Sweet Dreams, Sweet Prince

Chapter 1:

Majoring in anything philosophical is usually seen as killing a career before it can even begin. Majoring in anything with a religious focus sends you down a narrow and poorly paved path to changing majors to archaeology or linguistics. Creating a cocktail of the two is a bitter and confusion-inducing field of study reserved for the more masochistic crowd. Curious parties often find themselves in crises of faith and become fodder for online forums of Christian mothers claiming the evil of universities. 

Foolish scholars, the lot of them.

Those who decide to study one of the two aforementioned fields, and dedicate their lives to it, usually find themselves with two options when faced with the current job market. Firstly being a life of scraping by in some job at a corporation where their knowledge will cause questions of if their jobs and, by extension, their lives have any purpose. The second is going all in, attaining a PhD, and then become a professor that will watch the vicious cycle of their own mistakes repeat with a group of new faces every semester. 

The second option is where one Doctor Azariah Fell found himself, in his office with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dust rag in hand. His usual coat was hanging by the door, bowtie draped over the hook as well, the first couple of buttons of his shirt undone. Blue eyes gazed over his small office of bookshelves of various sizes and one large mahogany desk, that took up most of the space, while a few chairs and boxes filled in the rest. One lone Epipremnum aureum plant draped over a bookshelf. He scratched his head, short, blond wisps of hair waving back and forth. 

“Where to begin,” he gave a wondering sigh, but not even an echo came to answer.

Each book in the small office was a prized piece of literature. Some were more modern analyses of recent global issues that were rooted deep in religious history. Most were original theories and investigations into social repercussions of the creations and deaths of various religions. The few more dedicated students that made it into Dr. Fell’s office hours were graced by the presence of great religious scholars through texts dating back to 440 BCE. Most were wise enough to know better than to touch the books. Others were promptly asked to leave. On top of the bookshelves and the desk, pictures of Azariah’s expeditions from Ajanta Caves to L'Abbaye-aux-Hommes were the only evidence that could convince his students that he did leave the small college town. 

While he found the rumors of his life outside of the classroom rather immature, he could understand where they came from. Azariah took great pride in each of his books and had created a rather clever system to read each one in a cycle. He didn’t want any to feel left out, after all. Which is also why he took the time, even if it kept him late into the early mornings, to personally clean his office. Especially at the end of each school year.

While the university did have janitorial staff, he found himself in a rather enjoyable tradition of cleaning and reorganizing his office before the beginning of the summer vacation. He found it therapeutic, taking each title into his hands and removing what little dust sat on the top and cover. It wasn’t essentially uncommon for him to become lost in them, losing hours on end, and having to extend the cleaning into the nights and days following. His record for the quickest cleaning was 5 days, according to his co-workers. During his fifth year of this tradition, Gabriel came on the third day and gave him a copy of the keys to the department building with annoyed and sleep-deprived scrutiny. 

He didn’t mean to keep the man, he really didn’t. It also wasn’t his fault that the building that kept their offices was one of the oldest on the campus, having no automated doors like the STEM buildings or keycard access like the Language Departments. It was a small, outmoded building with only four offices, creaking doors, and few windows. But it was like a second home to Azariah, even if his co-workers made their disdain for the building known regularly. His office offered him a reprieve from his obligations to the administration and students alike. The building was so well hidden, tucked behind a new, taller building that had been in the process of being erected for the past few years. In fact, if it was not for Gabriel’s popularity with students, Azariah was certain that the students would never know the building even existed. It would be much easier that way, he assured himself as he took down his personal copy of Frank M. Cross’s Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic.

Dr. Fell had tried the book as a required text for his first semester of teaching, but it was proven out of the range of most students—if the mid-term tests were anything to go by. It led to a rather demeaning conversation with Gabriel about their “commitment to the students’ education and making knowledge more palatable”. Azariah quickly took on a commitment to figuring out ways out of commitments. He had fulfilled his last commitment of the year to the university by attending the all too hot graduation ceremony, feeling as if hell itself was rising up around them that year. It was quite unfair that the fall graduation, being an annoyingly diminished number comparatively, used the campus’ gymnasium for their ceremony every year. He was never asked to attend that ceremony. Or rather, he had politely denied the request three times in his early years and the administration finally got around to understanding subtlety.

Azariah’s personal copies of History of Religions from The University of Chicago Press were next, all 39 volumes. He took great pride in his collection of books and had gone to great lengths to acquire a few of them. However, the volumes of this particular journal pre-dating 1980 were quite elusive. He could access quite a few articles online from various universities’ databases, and probably could find some copies in libraries, but…

“Who would settle for just sampling such material?” Azariah picked up the newest volume, sitting down to take a quick break.

A loud knock at the door saw to it that the break was exactly 3 minutes and 33 seconds long. Quick indeed. 

“I’ve already sent in grades to administration. If you are looking to persuade me to change yours, go home,” Azariah called out, not bothering to look up from his book. 

“Azariah, it’s Gabriel,” a familiar and muffled voice responded.

