as he thinks of her in the midst of boys and girls, talking mindlessly in the diner. The blades of the fan run with a blurring sound; the air is getting warmer and the same sound of plates clattering, disoriented mumblings, laughters and a bell ringing replays in his ears. It is almost like deja vu, except she's not here. He cannot deny, she's constantly playing on his mind intoxicatingly, dancing delicately on his consciousness and he doesn't know how to make it stop.

He doesn't want it to.

"Ethan!" a cheerful giggle pulls him out of his reverie of her. "What are you thinking about? You didn't hear me calling you."

At little dazed, he turns to look at the girl. She looks at him expectantly, doe eyed and grinning. Her voice is high-pitched, it is shrill unlike Lavinia's euphonious and reserved one. His lips curve into a smile, his angel always has been soft-spoken.

"An angel," he says, a reminiscing grin on his own lips.

He remembers the first time he saw her, she was sitting by herself at lunch, lost in thought as she stared at the peach tree outside. He was thoroughly convinced that she carried with her a celestial array of the heavenly bodies, each twinkling with a knowing grace, a perceptible sorrow. There was evident sadness in her honeyed eyes—the same sadness that was apparent the day she was with him at this same diner.

It was as if she came down straight from heaven to pick up a damned soul, only to find out he was already the sun and her sadness was the result of her scorched wings.

Who is he?

 The girl—Daisy—laughs, she doesn't believe him. "An angel?"

He notices that Daisy's eyes are blue, an inquisitive shade of sharp blue that contrasts starkly against her dark red lips,—Lavinia's lips were naturally red like cherries—he catches a glimpse of her perfectly manicured nails as she tucks a strand of her brown hair behind her ears. He remembers how Lavinia blew on her lilac nails to let the polish dry.

Lavinia, sweet Lavinia.

The distant mumblings and the adrift chattering gets louder but in the distance, he hears the rumbling of a car engine.

"Yes," he says, ignoring her deliberate proximity. "An angel, in ways more than one."

Some boys and girls around the table are listening to them now—Norman Miller with Eva Collins around his arms, Elijah Newman grins like a Cheshire cat; all too knowing, and Noah Erickson pretends to play his game as he silently listens. The ringing of a bell plays in their mind, the hearty laughter from old John—a regular who comes by eight every night, is heard.

Won't you tell me, Lavinia?

"I think I'm more interesting than an angel you keep thinking about," Holly remarks and the boys go still, even Celian Whitlock turns, they all know about his angel. "Would you like to find out?"

Teasing howls erupt from the boys, they are all impressed. It continues, and the noisy diner becomes lively but at the same time, the rumble of a car comes to a stop outside.

Ethan shakes his head however he's smiling now. Holly laughs beside him, the promise of a good time lingering in the summer air. The bell dings as it always did when people enter, although this time it sounds like a alarming warning.

Who is he?

Ethan's questions are finally answered when Celian Whitlock looks outside the window and asks, "Isn't that Lavinia?"

Suddenly, the noise dies out. The mumblings and clatter ceases and the door closes. He suddenly freezes and he feels as if his stomach is tied in a knot. Lavinia. He clenches his hands into a tight fist when he sees the man besides her. Ethan watches how she wraps her hands around his as he smiles down at her. She turns her back to the diner and they continue to stay in each other's arms under the bright neon lights.

He realises something—she looks happy.

Ethan cannot seem to take his eyes of them, even if his heart aches and his throat feels dry. They seem to be in their own world, one that was denied to him. He watches as Elias lights a cigarette and some kind of realisation hits him but it is too late, his lips are already on hers.

He looks away quickly, his heart aflame and his eyes burning. He tries to deny it—it's not her, it's not her, it's not her—but it makes sense, it's her and him, the person she cried for earlier.

He cannot ignore the wretched feeling building up in his gut; it is ugly, it is unlike him.

Jealousy.

Ethan Walker watches as she gets into his car. Envy laces his being, it has him in a chokehold. Bitter feelings settle deep in his mind. He watches as Elias whispers something in her ear and she nods her head, an angelic smile etching on her sweet lips. He gives her another kiss and helps her get into the car before he finishes his cigarette and gets in too.

"It's him," Norman Miller says abruptly as he stands up in disbelief. They all look at him curiously, puzzled by his sudden action. They can hear the car driving away but they watch an enraged Norman instead cautiously. "What is she doing with him?"

"What's going on?" Ethan asks, the most concerned.

"She shouldn't be with that fucker," angry tears threaten to spill from his eyes. The boys look at each other in caution.

"What's wrong? Do you know him?"

"Elias Montgomery," the name leaves his tongue like a curse, an obscenity. Norman Miller has not forgetten him, afterall he is a catastrophe, a cataclysmic gathering of tragedies that has brought nothing but solidarity days of mourning.

The words that come next are laced with deep resentment and grieve. It is a reminder that all good things come to an end quickly.

"He is a murderer."

a/n: hmmm thoughts?

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THANK YOU FOR READING! <33