Angel Wing

MARCH

EVERYTHING IN THE cafeteria sounded like it was underwater. The pale walls, the smooth, polished floors, the glaring, patchwork posters and the scattered white tables all looked like they were draped underneath a veil of sheer, glossy fabric. The fluorescent lights were as grim and white as the needle-point, eye-watering sunlight from a grey sky. The chorus of noise never quite reached him, never touched him, and never seemed to rise or fall, only ever remaining at the same level of awful din, and the faces were as blurred as everything else, distant and hazy and unidentifiable. There wasn't a single face that differed from any other.

With glazed eyes, starry and vacant, he stared at nothing, his left cheek resting against a loosely curled left fist and a right arm resting along the lunch table while his friends talked and talked and talked. All of their words spilled into each other until they flooded him; drowned out and muffled and meaningless, buzzing in his ears like the ring of a gunshot. A song he couldn't remember the name of was playing in his head on an infinite loop.

Lately, he had not known what to do with himself. Lately, every tomorrow was shapeless. He could not imagine a moment that had not already happened. He could not conjure the image of a life that he had not already lived. Every morning, he woke up earlier than his alarm and stared at his white bedroom ceiling. Every morning, he used all of his energy to lift up his hands over his face so he could turn them over and inspect them and wonder what to do with them. What was he to do with any of it?

A thought of abandoning the rest of the table struck him. He thought about getting up and leaving without saying anything, walking through the front doors and letting the calls of his name slip underneath him like lapping waves. He thought about becoming nobody so that he would never have to respond to the call of a name again. He thought about being a nameless face and leaving the rest of himself behind to become something entirely instinctual, to become a creature that was so busy living— walking, eating, showering, dressing, cleaning, cooking, sitting, sleeping— that he would not have to think. He thought of waking up every morning and getting up to run or wash or cook breakfast without letting a single thought pass through him, without having to figure out how to fill his hands every morning.

He thought about his body leading him right out of the cafeteria, right out of school, right out of the world, but it was anchored to the table. When it was time, he would get up, walk to class and finish the day as he was supposed to with nothing in his grasp because he could never completely be rid of himself.

His heart felt thick and heavy, but there was no identifiable emotion that rang inside him or choked him or transcended the veil that had fallen over everything around him. 

He imagined burying himself in the backyard, the way Jack had buried Kirby, and he thought about that god forsaken statue taking his place at the dinner table. It occurred to him that, in the end, it wouldn't really change anything. The sun would keep rising no matter where he went and no matter how he lived. Regardless of what any of it meant, the sun would keep rising. It did not comfort him.

Something hard and dull hit his leg, more like an echo than a shout, and he tried to wake himself up. When he looked across the table, he found Jensen frowning at him.

"Where've you been, space cadet?" He asked, his dark eyes intent and his eyebrows knitted.

Charlotte was sitting at his side, narrowing her cerulean eyes at Hadley. Her black, glossy hair was falling over her shoulders, dark strands pushed behind her glittering ears, and her pink mouth was taut. She rested a sharp, right cheekbone against her closed, tight fingers and her left arm was on the table.

His eyes darted towards her smooth, pale hand.

"Nowhere," Hadley replied absently, his eyes flickering towards Jensen. "Just thinking."

"About what?" Isaac interjected, glancing swiftly at him from his place at the opposite end of the table. He took a swig from his bottle of water.

"Nothing," he murmured, shaking his head. He blinked at Jensen. "What's up?"

Jensen shrugged and looked down at his hands. He couldn't keep them still. "Nothing," he replied lightly. "I was just saying that I was thinking of having a few people over this weekend. Everyone else is coming. Are you?"

"Sure," he nodded, lifting his cheek from his fist and folding his arms on the table in front of him. "I'll come."

Looking aimlessly around the table, Jensen glanced at Charlotte, who had not moved her focus away from Hadley. "I just wanted to let you know that Elodie and Spencer are both coming," he said, scratching his neck. "You know, just in case you decided to skip this one out. I understand, you know, if you do."

"It's alright," he replied with a shake of his head. His heart gave a thud. "I don't mind if Spencer and Elodie are there."

"Speaking of Spencer," Charlotte began brusquely, flashing him a tight smile. Her eyes were cold and gleaming, and her voice was straining itself trying to sound relaxed. "What's going on with you and him?"

"Sorry?" Hadley asked, looking at her blankly. The cafeteria light seemed to be flashing in his eyes. The din suddenly seemed louder and the faces suddenly appeared clearer.

She offered no elaboration. Instead, she leaned forward, waiting, and raised her eyebrows expectantly, her eyes glazed with dull impatience. She rested one hand over another.

Isaac and Noel glanced at each other then looked at Hadley, and continued to silently eat their lunches. Occasionally, they would glimpse at Charlotte and Jensen, then exchange another private look, but neither of them spoke. He didn't hold it against them— there was nothing for either of them to say.

Jensen, sighing, turned away to stare intently at the cafeteria doors.

"I don't know what you're referring to," he told her finally, shaking his head and straightening his posture, leaning away from the table. His palms, for a reason he could not explain, felt slightly clammy. "There's nothing going on with Spencer and I." And as soon as he said it, he was aware of how it sounded.

"Elodie thinks there is," she replied sharply, briskly, and when he failed to reply, she added: It seems like you're trying to become close to him."

Involuntarily, he laughed and his hand flew to his mouth. Smiling, he shook his head and looked away for a moment, glancing across the cafeteria to see if he could find Spencer, the only other person who could share in the joke. When he couldn't, his eyes darted towards Charlotte again.

"I'm not trying to become friends with anyone," he insisted, half-smiling.

Her gaze was unforgiving.

Pausing, he looked at his hands and brought them to his lap. "Is this about the book?"

Raising her eyebrows and immediately lowering them again, she cupped her sharp, narrow jaw delicately with her left hand and looked away to observe nothing in particular.

"What book?" Noel frowned, leaning forward on the table and angling himself towards them. His eyes briefly darted towards Isaac's.

"I think you gave him that book on purpose because you're trying to be his friend," Charlotte continued suddenly, brushing past Noel's question and still refusing to look directly at Hadley. "Maybe you're trying to have some kind of influence over him."

"Influence?" He echoed, scoffing at her. "I don't have any influence over him. I saw him in the library, he asked what I was reading, he sounded interested and I let him borrow it. It was a friendly gesture, Charlotte."

"It's just weird that you're all friendly all of a sudden," she retorted, smoothing a sleek strand of dark hair between her forefinger and middle finger. There was a curl of disgust in her lip and her brows were furrowed, lines wrinkling her forehead. "I mean, you punched him in the face not that long ago and now you're making a book club."

Smiling to himself, he smoothed his hand over his forehead and spoke softly, "I'm not trying to interfere."

"You are interfering," she replied in a hard, clear voice. Sardonically, she added, "Spencer is thrilled with you."

"We have similar tastes in literature," he said a little defensively, smoothing his hands over his jeans. "That's all it was."

"But you like him now," she insisted, narrowing her eyes. "Don't you?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he shrugged, swallowing thickly. "He's cool."

"He thinks you're pretty cool, too, apparently," she muttered, turning away. "I don't know what his deal is."

"Ask him," he retorted, frowning at her. He was beginning to feel interrogated and he felt increasingly, uncomfortably warm underneath his sweater. He could feel Jensen bouncing his leg rapidly underneath the table. "Ask Elodie."

"Elodie doesn't know," Charlotte shot, her gaze full of disdain. "She's just weirded out by it."

"Then tell her to ask Spencer," he scowled, the back of his neck burning. He refused to look at them, but he could feel Isaac and Noel staring at him.

"Why are you trying to be his friend?" She demanded coolly, composing herself swiftly after losing control over her expression; her eyes had widened, her lips had parted.

Huffing, Jensen studied them with his dark eyes, his jaw locked and brow stiff. "What do you want him to say, Char? So what if they're friendly? What does that have to do with Elodie? It's really not that big of a deal."

"It has everything to do with Elodie!" She cried, her brows knitting and her gaze vitriolic as she angled herself towards him. "Spencer is her boyfriend. Hadley is her ex-boyfriend. How does it not involve her?"

"Because all he's fucking doing is reading a book that Hadley gave him," Jensen snapped, glaring at her. "They're not having sex."

Hadley flashed Charlotte a wry smile, pressing his palm to the side of his neck, trying to steady the occasional jumps in his heart. "Unless he asks me nicely."

Noel snickered and, when Charlotte promptly scowled at him, he pretended to cough into his fist and glanced around the cafeteria, biting the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile.

"Hadley," Jensen warned, his voice quiet and his gaze firm. "I'm trying to do you a favour here."

"She just wants you to stay away from him," Charlotte pressed on, ignoring his comment. "She's not asking for a lot. You and Spencer were never even that friendly before, and now you're friendlier than ever."

"Friendlier than ever is a little dramatic," he remarked distantly, subtly trying to search for Spencer.

"Well, that's what Elodie said," she shot back, folding her arms over on the table. "Spencer always seems pretty happy to talk about you."

"Spencer is always happy to talk about everyone," Jensen interjected with a scoff, pulling a face at them. "He's a gossiping bastard."

"True," Noel agreed with a solemn nod of his head, pointing a finger at Jensen.

"Look," Isaac began suddenly, holding his hands up and throwing pointed looks towards everyone else at the table, "we're just trying to have lunch here, alright? Elodie is not Hadley's problem anymore."

Charlotte scoffed. "She's not a —"

"She's not his problem anymore," Isaac interrupted sternly, glowering at her. "Now maybe she's in a position to tell Spencer what to do and that's none of our business, but she's not in any position to tell Hadley what to do and that's the end of it. If she doesn't want them to talk, then take it up with Spencer because he doesn't owe to shit to Elodie and he doesn't owe shit to you either."

"Hey, hold on—" Jensen began, putting an arm around Charlotte's shoulder. He pulled her towards him and glared at Isaac.

"No," he dismissed, holding his palm flat towards them. "No. That's the end of it."

Hadley looked at Isaac from across the table and their eyes met briefly. Neither of them smiled at the other but Isaac gave him a small nod before he averted his gaze and Hadley, though Isaac was no longer looking, gave a small nod back.

There was a heavy sheet of silence that fell over them. Jensen was massaging his forehead and Charlotte was sitting with her arms crossed, her back impossibly straight, unimpressed. Noel glanced sympathetically towards Hadley and Isaac did not— he was texting someone. Probably Evan.

"I'm gonna go for some air," Hadley announced, not meeting the eye of anyone else sitting down. He turned briefly towards his friends as he grabbed his backpack and got up from the table. "See you guys in class."

"Evan is going to be furious she was off sick for this," Isaac muttered, his fingers swift.

"She always misses the good stuff," Noel agreed lightly, half-shrugging and curiously watching after Hadley. He looked at the other two, smiling wryly. "The weekend should be fun."

"Are you still coming over!" Jensen called after him, swatting Charlotte's hand away when she gave him a swift, controlled hit on the back of the head with her open palm.

"I'm still coming over!" He replied, pulling his backpack strap over his shoulder and lifting his hand in the air to bid them farewell without looking back.

The hallway wasn't as quiet as he had hoped. Some people sat together on benches and talked loudly at their lockers, or sat in groups on the floor, and the noise flooded his head. He headed straight for the back doors, touching the back of his hand against his forehead as he walked, feeling a little dizzy.

Tension was bursting around his temples and as soon as he was away from them exhaustion enveloped him, his bones heavy with fatigue. Charlotte's cold, sharp eyes had left him feeling unbearably agitated, as though she had cut right through him in a way that he could not even cut through himself.

He was plagued with thoughts of her rushing back to Elodie's table and seizing her hands, of her telling Elodie that he was trying to turn Spencer against her by becoming friends with him, by growing closer to him. 

Feeling a little breathless, he tried not to think about the way certain things had sounded, the way she had chosen to word certain questions. The idea that she might be narrating a theory about Hadley having feelings for Spencer or trying to steal him away worried him and made his stomach twist.

It didn't bother him that Charlotte wanted an argument and it didn't worry him that Elodie was occasionally paranoid about his non-existent manipulation— even if it wounded and, in bursts, sometimes annoyed him— but he hated to think of Spencer being fed something that Charlotte might exaggerate. He wondered how they would explain to him that Elodie didn't want him talking to Hadley anymore or if they already had.

Anyway, it wasn't like they talked all the time. Sometimes they went days without exchanging anything more than a smile, but still. He liked Spencer. He liked that someone was eager to watch movies he liked and was interested in borrowing a book from him. He liked that he could talk to Spencer freely because there were no pre-established boundaries or rules to their relationship, because Spencer was so willing to listen and more patient than he pretended to be. He liked the way Spencer smiled at him, those private looks he gave that made Hadley feel like he was in on some secret joke between the two of them.

There was something so tender about him and Hadley sometimes felt a deep stroke of joy when Spencer approached him, when they had something to say to each other, some reason to stand close and talk about a movie one of them had seen or a book one of them had been meaning to read or an essay they'd been assigned to write.

He was so deep in thought about how they might ask him to keep away that when he first heard his name being called, he thought he was imagining it.

When he stopped and turned around, he saw Spencer swiftly approaching, the corners of his glinting green eyes crinkled with a smile. "I thought you were just going to keep walking away from me."

"Sorry," Hadley told him, a little awestruck. His hair was more tousled than usual and he tried not to imagine Elodie running her hands through it. Their eyes met. "What's up?"

"Nothing," he smiled, bright and sheepish. Hadley's heart twisted at the sight of it. "I have a few things to give you."

Hadley shuffled his weight from foot to foot. He pressed his cool hand against his head, hoping the tension around his temples would relax. "What are they?"

"First," he began, unzipping his backpack and taking out Hadley's copy of Stoner. "Thanks."

Despite himself, he was unable to suppress a smile. "What did you think?"

"It broke me a little bit, I think," he murmured, turning it around in his hand before he gave it back. He gave a small smile. "Thanks."

"I hope my notes weren't in the way," he replied, feeling a little shy about what Spencer might've read. He took the book back and unzipped his backpack so he could slip it in. The back of his neck was still warm but his dull head pain began to subside.

"They were a cherished part of my reading experience," he teased, his smile spilling wider as he glanced towards the ground. He dared to meet Hadley's eyes again. "Anyway, I was thinking about you after I finished it and I remembered— you know, when we were in your car?"

A dark-haired girl that he couldn't remember the name of, but whom he recognised as an acquaintance of Elodie's, was looking at them. When he gave her a sideways glance, she turned away.

"Yeah," he murmured, moving closer to the row of lockers beside them. "I remember."

"And I asked you what you were gonna read," Spencer continued, his eyes bright, "and you said you didn't know because you didn't know what you were looking for. So, I thought, okay, what book do you read when you don't know what you're looking for? And I came to two conclusions."

"Hit me," Hadley grinned. He felt a sharp pang of excitement in his chest.

Out of his backpack, Spencer took two books. "I couldn't figure out which one you'd like more so I thought it'd be better to let you jump between them both. Though, I feel like I should warn you that they might depress you— Pessoa for me, especially. I just thought they had elements that might appeal to you, you know? And Pessoa is all fragments."

"All fragments?" Hadley echoed, frowning softly. He took the books from Spencer: The Stranger by Camus and The Book of Disquiet by Pessoa. He tucked The Stranger underneath his arm and began reading the blurb for Pessosa.

"Just fragments and thoughts," Spencer replied, laughing quietly. "About five hundred pages worth of contemplation."

Hadley looked up at him, aware that he seemed to be standing a little closer than before. "Good," he murmured, half-smiling. "Fragments and thoughts sound like what I need right now."

Bashfully, he shrugged and smiled. "I wasn't sure if you might've already read Camus."

He shook his head. "No. Will I enjoy him?"

"I think he might appeal to you," he replied thoughtfully with a curious, observant quality in his gaze, "but I'm not sure how you'll feel about it."

In the corner of his eye, he could see the same dark-haired girl and a couple of her friends looking at them again. "Thanks for letting me borrow these," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's pretty cool of you."

"Don't feel the need to rush them," he assured with such sincerity that it made Hadley's heart ache.

"Anyway, I should probably get going," he muttered, clearing his throat, shifting his weight around and glancing towards the group, "and you should probably head back into the cafeteria."

Following his gaze, Spencer eyed the girl and her friends curiously. In a hushed voice, he asked, "Is everything alright?"

Sighing deeply, he hesitated before speaking.

"Charlotte is at our lunch table," he explained in a low voice, his eyes locked with Spencer's. He angled himself away from the group as subtly as he could. "Elodie isn't happy about us getting along and I think she's gonna ask you to stop talking to me— I don't know if she already has."

"She hasn't," he replied briskly, instantly, frowning. For a long moment, he did not speak and then, looking at the ground, he kicked at the floor, almost touching Hadley's shoe. A nervous movement passed through his throat and something sorrowful flickered in his eyes, his face soft with displeasure. "Are you going to Jensen's this weekend?"

"Yeah," he nodded. A strong urge to touch Spencer overwhelmed him, to playfully knock at his healed jaw or to touch his arm or to kick at his shoe, but he restrained himself. "I'll be there."

"So we're going to see each other anyway," he replied lightly, trying to smile. There was something tense about him, something nervous that had not been there before.

Hadley looked at his jaw, still resisting the urge to touch it. He clutched the books in his hands. "That bruise of yours has healed pretty nicely."

Spencer caressed where it had been, still trying to smile. Hadley couldn't see his dimple. "It's weird not having it now. I got used to it. Kinda miss it."

"I can give you another one," he offered.

Grinning, he rolled his eyes and gestured to the books in Hadley's hands. "I hope you find something close to what you might be looking for."

When he smiled, Hadley looked at his lips for a moment too long before he lifted his gaze again. "Me, too."

Spencer opened his mouth to reply but before he could say anything, they heard his name being called from further down the hallway and, together, they looked and found Elodie standing there. Her gaze was rigidly fixed on Spencer.

"Are you coming back?" She asked softly, her dark eyes gleaming. They were a little wider than usual and lines of exasperation creased her forehead.

Spencer looked at him and gently, playfully, pressed his foot down on top of Hadley's shoe. Without saying anything else, he met his eye, offered him one of those secretive smiles— Hadley braced his stomach like he was preparing to get punched— and mouthed see you later before he turned around and began sauntering towards Elodie, who waited impatiently for him, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet with her arms tightly folded.

As he approached her, she stepped towards him and held him by his arms, glancing briefly towards Hadley. Her eyes were clouded with apprehension and she only drew them away when Spencer leaned down to kiss her.

Hadley's heart gave another violent twist. He did not relax his stomach and stayed where he was, desperately grasping the books he'd been given, waiting for Spencer to pull away from her.

When he finally did, he interlaced his fingers with hers and began to lead her back towards the cafeteria, but she turned to look at Hadley over her shoulder.

Their eyes locked. Her frown had not relaxed and there was nothing smug about her, only that pure, glittering nervousness as they watched each other. Even as Spencer began gently pulling her towards the doors, she stared at him, her gaze falling briefly on the books in his hands, and he stared back at her, waiting for her to disappear.

Elodie, her frown deepening as reached anxiously for the E on her necklace, was the first to look away. 

note
hello, a little late on this one and I'm not entirely satisfied with it but still felt good enough to post for now so here it is lol. would love to hear any feedback because I feel like this chapter could use some fixes

anyway, thank you for reading!! I hope to see you next time <3

originally published
18 / 04 / 2025