“Oh, come in then!” Azariah called out again, marking his page as the Department Head entered his office.

Long legs, wide shoulders, strong jaw, violet eyes, and a few dignified silver hairs made up one Doctor Gabriel Leone. He had been the Religious Studies Department Head Teacher before Azariah had even begun working at the university. The students flocked to Gabriel’s classes as if the man was Jesus himself, but Azariah knew better if the way he spoke of his students (and colleagues) after a few beers was anything to go by. Gabriel looked around the room before lowering his eyes to the book in his colleague's hands. “Annual cleaning, I take it?”

“Yes, well,” Azariah promptly stood, clearing his throat as he set the book aside, “Did you know there is an interesting piece on animal sacrifices in Judaism, Christianity, and-”

“Yes, very interesting,” He turned around, eyes scanning over the walls and floor, “Azariah, when was the last time you checked your emails?”

“Last week, I believe. Is something wrong?”

“Well, yes,” Gabriel retrieves his smartphone from one of his slacks’ pockets, unlocking it and holding it up, “I think it’s been longer than a week, Azariah. I sent this notice out two weeks ago.”

Azariah takes a step back as he adjusts his glasses to focus on the words on the screen.

Religious Studies Department Faculty:

I hope your students have finished their final exams, essays, or projects. It has been a long year, but we are at the final stretch. And as the school year comes to an end, changes are taking place. We have long loved our little corner of the campus, with all its faulty wiring, lack of air conditioning, potential asbestos, and absolute lack of access to the wifi. That being said, I have the honor to announce that our patience has paid off! Our department will be moving locations into the new Liberal Arts building on the North side of campus. The current building will be demolished over the summer vacation to make way for a new lecture hall. Please see me about your new office room number and prepare your belongings to move. We will officially cease operations in our current location a week after graduation.

Congratulations to us! Doctor Gabriel Leone

Azariah looked up from the phone, swallowing at Gabriel’s smile. One week. One week from graduation would be the next day, giving Azariah–

“You have until 7 PM tomorrow to pack everything up and move it to your new office. You have 26 hours to do so,” Gabriel pocketed his phone and headed towards the door. “Oh! Your office is 302 and the door is a code lock. The code is your ID number, so no more keys!”

Azariah was thankful for the click of the door’s bolt, bringing a quiet pause to his thoughts. He stood, taking in his office once more, and felt his heart begin to race. 26 hours. Why had no one told him? Did everyone else already move out? How was he going to move everything over? Would there be enough room for everything? What about his desk and bookshelves? What was wrong with their current building? Why hadn’t they noticed he wasn’t-

“Oh, you are not a first-year student! Get it together, Azariah,” he smacked his cheeks, leaving pink traces across them. “I suppose I should see the new office before I begin hauling boxes.”

The new Liberal Arts Building was in the North quad while the old Religious Studies building was in the East quad. In theory, they were close. In practice, with buildings being locked up for the summer, it took Azariah nearly 20 minutes just to reach the front doors. Sweat dripped down his forehead, but a few books and his lone plant in his arms kept him from reaching his handkerchief. Soon enough, the building (all white, box-like, and uncharacteristically new) loomed over him, offering a reprise from the sun. He jumped a couple of centimeters when the doors opened, a gust of cool air rushing out to counter the roasting heat waves. 

‘Well, that is a nice change, I suppose,’ Azariah thought as he elbowed the elevator button. 

The first thing Azariah noticed was that corridors were immaculate and very white, save for the light wood floors. His steps echoed down the hall as he passed various study areas for students, coming to rooms 310 and 311 before realizing how far down his room was. Curiosity came over him as he paused, looking right and left to read the names on each door. 

310 Doctor G. Leone Religious Studies Department Head 

311 Doctor B. Bubb Philosophy Studies Department Head

“Philosophy? Well, it’ll be nice to have new neighbors,” Azariah muttered before continuing his trek, arms beginning to feel sore. 

Passing the offices of Micheal, Uri, and a couple of other familiar faculty (along with many unfamiliar ones of the left of the hallway that Azariah couldn’t put enough energy into remembering names), Azariah let out a sigh of relief. As he was only a few steps from room 303, muffled music drifts through the air. The source was coming from the room across from Azariah’s office, room 302. Azariah stared at the door, attempting to make out the music for a brief moment before scoffing.

‘Bebop,’ Azariah rolled his eyes as he set down his plant to punch in his faculty ID number into the keypad above the handle. The door opened easily, almost weightless, to a space that was… well, for lack of a better term, bland. It was large– almost twice the size of Azariah’s current office. But it was so clean, bright, and empty. The only color came from a large tree that could be seen from the large bay window, pushing out from the wall to create a nice nook to sit. The floor was the same as the hallways and Azariah was eager to move his rug that he received from a nice man (that he may or may not have had relations with one summer) from Casablanca into the new space. 

Setting the books down on the nook, Azariah gazed out the window to find a small courtyard below. A couple of benches faced each other along a diagonal path that connected to the outlined paths of the square. It looked as though plants were in the process of being integrated into the space, but only dirt so far. Which made the large tree quite out of place, taking up a large portion of the courtyard. 

