"A bond must be spun before it can be exploited. Weave your thoughts together, offer them a lifeline into your world-- one they will grasp without question. Become the only one who sees them for who they 'truly' are. Once the thread is tied, it is only a matter of when, not if, they follow where you lead."

-Excerpt from The Infernal Guidebook: The Art of Unraveling a Soul

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The week unfolds as usual. The closer Friday comes, the more the anticipation I feel. I'm still determined not to reach out in advance, but the temptation is undeniable. I wonder though, will it be business as usual when I see him again? Because I'm itching for a change, whatever that means.

The ritual of getting ready is charged with a kind of awareness I didn't have before. I catch myself wondering if he'll notice the shift, but of course he will. He notices everything. If by the off chance he doesn't, I might even be disappointed.

I take my time running through every possible interaction as I walk outside, but at its heart it's just another Friday, just another coffee. I'll stick to the routine.

Like clockwork I pick the same table by the window to set up my laptop. Every time the door opens, my heart makes a small leap, but I keep my head down and focused on the screen. If he's here already, watching? Fine. Let him. If he walks in later? Even better.

I pull up Wattpad and let my fingers move through the motions scrolling through notifications. A small smile tugs at my lips seeing a couple new followers and more people adding my published stories to their reading lists. As always I type out thank you messages to each one. It's a good distraction to focus on while waiting. Each message feels like a small connection I'm offering out into the world, the kind I can control, unlike the unpredictability sitting at the edge of today's meeting.

"Checking your fan mail?" Azrael teases as he slides into the seat across from me like he's been here all along. He looks genuinely happy to be here. He's dressed casually again, but there's an ease in his posture that wasn't there last time, like he's settling into this rhythm between us. "Or are you pretending to work, so I won't read you like an open book again?"

Of course, the electric tension of his observations is back, but it's warmer now, and less shocking.

"Appreciating the fans is just as important as writing," I say, closing my laptop, "Without them I would have lost motivation long ago."

He smiles, "They say authors put a bit of themselves in their stories. Would you say you do too?"

"I do a bit, but a lot of the times I write my characters like a me I wish I was."

"That makes sense," he says thoughtfully, "Writing the version of yourself who says the things you're too afraid to say out loud. Who makes the choices you'd second-guess in real life." His eyes meet mine again curiously. "So, what would your fearless main character do right now? In this moment?"

It's a simple question on the surface, but he's asking for an admission, not an answer.

"Speak without a filter," I smirk.

His eyes narrow slightly, gleaming with amusement, "So then the natural next question is what would she say right now?"

Nervous energy immediately bubbles at the thought. I'd suggest doing something... anything other than meeting at Starbucks yet again next time. I'd joke more and be more sarcastic without worrying my words would be taken the wrong way. I'd speak confidently and let down my walls completely. I'd be an open book for anyone who cares to read it... but no. Realistically I can't say any of that. I brush the disappointment off with a smile before answering, "She'd say if you really want to know, you can find her on the other side of my wall."

Azrael's expression softens as he is no doubt catching my hesitation. "Of course she would," he finally responds, "You say it like you expect people to give up before they even try. Like you're daring them to fail. I'm not walking away from the wall," he says simply, "even if you make it harder than it needs to be."

"Have you been blindsided a lot in your past?" I ask.

"Not often," he says after a moment of thought, "But the times I have were a bit on the significant side." His jaw tightens, and there's a flicker of something heavier behind his eyes, pain, maybe, or regret. "So yeah, I figure people out first.  But I'm guessing you get that. You wouldn't have asked if you didn't."

"Yeah. I suppose it's easier to admit stuff when I'm around someone admitting a ton of stuff," I grin, "Like, I'm starting to get this urge to balance the scales in a way."

He leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. "Balance," he echoes, "I like that. Give a little, get a little. Feels fair.  That means you'll have to keep opening up, to even out the balance, of course," he smirks.

I laugh. "Then again though, is there really a need for me to keep opening up when you're guessing everything right anyway?" I ask reluctantly.

Azrael breaks into smile. "I am always right, aren't I?" He taps his temple with a smug expression  at the fact I admitted it. "It's not about being right though. It's about seeing you. And I'm glad you're letting me."

"Have you ever been wildly wrong about someone before or are you superpower-level consistent?" I grin.

"Oh, I've been wrong," he admits, "Wildly, embarrassingly wrong. I used to think I was always right. Like I could walk into a room, decide someone's wall was nothing more than a thin veil, size them up in five seconds, and know everything about them. But then I met someone who was... well, let's just say their veil was woven into a tighter mask than I gave them credit for." His expression darkens for the briefest moment before he smooths it over with a grin. "Taught me a lesson, though. No matter how good you are at reading people, there's always someone who knows how to play the game better. But maybe that's you? Maybe that thin veil is just an illusion and you've been humoring me this whole time."

