin’ P.E, he just said-” He threw a hand in the air, imitating him. “’Oh, I am not required to attend P.E., Steve, I have a medical excuse.’ Medical excuse, my ass. He was skipping.”

“Steve, it’s perfectly valid for him to have a medical excuse. And it’s aesthetic, not anesthesia.” She looked confused, and there was a tone of tension in her voice. “Look, I know he’s a little weird, it’s impossible not to acknowledge that. But why are you so annoyed with him? It’s really not worth getting this worked up over.”

“Look, I don’t know, alright? Everything about him... he just pisses me off!” He grabbed his head with his left hand. “I’ve been dealing with him all day, for five hours, just to keep you happy, but I’ve had it with trying to accept him. You can be his friend all you want, I’m fine with that, but don’t expect me to even pretend to like him.”

He took several deep breaths, trying to refill his lungs after all the hard work he’d done. It occurred to him that he’d been ranting- and rather loudly to boot. Thankfully, no crowd had gathered, but as he looked up at Anya, his best friend, he saw that her face had changed. She appeared shocked, maybe even a bit frightened. She hadn’t teared up, but she looked like she was close. “Tha-that’s alright...” she was stammering. “I-I’m not forcing you to like him or anything...”

“Uh...” He took a step back, slightly ashamed, but not willing to admit it. “It’s not like that... well, maybe it is like that. Look, I’m sorry I vented at you. I could’ve just yelled at a wall, or punched a pillow or something more constructive...”

Anya just nodded. Steve sighed, and looked to the west, where the sun was beginning to climb just slightly lower in the sky. “I’m... going to go find my room. I need to relax.”

“Oh, okay.” She smiled, a small, shy smile. “I need to get going too...practice is in a few minutes. See you later.”

“Yeah, see you.” He looked down at the ground, and then remembered something. “Hey, if you want to go to the movies tonight or something, I...”

He looked up. Anya was walking around the other side of the building, not having heard a word he’d said. He looked at her receding back for a moment, and then, resigning himself to the fact that he’d run into her later, walked off the steps and into the middle of the campus.

All of the buildings at Angel’s Way Academy were arranged in a semioval, which surrounded a large courtyard furnished with benches, a fountain, a statue of the school’s foundress, Sister Maria Angeline, and some sparse trees here and there. The buildings themselves were ringed by a variety of sports fields, and beyond that a layer of forest extending to the end of the property. The high school building, being the oldest and tallest of them all, sat at the head of the semioval, casting a shadow over the rest of the complex. The middle and elementary school buildings sat on the left side of this behemoth, and the gym, dining hall, and Artisan’s Cottage, which were used by all the grades, sat on the right. Next to the elementary school was a small chapel. Theological courses of study in the school had not been compulsory since 1993, however, they were still available to take (encouraged, in fact), and the chapel was kept open and tended by the last remaining nun, Sister Agnes Grace, for any student or faculty to use.

Nearest to the school’s gate were the dormitories. There was one building on either side, girls on the right, boys on the left. The faculty had dormitories as well, available for any who needed it in the remodeled convent housing. The students’ dorms were each four stories high, with sixth and seventh grade on the top floor, eighth grade and freshmen on the third, and sophomores and juniors on the second. The seniors got the ground floor to themselves, sharing it with the vending machines and a rec room. (Children in the elementary school were not allowed to board unless they were living with an older sibling.) Because of space limitations, each child was paired with a roommate of their own grade. Each floor had forty-four double rooms, with two triple rooms set aside in case of odd numbering, except for the ground floor, which had half as many at double the size.

Anya had told Steve about her room assignment that morning- she was in the junior triple room with two girls he barely knew, Evie Martin and Gabriella Delsol. Steve had received his room number- 232, a double room- but knew nothing about his roommate. As he walked across the courtyard, his mind started racing again. He was hoping for someone from the soccer team, or at least someone calm, who he could get along easily with. Heaven forbid it was a some sort of neurotic, or someone smelly, like Danny Zhao was last year. Or...

He blocked the evil thought before it could form itself. No. That couldn’t happen. Not in a million years.

He walked into the dorm building, swiped his new student ID at the door to the stairway, and walked up to the second floor, where he swiped his ID again for entry. The second floor hallway was just as he had remembered it last year- long, sparse, and smelling faintly of deodorant. Luggage was stacked in piles on either side of most of the doors- if it wasn’t, then either the room was empty or the bags were inside, being unpacked. He walked down the hallway, checking the door numbers until he got to the one he wanted- 232. Only his luggage pile was outside- his roommate had already unpacked. Somewhat nervous, he swiped his ID again, picked up the top two bags in his pile, and opened the door to his room.

