"Er, hi," I said to the guy behind the door. He was wearing a hoodie, on which was printed, for some obscure reason: Crocodiles forever. "Is Kal in?"

He frowned at me. For one horrible moment, I wondered if Kal had been pulling my leg when he'd asked me over for lunch at his and given me some random address.

Again I checked the message he'd sent me the night before, anxiously. Number 10 White Lion Street, Islington. Maybe he had been laughing at me behind my back the whole time and –

"Yeah," the guy said, in lightly accented English, and yelled over his shoulder: "Kal! Your girlfriend's here, man."

I cringed. "I'm not his girlfriend," I said. "We're just, um, friends."

And even that was stretching the truth a little. We hardly knew each other, after all. We were – what was the term? Friendly acquaintances? We'd kept a lively banter over text for the last couple of weeks, but I wasn't sure what was the deal with us. What his deal was, or what he really wanted from me.

The guy scratched his beard. "Lovely. Whatever. Get inside, get inside."

I followed him into a poorly lit hallway and into a spacious living room. The guy with the crocodile hoodie hopped down on a chair and whipped out his phone, forgetting all about me. My heart was hammering with nerves. Then a door to my right opened, spilling out a pungent scent of spices and a flood of light.

"Thought that might be you, Rae," Kal said, and grinned.

At the sight of him, my stomach lurched with an absurd mingle of exhilaration and terror. I straightened my denim skirt and swished my long red plait behind a shoulder. I'd spent the best part of the morning prettying myself up, and hoped I'd managed the 'cute but casual' look. I definitely didn't want to look as though I was trying too hard.

"Welcome to our humble abode. Are you hungry?" Kal asked.

"Starving," I said, and followed him into the kitchen.

A riot of smell and noise engulfed me. It was cramped and chaotic: jars were scattered all over the island, pans and pots sizzled, and loud music blared out from the radio on the windowsill.

"Have you been cooking?" I asked, surprised.

I didn't have him pegged down as the cooking type. I'd imagined him to be the typical lazy bloke who lived on microwaved lasagne from the supermarket.

Kal wiped his hands on his Donald Duck apron. It looked comically incongruous over his smart black shirt.

"Course. I'm quite the chef," he said. "I do a mean curry, actually. Do you like curry?"

"Loads," I said. 

"Thank god. Otherwise you'd have gone home hungry, Rae. Just kidding. I had everything under control; plan B mapped out, C, D, all of them," said Kal, bent over an onion. The knife in his hands gleamed. "I'm afraid we'll have to wait for ten minutes or so before it's ready, though. Want anything to drink meanwhile? Coffee, beer? Juice?"

"Juice sounds great, thanks," I said. "I'm a healthy gal. Well. Sort of. Hey, love the apron, by the way."

Kal clutched at the rim that fell to his thighs and did a silly little twirl, sending himself up.

"I know, right? Donald Duck's just the greatest. I even have a soft toy of him."

I burst out laughing. Who would've thought that this guy would be so quirky? 

"You're serious?"

He grinned back at me. 

"Never been more serious. He was a present from my aunt for my seventh birthday, and I treasure him still. I keep him at the foot of my bed."

His manner was so disarming that it was impossible not to tease him: "Do you cuddle him when you're scared?"

Kal's grin widened. "Duh. Who do you take me for? Course I do."

He handed me a glass of fresh orange juice from the fridge, and afterwards poured a waterfall of coffee into a huge blue cup, from which he drained half in a single sip.

"Someone's thirsty," I said, chuckling.

He held the kitchen door open for me, and sauntered out into the living room behind me.

"Not thirsty," Kal said, voice muffled by the cup. "Just extremely unhealthily addicted to coffee."

At the sound of our voices, Crocodile Hoodie looked up from his phone. He was sprawled on the sofa, feet propped up on a low coffee table with bore marks of mug rings and cigarette burns.

He looked at Kal over his shoulder, smirking. "Among other things."

Kal rolled his eyes. I hovered awkwardly between the two guys, sipping at my juice for lack of anything better to do. I wondered if the Crocodile Hoodie was joining us for lunch – the thought triggered both an odd sort of relief and a deep disappointment.

