Angel Wing

FEBRUARY

THE AFTERNOON SUNLIGHT streamed through the windows at the back of the library and warmed the nape of his neck, pleasant heat spilling over his skin like a trailing kiss. While he read, he leaned back in that wooden, cushioned chair, his feet resting on the short carpet of that otherwise dimly lit corner at the back of the school library.

Everything was still in that lonely corner. Sometimes on one of the trees outside a bird chirped or whistled or sang, perched on the black branches that were so stark against the pale blue sky and its white frothy clouds, beams of sunlight shooting between them. Occasionally, when someone emerged around his corner, their feet shuffling and tapping along, he glanced up to see who it was but they never stayed long and he returned to his book, listening to the slow drum of his heart.

February was breezing through him like wind through the leaves but Tuesday, as always, felt like a dull ache, like the throb of an old wound or the kind of headache where tension burst around the temples. Tuesday, long and slow, was always painful and always felt like trudging through a hazy, fuzzy mimic of reality or wading through ten miles of water with heavy clothes on. Every second pierced him, always trying to make itself noticed until it became unbearable, until the night decayed into the birth of a fresh Wednesday.

His friends were having lunch together in the cafeteria and had asked him to meet them, but he had declined the offer with a brief text and disappeared into the rear corner of the library. Since the afternoon before when he had made everything ugly by exposing his empty insides to them, there was even less for them to say.

Sorrow and loathing and regret and rage and loneliness, they could deal with. Uncontrollable bursts of emotion and tears and passive aggressive comments and snapping fury, they could deal with. But how were they to spur him from the absence of emotion? How were they to share in something that he had nothing of? How were they to carry the weight of hollow space?

In their own way, they had tried to assure him, they had tried to dig to the shining cause of the problem but could not find it and when Isaac, the last of them to leave, was standing on the front porch, he looked at Hadley, almost puzzled, and said, You are so far away. When did you get so far away?

But that was yesterday and today was today, and Hadley was trying not to think about it.

Instead, he was trying to occupy himself with his reading and by trying not to look at Spencer, who he could see in the corner of his eye.

From where he was sitting, he could see his profile. He could see the crooked bridge of his nose and its slightly pointed tip, the sweet left side of his slender jaw, the curve of that firm chin and the thoughtful flutters of the eyelashes that looked shorter than he knew they were. He could see the gentle, thoughtful furrow of that light brow and the short waves of light brown hair and the bump of his pink mouth, and he tried not to watch his perusing, the wandering along that one shelf, just in front of where Hadley was sitting, as he scanned the titles of books that were stacked there.

Hadley had known he was there since he'd first arrived some five minutes ago, but he still wouldn't look directly at him. He still wouldn't allude to any notion that he was even aware of his presence and refused to let his gaze move from the page of his book, trying to remove Spencer's repetitive, lackadaisical movements from his range of focus: he lingered; he ambled; he paused and began again. He chose books, read their blurbs, opened them to random pages and swept his shrewd over the words before closing them and slipping them back into their tight pockets on the shelf.

This wasn't the first time that they'd shared a space in the library, but things were different before his breakup with Elodie. Back then, when he would disappear into those hushed, private areas and needed an escape from the noise of everywhere else, when he needed to bring his brain back down to the right speed, he would sometimes find Spencer already there, searching or reading or studying. Other times, he would be reading at a table or in one of those comfortable chairs at the opposite end of the room, and Spencer would, in his way, wander towards the nearest shelf and begin his browsing.

In those days, Hadley would offer him a nod or an amiable glance or flash him a smile, and Spencer would nod or glance or smile back, one corner of his mouth slightly higher and one dimple more prominent, with something sweet and sheepish about him, as though he was afraid of being a disturbance or of somehow getting in the way.

Hadley had always found their silent library encounters refreshing. Spencer, who he often saw at the centre of a group or as the object of bright, starry eyes and easy laughter and intent nods, always showed up alone and, despite his conversational reputation, would never attempt to speak to him. He was so different in that light, so relaxed and comfortable and contemplative, and, back then, there was an unspoken understanding between them.

Since last week, he supposed that that understanding had been trampled. Still, though it was the first time they had seen each other there since his breakup with Elodie, Spencer's presence did not feel entirely uncomfortable or unsettling, even though he brought a new weight with him.