The dorm room was somewhat small, simple enough, and perfectly symmetrical. There were two small beds, two dressers, two desks, and two chairs, with one set near the front, and the other in the back. He smiled at it- as far as he was concerned, he was now home. The front side of the room had already been claimed and furnished, something he didn’t mind at all. There was a sports bag in the corner, several bags on the bed, a closed Macbook on the desk, and a large “REDSKINS” pennant on the wall. All good signs, he thought. He walked to the back of the room, threw his bags on his bed, and went outside to get the rest.

It took him about five minutes to get all his stuff inside, and another few to open them all. He set up his laptop first, then got to transferring his clothes from his bags to the dresser. He was just packing away his underwear when he heard a creak- the door was opening. His adrenaline went into overdrive, and he shoved it all in the drawer, shut it with a bang, and stood up straight, trying not to look nervous, and failing miserably.

“Ey, this is open... is someone in here?” Someone poked his head in through the door, then walked inside, keeping one hand on the doorknob. His chief fear was set to rest with a second’s glance- this guy was shorter, more muscular, and towheaded. They both recognized each other a second later, and the boy broke into a wide smile. “Hey, Smit!”

“Hadwell!” He returned the smile, and ran towards him, aiming a friendly punch at his shoulder. Hadwell caught him in midair, bent his arm back, and punched him with his free hand. They both laughed, Steve freeing himself as he did so. “How you been, man?”

“Doin’ good, Smitland, doin’ good.” He held up his fist, and hit it against Steve’s. “232, right?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure.” Relief was flooding through him- things couldn’t have been better than this. Maximiliand Hadwell had been his roommate in seventh grade. He was a good friend, played striker on varsity with him (Steve himself was a centerfielder), and was, most importantly, about as laid-back as you could get. It didn’t help him much when it came to grades, but it made him a good roommate. “Oh, geez... you don’t know how happy I am to see you right now.”

“Why, man, what happened? He tilted his head to the side, looking just the slightest bit confused. He obviously wasn’t too keen on letting the happy mood slide.

Fortunately, neither was Steve. “Eh, you know,” he said, walking back towards his bags, “Better to not have a loser for a roommate, y’know?”

“Eh, I wish,” he said, face serious for a split second before he laughed, undid his tie, tossed his bags off the bed, and crashed down on it, bouncing once. “Just kidding. You knew that, right?”

“Oh, screw off.” He started unpacking another bag, taking out and unfolding a series of black button-down shirts. “I’m better off with you than, you know... some creeper from who- the- hell- knows- where with freaky hair and a stupid voice and a snobby elitist attitude...” He failed to notice he’d been smoothing the same shirt the entire time he was talking.

Hadwell blinked. “Yeaah... so, what y’got planned for the next few days? I was just gonna take it easy tonight, y’know, veg, eat crappy food, watch those movies I swiped from my old man, you know the deal. Then you know the old team’s goin’ out for burgers after tryouts tomorrow. You are going to tryouts, right?”

“Course I’m going to tryouts, why wouldn’t I?” He put the shirts in the drawer, then moved on to his jeans. “Plans...I was thinking, y’know, do some homework, then go into town with Anya...”

“Oh, I see, out with your lady.” A grin spread across his face. “What are you two thinkin of doin, hm? Gonna get a little back-to-school present?”

“Hadwell, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. Anya’s a friend, and she’s staying a friend.” He began to mumble, in the hope that Hadwell wouldn’t hear. “There’s other girls, but she’s not one of them. Besides, I didn’t catch up with her yet. She had to go to band.” He threw his clothes bag off the bed, and started unpacking his books.

“Oh, come on, Smit. You should’ve dealt with this back at puberty like I told you to.” He bounced on the bed again, and folded his arms behind his head. “You don’t know how lucky you are, really. She’s got a sweet ass.”

“Mmf.” He didn’t respond. Hadwell just started at him, and lifted first one eyebrow, and then the other.

“Okay, maybe I wasn’t kidding about the loser thing.” He was opening his mouth to say something else, when he stopped, and a curious expression came across his face. “Hey, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Steve looked up.

“There’s someone rattling the doorknob...” He jumped up, brushed off his pants, and walked towards the door. Steve put down the book he was holding and followed him. The doorknob was indeed shaking rather quickly, and very loudly, as Steve could tell as he got closer. He was a bit curious, but he didn’t start panicking until he heard the voice on the other side- a voice that was all too familiar.

“Oh my, how unfortunate this is... if I must go on like this, I will never find it...”

His heart nearly stopped. “Ack! Wait, Hadwell-” Before he could stop him, Hadwell had opened the door. Steve’s jaw dropped- it was just as he had feared. Azrael McArthur was standing outside in all his glory, student ID in one hand and doorknob in the other. His tie was undone, as it should be, and his unusual hair was somewhat disheveled, but his facial expression was entirely unchanged.

Steve waited for Hadwell’s reaction. It was slightly less than he expected or wanted, but it was sufficient. He looked Azrael up and down, opened and closed his mouth a few times, then finally said, in a hesitant voice, “Er... can I help you?”

Azrael wasn’t paying attention. To Steve’s horror, he looked right past Hadwell, and locked eye on him. “Ah, Steve!” He pushed past Hadwell, and stopped just inches from his face. “I did not expect to see you here. Well, I did not expect to see the inside of this room at all... and what a fine room it is, I must say...” He looked around the space with an approving look. “But you are even more of a surprise.” He grinned at him.

“Uh, yeah...” Steve grimaced, and took a step back. He tried to avoid Hadwell’s eye- he didn’t want to see how he was reacting to this. “Thanks, Azrael... uh... what are you doing here?”

“Oh, yes, my apologies.” He straightened, and lifted his hand toward his face. “I was told by your friend that this was the male dormitory building, and that I had a room located somewhere on this floor. However, I was not informed as to where this room would be. I am aware that this card will open my correct room-” he waved the ID in the air- “-so I have been using it in all the doors, knowing that one will eventually open. So far, I have not found my room. I know I will find it eventually, however...” His eyes glazed over, as though he were talking of some sort of lost treasure.

Steve twitched. Hadwell, who was now in a bit more shock, looked over at him and arched an eyebrow. “Uh... wait,” he said, to the back of Azrael’s head. “Didn’t they give you your room assignment at the office? And wouldn’t you know your room because... your luggage was in front of it?”

“Ah...” He turned to face him, as though he had only just noticed that he was there. “I suppose I should have thought of that. But, things like that can slip from my mind so easily.” He laughed. Hadwell kept a straight face. “But, yes. Say, I don’t recall ever having seen you before. Are you another friend of Steve’s?”

“Um...” His eyebrow remained staunchly raised. “Yeah, I am.”

“Oh. He has many friends, I have been able to gather.” He turned back to Steve, who had been sitting on Hadwell’s bed, trying hard not to be noticed. “Steve, it would be polite if you would introduce me to your friend.”

Hadwell snorted. Steve stared blankly at him for a second, before getting up and approaching them. His face was stone as he pointed to each of them in turn. “Azrael, Hadwell. Hadwell, Azrael.”

“Azrael McArthur,” the eponymous added on as he held out his hand, evidently expecting Hadwell to shake it. “Hadwell... that’s quite an interesting name. You don’t often meet many Hadwells.”

“My first name’s Max,” he mumbled back, taking the hand out of habit more than anything. “I don’t see why you’re talking,” he mumbled under his breath. Azrael didn’t seem to hear.

“I see... Max Hadwell. That’s somewhat less unusual.” He let go of his hand rather quickly, and stepped out of the room as soon as he could. “Well, Steve and Hadwell, I thank you for your assistance, and I hope to see you in class at some point and time. Evening to you.” He waved his hand in what was probably supposed to be a salutation, but looked more like a flirtatious gesture. Steve nearly heaved.

As they watched, Azrael turned around, took a quick look at the rather small pile of bags on one side of the door across the hall, and then slid his ID through the slot. To their surprise, and Steve’s horror, the door clicked right open, and Azrael walked inside. The door was left slightly ajar, so the two of them could hear all too well the resulting conversation.

“Oh... uh...”

“Hello. I take it you are my roommate?”

“Uh... if you got in, yeah. I heard your name in History... you’re An- something, something really weird...”

“Azrael McArthur. And may I inquire as to your name?”

“...Danny. Danny Zhao.”

“Danny Zhao. It’s lovely to meet you, Danny. I will try not to be obtrusive to you. I’ll just go and collect my things, and bring them-” He paused. “I say, Danny, what is that stench?”

“What? I don’t smell anything.”

Hadwell closed the door, effectively blocking out the rest of the conversation. The atmosphere in the room was uncomfortably tense for a few moments, as the two of them attempted to take in what had just happened. Finally, however, Hadwell turned to Steve, and tapped him on the shoulder. Steve looked over at him, and was surprised to see that he was shaking. His hand was over his mouth, which was twitching.

“What the hell was that,” he said, sputtering and choking on his own laughter. “What. The hell. Was that.” Not able to contain himself any longer, he fell onto his bed, consumed by his giggles.

“That,” Steve said, less amused than he was perturbed, “Was Azrael. I’m sorry you had to see that.” He glared at the door, trying to ignore Hadwell’s mirth.

Well, he thought, he had to think of some positives. Azrael wasn’t sleeping in the same room as him, for one thing, and he had to find it at least somewhat uplifting that he was roommates with the infamously unrepentant cologne abuser. On the other hand, he was still within five miles of him, let alone right across the hall. Until that fact was rectified, he wasn’t going to be happy.

He walked over to his bed, and lay down on it, staring at the ceiling. Vaguely, he wondered whether he should give Anya a call, before remembering that her practice had not yet ended.