I sigh, "It's apparently a thin veil for you and you alone maybe. People don't typically see through me this well so soon.  What do you plan on doing with all the intel you get on me anyway?" I ask jokingly.

He gives a deep chuckle that sends chills down my arm paired with the mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans in again, resting his chin on his hand. "Oh, you know," he says in a playful whisper, "use it to take over your life, manipulate your every move, and eventually convince you I'm the only person who truly understands you."

My heart skips a beat.  There's a sharp disconnect between the lightness of his tone and what he's saying. I search his face for some hint of sincerity or warning, but all I see is that same charming smile, as if he hadn't just said something deeply unsettling.

It's a joke.  But the ease with which he says it, like he's testing how far he can push, leaves my stomach in knots.

"Kidding." He leans back again, arms crossed, but the playful spark remains. "I just like getting to know you."

My first instinct is to tell him how easy it is for me to kick someone out of my life, so there's no way he'd ever get so far as find the chance to take it over, or manipulate me, if that were his actual goal. He'd be out. Why should I give him a heads up on that though?  Give him my playbook so he knows what to expect and adjust accordingly? No. He can figure that out for himself, if need be. I'm not worried. Let him learn from me for once.

"Well," I clear my throat, deciding to respond to the one part I don't mind acknowledging, "The way things are going I wouldn't be surprised if you really do end up being one of the only people who understands me. If my walls aren't as heavily guarded as I expected then maybe they're not meant to be," I shrug.

"That's brave. I'd assume most people would fight to keep the walls up, even when they're crumbling," he says.

"What are you up to this coming week? Just work? Do you have any good friends you hang out with?" I ask, trying to lighten things.

"Work, yeah," he says, "You know, the usual. Long hours, lots of pretending I'm more put together than I actually am." He gives a self-deprecating chuckle but quickly follows it up with something more real. "But I'll survive. I always do."

Before answering my last question though, there's a a split-second pause before he answers. "I've got people. Friends, yeah. Though..." He shrugs, offering a small, almost sheepish grin. "I'm not exactly the 'hang out every weekend' type. I keep my circle selective.  What about you? Do you prefer letting yourself get lost in a big social circle or do you choose your people carefully?" he asks.

"Well, I just moved here the week before I met you actually, and with the commotion of all the new changes I haven't felt lonely enough to start putting in an effort to make more friends outside of work yet."

Azrael's eyebrows lift slightly at that. "We met at the perfect time then. Starting over somewhere new isn't easy," he pauses, then adds with a playful tilt of his head, "But I get it. Sometimes the commotion keeps the loneliness at bay. For a while, at least." He leans back, eyes still on me. "But if it ever does catch up to you, I'll always be around. Coffee. Drinks. Even those awkward 'getting to know you' things, though I think we're past that stage already."

A wave of excitement passes through me at his offer of taking things outside this cafe. Of course, as always, he manages to voice what's in my head first.

"Ooh, drinks," I smile, "Do you know of any good bars? Just my luck I'll go and find the sketchiest one in the city, despite hours of research."

"Lucky for you, I'm an excellent tour guide," he jokes, "There's a bar not too far from here. It's big, but not too loud, with decent drinks.  I could take you."

"I'm in," I laugh.

His grin widens at that with genuine triumph. "I honestly didn't think I had that many walls knocked down yet." He laughs, "Alright then. Tomorrow night? Unless you need more time to mentally prepare yourself for meeting outside our usual safe zone."

"Absolutely not, I'd never say no to a good mojito. Tomorrow's great."

He taps his fingers against the table, gleaming with the same playful spark, but there's an undercurrent of excitement he's not trying too hard to hide. "Alright, I'll text you the spot. Trust me, you'll love it. How's eight o'clock? Unless you plan on keeping me waiting."

"Maybe I should this time," I smirk, "but yeah, eight sounds good."

"Great, if you decide to show up fashionably late, I'll be the guy at the bar pretending not to check the door every five seconds." His expression softens before he adds, "Looking forward to it."

Everything... anticipation, excitement, and nerves are all tied up in the energy that's been building since day one. He stands, grabbing his cup, but glances back before leaving. "For the record, you're already making this the most interesting week I've had in a long time."

With that, he gives a final playful wink before heading for the door. At that, the hope of getting any work done here myself vanishes again. I pack my things and return my own cup before heading outside. Boy, my walls are going to be non-existent tomorrow. But honestly, I'm looking forward to it. I don't drink often, but when I do it's always the extra push I need, and the one I'm always excited to take when I meet new people and would rather sneak past my own guarded mind for once.

I shake my head to myself, and laugh under my breath. This could go really well... or be an absolute disaster.  But either way? It'll be a night I'll never forget, and it can't come fast enough.