fallen angel - n.h.

iv. - an angel of lust and greed

✖️- iv. -✖️

• i.l. •

I had only been asleep for a few hours before I woke up. As usual. I don't remember the last time I had a full night's rest while being sober. There was a cold sweat on my lower back and neck. My hands shook from where I held them in front of me.

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. Scrunching my eyes as I tried remembering the last high I had. The one with blown pupils and a feeling of invincibility. As if I could see every color there was. Like I could fly.

Fly like his wings allow him to.

My feet pushed the satin material down and off my legs. I felt the cold press of my sheets on my bare legs, felt the rustle of cloth. It didn't help when I felt another heat wave follow my shaking body.

So I got out of bed. I felt like I had a mouth full of cotton and my head ached. Tiptoeing out my door I make my way to the kitchen.

He isn't on the sofa where I expected him to be.

"These photos are lovely Mo." His wings were lax where they spread softly across his shoulder blades. His white undershirt made him look like a drunken wife beater.

"What?" It sounds dumb and numb from my mouth where I had frozen my steps behind the couch.

"I said they're lovely pho-" He begins turning around, moonlight against his pale wings.

"Don't call me that." I wasn't one for nicknames.

He's suddenly staring at the ground, hand reaching to scratch behind his neck.

"'M sorry 'bout that." He mumbles but I had already walked to my initial destination, the fridge. I took a glass from my cupboard. My eyes flitted behind me to where he now practically stood with his nose to the wall.

As if to answer my almost asked, 'Why the fuck are you standing over there like that?' He replies, "You're not wearing any pants." Those words were thrown into the silence of the room.

"What did you expect to find under my pants?" The sound of the fridge tap expelling water occupied the room. I look down at my legs and shrug even though he can't see me.

"No it's not that but what I mean is that I'm not used to-"

"You've actually been lied to this whole time but yes, underneath women's clothes are actual, live body parts."

Poor thing'll probably need therapy.

"I'm still not used to being in a time where people dress and act the way you probably do."

"The way I do? And what way is that, Church Boy Niall?"

"No no! What I mean is- what I meant-It wasn't allowed for girls to wear clothes so tight, so short-back when I was alive." I sip my water loudly but he ignores me. He lets out a puff of breath. "And ya, yev got no pants on. S'just a lot of skin is all I mean."

My eyes are in quite the danger of rolling out of my head.

"Mmmhm." I hum from my glass, its apparent hollowness making the echo of it louder. I refill it with hands that seem more still now than they were before. "Kind of need that shit to survive. Skin. Its our biggest organ, Angel."

"I was only making conversation. I couldn't sleep and I saw the photos taped t' the walls. Very lovely, black an' white. I always did prefer photos like t'at anyways but it's still nice t' see t'at hasn't changed much from when I was still alive like before in theh 1960s." He said it in almost one breath, accent thickening like candy floss until it grew to a large puff of pink, similar to what color his cheeks probably were, if it weren't for the light, or its lack of.