"Now, there should be a shady bar around here somewhere," Annabelle thought to herself aloud as she turned down every alley she came across.

She knew in what kind of place she would find him. Being away from his typical lifestyle and being tossed into a completely unique environment, she was sure he would seek out some sort of normality. She turned the next corner and finally found what she was looking for.

The sign was dimly lit by the flickering light above: “The ShadowSpell Tavern.” There were no windows and yet the stale smell of cigarettes and alcohol leaked from the building. She approached the door with confidence, she knew he would be there.

The smell was stronger as she opened the door, hitting her in the face as she entered. Stools lined the bar, eyes slowly turned on her as she walked in and scanned the establishment. It was hard to see from the haze that filled the air but seated near the far corner she noticed a familiar dark mop of hair.

Annabelle had to keep herself from running towards him. He would have no idea who she was, or why a celestial being would seek him out in the first place. She steadied herself, a blend of emotions flickering across her luminous countenance, she had to approach this situation carefully.

Walking up to the barkeep, Annabelle ordered herself a drink, her actions conveying a sense of casual confidence. She then made her way over to Savill, each step calculated and measured.

“Mind if I have a seat?” she asked as she placed the glass down next to what seemed to be a small stack of notes and study material.

Savill unburied himself from the crook in his arm, his eye locking onto hers. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say that I have just laid my eye on an angel,” he gestured to the stool next to him. “For you, my dear are the most beautiful thing that has graced my sight since I looked in the mirror this morning.”

His remark, laden with charm, caused a subtle blush to tint Annabelle's light features. She gracefully took the offered seat, her movements fluid and poised.

"And if I was?" Annabelle sat down next to him and took a sip of her drink. "An angel that is. What would you say then?"

"I'd wonder why heaven is a rundown bar in a shady alley," Savill finished his glass and turned to face her. "Then I'd wonder why they would even let me in heaven in the first place."

Annabelle's response was both playful and enchanting. "Here, allow me," she ran her finger around the rim of his glass, causing it to fill magically. The fluid movement of her hand, accompanied by the gentle glow, added a touch of magic to the mundane surroundings. "There you are. I think you'll like this better than what they have to offer here."

Savill watched in awe as his glass refilled itself. His eye, filled with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. He picked up his drink and held it up to his nose. "Is this 'elite by Stolichnaya'?" he raised his eyebrow and took a sip. "It is. You really must be an angel. So, tell me, are you here for the coexist program as well?"

"Among other things," she answered coyly.

"So, what is a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this? Can't be for the atmosphere," he turned and studied the crowd for a moment before taking another sip from his glass. "Or are you here to drown out your sorrows as well? Of course, I cannot imagine what kind of sorrows an angel would have to suffer. Flunk an exam?"

"Actually, I was looking for someone," she leaned her arm against the bar and swirled her drink before taking another sip herself.

"Is that so?" Savill raised an eyebrow. "Did you find who you were looking for?"

"I did actually," Annabelle finished the rest of her glass and started to get up from her seat. "It was nice meeting you. Enjoy the rest of your evening." She smiled and began to take her leave when she felt a hand reach out and touch her arm.

"Leaving so soon? At least let me know your name. Or should I just call you angel?" Savill slowly rose from his seat.

"Annabelle," she smiled gently at him and turned towards the door. "See you around Savill," she waved her hand above her head and continued walking away from him.

"How did you know my name? Are angels psychic as well?" Savill took a few steps towards her reaching out one more time.

Annabelle's heart stopped for a moment, "it was on those papers you had spread out in front of you."

Savill looked back at his seat, "so it is. I suppose I will see you at Ethereal University then?" He turned to face her once again, but Annabelle was already gone.

On the floor, he found a single rose. He picked it up so delicately and twirled it slow. Returning to his seat, Savill smiled softly to himself and spoke her name once more, the echo of her visit lingering in the air.

                                                                                      …

As he sat there, lost in thought, he absentmindedly ran his fingers along the rim of the glass, tracing invisible patterns. The ambient chatter of the bar seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the gentle hum of his contemplation.

The single rose rested on the table, and Savill found himself staring at it with a mixture of fascination and wonder. He marveled at how a simple flower could carry such mystery and intrigue, much like the celestial who had left it behind.

The corners of Savill's lips curled into a thoughtful smile as he pondered the possibilities that lay ahead. His eyes, a mix of curiosity and anticipation, scanned the room, half-expecting Annabelle to reappear at any moment. The atmosphere around him seemed charged with a subtle energy, as if the universe itself was orchestrating a tale that had just begun.

With a deep breath, Savill lifted his glass, toasting to the unknown, to the mysteries that awaited him in the Coexist Program, and to the enigmatic celestial named Annabelle. The liquid inside shimmered in the dim light, mirroring the intrigue that played in his eyes.

As the night unfolded, Savill's engagements became more animated, his laughter mingling with the ambient sounds of the bar. He engaged in conversations with fellow patrons, sharing stories and exchanging smiles. Yet, amidst the lively atmosphere, his thoughts occasionally drifted back to the encounter that had added a touch of magic to his evening.

The rose, now cradled in his hand, became a silent companion. Savill absentmindedly twirled it, lost in the silent poetry of the moment. His fingers traced the delicate contours of the petals, each movement a dance of curiosity and contemplation.