“Speaking of plants…” Azariah pushed away from the window, heading back towards the door to retrieve his Epipremnum aureum.

He opened the door, only for a sound ‘What the fuck’ to follow a rather loud thump. Azariah quickly pushed the door open wider looking for the source, only for another thump to come from behind said door.

“For fuck’s sake! Close the door!”

Head whipping around the door, Azariah looked down at his plant, the only living thing he could trust himself taking care of. However, it was no longer on the floor, but rather in the lap of someone with their ass on the ground, hunched over, hands pressed into his face, and with very little sense of grace. Shoulder length red hair was the first thing to catch Azariah’s attention, shortly followed by the now clear and loud sound of an electric guitar coming from across the hall. 

“Oh! I’m very sorry about that!” Azariah stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He bent down, trying to get a better look at the redhead. “Excuse me, but what are you doing with my plant?”

A pair of black sunglasses, round in shape, were perched on the man’s pointed nose. Said nose was quite red along with his right cheek that a hand was still pressed to. He tried to snarl but winced with a slight groan as his other hand came up to rub his nose with his thumb and forefinger. The stranger was a mess of sharp edges that were accentuated by tightly fitting black clothing.

“Well, if you hadn’t left the thing out here in the cold air like an imbecile-”

For a split moment, confusion of several factors in this situation collided within Azariah’s head. One was the plant. Two was the stranger. Three was the poorly chosen music. But of all things to focus on, his mind decided:

“Aren’t you worried about heatstroke in all that black clothing?”

Azariah quickly regretted opening his mouth, his cheeks heating up as silence overcame the two parties, both staring at each other for more than a few seconds beyond what would be socially appropriate. Azariah looked away in shame before laughter erupted from the stranger. Maybe ‘laughter’ is too generous to describe the cackle that overtook the music. The man seemingly calmed down enough as Azariah’s embarrassed face slowly morphed into one of disdain, blue eyes narrowed at the man’s feet. 

“Hey, don’t be glaring at me like that. You’re the one that abandoned this guy out here!”

“Well, you don’t have to laugh. It’s a serious concern! And I didn’t abandon it, I just set it down as I saw to my new office.”

The stranger looked up at the closed door then back at Azariah before snickering. He stood up, plant in one hand while the other dusted off his jeans. Azariah followed suit, with eyes on his plant and a piece of his mind that wanted to yank the pot out of the man’s hands. But before that piece could convince all the other parts, the plant was held out before him, the pot balancing in the man’s palm. Taking the plant, Azariah looked up at the man, mouth open but tongue still.

“Name’s Anthony Crowley, but everyone just calls me Crowley, from the Philosophy Department. And,” Crowley held his thumb towards the open office door, music quieting down towards the end, “This is my office.”

A feeling of relief came over Azariah, knowing now just who this stranger was that he had hit with his door. And then a wave of panic set in as he realized he had hit his neighbor in the face, with his door. 

“Oh Lord, I am so very sorry!” He paused in a slight panic, stepping forward to try and look at the damage he had caused. The panic increased as he pulled Crowley’s hand away from his nose, apparently opening the gates for blood to dribble out. “You’re bleeding! I should have looked earlier to see if there is any damage…” He looked around, spotting a restroom sign right down the hall. 

Now, Crowley, for all intents and purposes, was not one to be simply dragged along in things. He was such a petty enough of a being that he went out of his way to do quite the opposite, much to the constant annoyance of his colleagues. But, whether it was due to the curiosity of his new neighbor or the smack to the face had caused a delay in his brain, he found himself being dragged down the hall quite willingly. He also willingly let the man wipe his face with a wet paper towel before watching him look around for a first aid kit, plant still in hand, as he instructed Crowley to hold the towel to his nose. Curiosity indeed.

He finally found his voice after a few minutes of just watching. “Hey, it’s alright. It’s not broken or anything, and I have ice in my office.”

Azariah finally stopped moving. “You do?”

“Yeah, I have a mini-fridge in my office. It has a freezer.”

Taking a step forward, Azariah moved the towel away from his face. “Can you remove your glasses? I would like to just make sure it’s not anything serious.”

Crowley took a step back, bringing the towel back up to his nose. “Nah, it’s fine,” He poked and pinched his nose like some sort of proof. “Come on, I have some coffee on in my office.”

“But-”

“It’s fine, uh…” Crowley stared at the man. ‘Shit. I forgot to ask for his name!”

Azariah returned the look for a moment before gasping. “I’m so very sorry for not introducing myself! I am Doctor Azariah Fell.”

“Azariah?”

“Azariah.”

“Bit… religious. Isn’t it?”

“One of the many reasons for my field of study.”

Seeing no reason to argue such a simple question, Crowley nodded. “Well then, shall we?”

Azariah’s smile seemed to shine as he followed Crowley back to his office. He could spare a minute or two before worrying about moving his belongings. 

Bonus: