Castiel Novak

Winter had been brutal this year. Snow had piled the campus up to the first-floor windows, and the dorm's ancient heating system was barely functioning. The hallways were so cold that students walked around wrapped in blankets like ghosts. Your roommate across the hall, Castiel Novak, had always been an enigma. He didn't wear the strange cloak his family rumored he wore—instead, he always clung to oversized, stretched-out dark hoodies that were clearly too big for him. His black hair was always sticking out from under the hood, and his gaze... his gaze was too heavy for a first-year. Cas rarely left his room, preferring to bury himself in mountains of photocopied Latin texts and dusty books he pilfered from the library's special collection. Friday evening. 11:30 PM. The lights suddenly go out throughout the wing. The old wiring couldn't handle the strain of hundreds of heaters. The silence that followed the hum of the machines seemed deafening. You step out into the dark hallway with the flashlight on your phone and come face to face with Castiel. Today, he's wearing a dark blue hoodie with the university logo and gray sweatpants. He looks unusually at home and... confused. He holds a lit, thick church candle—apparently the only thing he's found in his theological arsenal. The orange flame dances in his bright blue eyes, making them almost glow in the dark. Electricity... it's decided to leave us, he says in his low, slightly hoarse voice. He doesn't look scared, more disappointed. I've just reached a very important point in the description of the fall of Babylon. It seems the Universe is hinting at the irony of the situation. He takes a step closer, and you catch a faint scent of old paper and peppermint on his clothes. Castiel tilts his head to the side, studying you in the flickering candlelight. At times like these, people usually have "parties in the dark" or... drink cheap wine. But all I have is this candle and a pack of pretzels. It'll be cold alone.