In a strange way, it was sort of nice. Without the burden of outside gossip and speculating classmates and glaring friends, they were almost just two people existing together.

And Hadley hadn't planned on saying anything to him— he really hadn't— until he caught Spencer looking right at him. As soon as he looked up, Spencer turned swiftly away.

Returning his gaze to his book, before he even realized he was going to speak, he blurted, a little brusquely, "What are you looking for?"

Spencer snapped towards him, his brows raised and eyes wide, and blinked. At first, all he did was stare and then, seeming to remember he had been asked a question, he spoke.

"I don't know," he replied lightly. Once he'd turned his head, he revealed the bruise on his jaw; a dark blue with splashes of pale green and vermilion purples. Still ugly, but healing. "I feel like I'm always looking for something."

"That sounds right," he agreed, glancing towards him. He noticed Spencer's green eyes fixed on him, enriched by the green of his sweater. Something in his chest tightened. Despite himself, he softened. "Every time I see you here you're looking for something."

With a quiet hum, his eyes flickered towards the hidden cover of Hadley's book. "What are you reading?"

Without bothering to remember what page he was on, he closed the book and offered it to Spencer.

Hesitating, he drew his attention away from the book and met Hadley's gaze for a mere second before his eyes darted down again. Stepping forward, he gingerly accepted it and studied the front cover. "What's it about?"

"A guy," Hadley shrugged, leaning forward on the table and staring up at him. "He's born, he lives an unremarkable life, he dies, he'll be forgotten."

Spencer glanced towards him, half-smiling. "That sounds devastating," he said, and he opened it to the first page and started reading.

"It is," he replied and found himself smiling back, even if just barely. He could still feel that heat on the back of his neck and the rest of his body was growing warmer.

Those green eyes flickered towards him again. There was something shy about him, about that lopsided smile. He returned to the first page. "Don't you think that's pretty miserable? The concept of the book is that a guy lives an unremarkable life and then he dies and that's it?"

"Don't you think that's most of us?" Hadley shot, daring to smile at him. He considered the book, chewed his lip and glanced towards Spencer. "Alright, the life that he lives is pretty unhappy. He's really a dissatisfied guy and a lot of things don't work out the way he wants them to, and maybe that sounds pretty pessimistic but it's real. And it's not like everyday is hell. It's more like everyday is just there." He shrugged, "But, you know, all we are and all we have are the days we live through, right? So why not write about them? Why not read them?"

Spencer, who had taken it upon himself to sit down on the table, nodded firmly at Hadley with a striking glint in his eyes. "But if the book's entire existence is just a reminder of how one day we will all be forgotten and how our unremarkable lives will just disappear into nothing, then why would I depress myself by reading it?"

"Okay, yeah, fine, things don't always work out for him but an unremarkable life doesn't mean it's a consistently miserable one," Hadley argued lightly, folding his arms over on the table and leaning forward. "Yeah, he lives and yeah he'll be forgotten but just because he's going to be forgotten, I don't think that means the time that he spent here was any less worthwhile. Sure, some people are bigger than others and some people lead more extravagant or dramatic or active lifestyles than others, but that doesn't make the quiet lives any less worth it.

I mean, I was always pretty freaked out by that notion that we live and then one day no one remembers us, and our names are lost to time and even if they aren't, the real us— who we really were outside of the name that's attached to us— is always lost. It can't ever be preserved in its entirety. But then you read books like this one and sometimes— even if they sort of depress you— you feel less frightened about not being remembered. You sort of think well, I'm still here. I still have a chance to be here and to live that on my terms even if things don't always go how I want them to. There's still something left worth experiencing. Alright, so one day it'll be meaningless— maybe it's already meaningless— and yeah, it's devastating, but it's all we have. So, what do you do with that? It's much easier to read it than to run from it."

When he met that steady gaze, he found that Spencer was already watching him closely, clearly, with an emotion that he could not give a name to and it was then that he realised he could not remember the last time he had spoken so freely, so openly. He could not remember the last time he had spoken for that long or with real purpose. His heart thumped. He felt naked.

"The dude abides or whatever, right?" He shrugged, trying to keep his voice light and casual as he leaned back in his chair. It was an odd sensation to feel bashful in front of Spencer and having that bright, sweet face fixed on him was beginning to make his heart lurch and his hands start to feel clammy. The sun was beginning to burn.

"What?" Spencer laughed, his eyes bright with mirth, his face fresh and sweet and bruised. He closed the book and angled himself towards Hadley.

"You know, like in The Big Lebowski," Hadley explained, feeling a sharp pang in his chest when he heard that light, easy laugh. Folding his arms and resting against the back of his chair, he stared at the floor. It occurred to him that Elodie must've been in love with the sound of it.

"Oh!" He replied, daring not to suppress a smile. "I've never seen it. I've never heard the dude abides."

Frowning, he looked wide-eyed at Spencer. "You've never seen it?"

"I've never seen it," he grinned, his cheekbones glowing.

"Okay, the background is that there's this guy called Jeff Lebowski," he began, setting his hands out in front of him for any necessary gestures and sitting forward in his chair, "but he calls himself the Dude and a lot of other people call him the Dude. The problem is that there's another guy with the name Jeff Lebowski and the entire plot of the film happens because the Dude gets mixed up with the other Lebowski. Anyway, at the end of the movie, he— the Dude, I mean— he says the dude abides in reference to the fact that all kinds of bullshit has happened, but his only plan going forward is to just keep taking it easy. When he says he abides, he isn't saying he obeys or he conforms or whatever. All he's really saying is that regardless of what happens, he's going to take it as it comes, find pleasure in simple things and stay cool. Abide. Right?"

"Christ," Spencer muttered, smiling privately and shaking his head. "I wish I was that laid-back."

"Maybe you are that laid-back," he suggested, tilting his head to the side and leaning back again. "I punched you in the face less than a week ago and you gave me a fucking ride home on Friday night out of the goodness of your heart."

"That doesn't count," he argued, snickering and handing the book back. "I didn't do that because I'm laid-back. I did it out of the goodness of my heart." He became contemplative and Hadley watched the thought pass through his eyes. "Maybe I should watch it.".

"Maybe you should," he agreed, nodding as he took the book from him. "Maybe that's what you're looking for."

"Maybe," he murmured, throwing a smile that made Hadley's heart thump. He glanced around the library and got off of the table.

"And if not," he began, speaking before he could stop himself, "you can have this book when I'm done."

Spencer's eyes glittered. "Are you sure? I don't think it's typical to lend your book to someone who you gave this to," and he pointed to his ugly bruise.

Thoughtfully, he hummed. "It's very ugly," he considered aloud. "It's a mess."

"Thanks," he replied briskly, but his eyes were gleaming, his face was relaxed and it seemed to Hadley that he was trying not to laugh.

"Consider it an acceptance of your Friday night peace offering," he shrugged, dropping the book on the table. "It's not a huge deal, anyway. Just something I'm doing out of the goodness of my heart."

Beaming, Spencer lowered his head and fixed his eyes briefly on the floor. Bashful and flushed, he lifted his gaze again and met Hadley's eye for a second that seemed endless. "Thanks," he murmured. "I should go and see my friends before class."

Without another word, another gesture, he turned and he left, disappearing around the corner, and Hadley was alone again.

Settling back into his chair, he opened his book and decided he was okay with being a little late to class. He listened to the birds, he read, he thought about those green eyes and the sound of that light, easy laugh, and he wanted to hate him.

He thought maybe it would be easier if he hated him, if he could be spurned to some deep rage or insatiable loathing that would at least satisfy his emptiness, but every time he thought of that shy, playful, lopsided smile, his chest tightened and he remembered that Elodie had chosen that over him.

He remembered that Elodie had been unable to resist him, and every time he met those bright, gleaming eyes, filled with the beauty of Derrain's trees, he began to understand why.

note
hello and thank you for reading!! this is up a little early because I'm procrastinating an essay that's due for my Egyptology class and worked on this instead lol

anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this one and any feedback is endlessly appreciated!! also I think I forgot to say thank you for 1K reads but thank you for 1K reads :')

regarding the movies/books in this chapter, definitely consider watching the big lebowski if you haven't seen it before and, if you're wondering, the book Hadley was reading is Stoner by John Williams which you should also definitely consider reading!! 

thank you again and I hope to see you again next time <3

originally published
14. march. 2025.