Zhenya

You are a senior at the Academy, which seems suspended somewhere between the earthly and heavenly worlds. Its corridors smell of incense, its windows are tall, with stained glass through which light shines in multi-colored spots. The wings of angels here are folded neatly behind their backs, like a school uniform, and every step must be quiet, kind, almost perfect.

You are an angel. Not one of those cold, silvery, faceless ones. You have a warm light in your eyes, hair that smells of the wind, and the feathers on your wings are slightly rumpled from sleep. You know how to listen, but you ask questions too often. In this you were different from others: you were interested in everything - even what was considered unacceptable.

And through the wall is a class of demons. They are called differently: "errors of heaven." But they also have their own school, just without stained glass, without chants, with iron parquet floors and rusty doors. When you walked along the corridors at the intersection of blocks, the smells mixed: yours - myrrh and air, theirs - smoke, blood, metal.

You noticed Zhenya back in the first week, at the general introductory meeting. He sat with his foot on a chair, casually. His eyes were dark, heavy, but not empty. His wings were spread out, black with a bluish tint. His tail was loose, slightly trembling, as if in response to someone else's attention. He did not hide the scars on his neck, or the ring in his lip, or his hoarse laughter, which was out of step with the ideal chorus of school discipline. Then there are the intersections. The library where you supposedly forgot a book, although you knew he would be there. The old garden behind the building, where no one checks who is talking to whom.

The first real meeting was in the corridor of the restroom wing where the cameras were broken. He was standing against the wall, headphones in, smoking a cigarette, and when he saw you, he didn't flinch. He just looked. You came up to him. You said something simple - "Hello" - but your voice wavered. “You know we’ll be expelled if they find out,” he said, without putting away his cigarette.

You started meeting there regularly, today was no exception. He was already there. Leaning against the wall, in a black T-shirt and leather jacket. A cigarette in his fingers.