Master of None

The ArchAngels

Peter vaguely understood that his wings weren’t like the ArchAngels’, like Michael’s or Uriel’s. He had sometimes accidentally glimpsed their beautiful extremities in the joint bathroom. He’d watch Raquel fumble with her bra strap or Gabriel scratch a loose feather in the morning. Their light brilliance echoed unimaginable power. Then a flash of fabric, and a hoodie or leather moto jacket would securely obscure their appendages for the next seventeen hours. Peter hadn’t fully considered the impact of rooming with four ArchAngels. They had matriculated already oriented towards some set angelic métier. The House didn’t provide specialty tutors for the good entrusted in Peter.

He’d once asked Noah to describe what his wings looked like. Noah was taken aback and slightly grossed out. “They’re these butterfly-moth-monarch things. It’s fine; they’re sexy.” That hadn’t been Peter’s concern.

Let Him Hold His Finger Thus

If it hadn’t been so sudden; if he hadn’t had a creeping hangover that demanded drenching at 4 a.m.; if he hadn’t had crushes on them both separately; if the moon hadn’t shone that night; if Samson’s hair had been shorter; if Delilah’s lips had resembled cherries less—

But Peter had promised to be their rock, so he became their wall. He’d stumbled onto something young and vulnerable. Yes, Samson and Delilah might destroy one another, but if the ArchAngels found the two out, they certainly would. Peter was their rock, so he would protect and conceal. That was the good Peter did: He kept secrets.

Peter surveyed Samson and Delilah frozen under the low lavatory light, flipped them off, and returned to bed.

House Master’s Dinner

“I’m allergic to fruit, and the cheese is covered in it!” Raquel slid down the dining table ahead of Peter. The blockmates had converged on the residence like Revelations. Wasn’t the point of this to meet other people in the House? Why were they only talking amongst their seven? Why were they leaving to eat alone?

What about power creates binaries? Peter always found himself on the edge: a legacy with uncharacteristically high melanin, the angels’ gatekeeper with little influence, within and without. Raquel led them all past their inquisitive House Masters into the courtyard. It wasn’t the historical implications of the title that bothered Peter; it was its inflexibility, its inaccuracy.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he enjoyed knowing that within the ArchAngels’ dominion stood a hidden triad bearing Fruit of Knowledge. What use is mastery without secrets? Peter sat between Samson and Delilah silently eating the fruit and felt like a god.

Neverland

Noah’s fingers traced the path Peter had made from the Home Under the Ground to Wendy’s House, around to the Jolly Roger and doubling back to Mermaid Lagoon. Peter had drawn it—another Peter’s domain—in a fit of impulsive boredom. Noah’s wonder over the graphite strokes, knees precariously balanced on Peter’s desk, imbued the mural with childish significance.

He was drunk. Peter wished he were too, but he’d only had one cider. Noah splashed onto Peter’s bed and looked at him. He had impressively blue eyes.

“It’s raining.”

“It is—”

“—and it’s chilly.” His thighs drifted apart. “Keep me warm?”

Afterward, Peter traced the freckles on Noah’s back, a Gaelic puzzle in autumn moonlight, a map with no specified destination. Peter leaned into his sleeping navigator’s ear, registering his familiar woody shampoo. “Where’s it go?” Noah only snored softly.

Straight Outta

Peter wondered if his suburban, Minnesota-via-California blackness could ever be that vogue. Anyway, it was a great movie. He still felt weird about the Facebook filter.

O.J. from Concentration

“You’ve got almost all preliminary requirements knocked out for psych.”

“Okay.”

“Is that what you’re thinking?” He was thinking of the grape bruise under his collar. Noah hadn’t texted back. Eight hours isn’t that long.

“SLS 20 was interesting.”

“Great! I’ll just lift the hold. You’re my last; you can take the leftover bagels—and orange juice!”

“Think they’ve caught onto us?” Samson sank into the beanbag, sipping his screwdriver.

Peter laughed. “I feel like we’d know if they were ready to pounce.”

“Well, we are.”

Delilah spun into the common room and kissed Samson without a thought. Peter shivered. Knowledge wasn’t sufficient; love was too blinding and vibrant. What use are secrets without darkness?

Dhall Date

“Listen, Peter… this was supposed to be the ‘me’ semester, but you’re here too and… this week was amazing, but for both our sanities, I don’t think—”

But Then

Noah: Still up? I’m watching Master of None feat Smartfood :)

Peter: Are we actually gonna finish an episode for the first time?

Noah: lol

Morning

“Sorry! I spaced out. What?” Peter was wearing Noah’s Harvard Model Congress hoodie with an SF Pride bracelet.