Come on, Rae, say something, dumb-arse. I mustered social energy and cleared my throat.

"So," I said, intent on causing a good impression on them both. "You two share this flat together?"

"Yeah, with another couple of guys," Kal said, "who thankfully aren't going to be around for the whole afternoon either, eh, Luca?"

"Point taken," the flatmate said, laughing, and his teeth looked almost fluorescent in the mid of his bushy dark beard. "Kal here, Rae – it's Rae, isn't it? – is an ungrateful jerk. I teach him my risotto ai funghi recipe and d'you think he invites me over to lunch when a pretty girl turns up on our doorstep? Not he."

Kal whacked him with the empty mug of coffee.

"Yeah, yeah. Now clear off before you scare Rae away."

"Too late for that," I said, and he laughed.

"Cheers," the flatmate said, and slammed the front door closed behind him.

I sat down with a flop on the sofa. Kal followed suit, stretching all the way out, shoulders back. He was so close to me I could feel the outline of his arms grazing me, and the warmth of his body. It made my skin tingle. There was something of the carnivore in his movements, something elegant.

Something dangerous.

I was suddenly very conscious that we were very alone in the flat. Were we going to – ? Did I even want to? I did, of course I did. But I didn't want him to forget all about me the following morning either. I didn't want to be seen as an easy catch, particularly not to him, of all people. I wanted our relationship – whatever the hell it was, whatever it would blossom into – to be fuller than that. Longer, more meaningful. I wanted to get to know Kal, all the layers and doors of him.

"So," Kal said. "What have you been up to? Tell me about that firefighter course of yours."

"There's not really much to tell," I said, feeling suddenly shy. "I got it into my head that I wanted to work as a firefighter a couple of years ago, even if my parents are being a bit of a bother and don't approve. But I'm loving it, the whole training process and everything."

"Why didn't they want you to be a firefighter, then? Your parents?"

I fidgeted. What the heck could I tell him?

"They're sort of. Prejudiced? It's complicated. It's a family thing, you see," I said. "My mum is a lawyer and my dad is a parking officer. They don't quite get me. I'm the odd one out."

Both of them were nothing short of devoted to their jobs – my father absolutely loved fining people, even when he was in the wrong and their cars were properly parked and no infraction had been broken – especially then – and my mother was notorious for being an excellent, if merciless, lawyer.

Something flickered in Kal's blue eyes.

"I know the feeling. I know it too well. My parents ran this huge charity and would've wanted me, I'm sure, to follow in their footsteps," he said. "But I never did. I'm an engineer. And a musician. I knew it wasn't my sort of thing, running a charity. I would've never been happy. So yeah. I get you. I get the feeling of not fitting in."

I digested this, more taken aback than I was letting on, and asked: "And your parents? They're okay with your choices now?"

I saw the walls of his face come up as readily as they'd slipped down a moment before.

"They're dead," Kal said, in flat tones.

I felt my jaw slacken in shock. I mentally kicked myself for asking.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I ..."

I trailed off, unsure if to ask further or not. Then I sneaked a look at his face and decided not to.

"So," I said, in airy tones that didn't fool anyone. "You said you were an engineer, just now?"

He turned to face me again with an edge of a smile, and I was relieved that the awkwardness had dispersed.

"Yep. Just graduated last summer. Studied at Bristol, now working at an electrical company, which bores my arse off. Why do you sound so surprised, Rae?"

I giggled. "Are you kidding me? You're the least engineer-y person I know. Like, I wouldn't have imagined it in a million years."

"Oi," he said, jabbing at me with an elbow. "Why does that somehow feel like an insult?"

I laughed harder, almost upsetting my glass of juice. I leaned over and set it down on the coffee table.

"It's not! I swear it's not. It's just plain fact."

"And that's plain insolence, my girl," Kal retorted, severely.

He whipped out a hand and tickled me over my ribs. I let out a piercing squeal and flailed out at him with my hands.

Kal's grin widened. I felt his fingers running over the sides of my stomach, scrambling up my neck, down my arms, and somehow, beneath the terrible itchiness, the feel of his touch sent a spike of pleasure through me.

I knew, then, smiling inwardly, what was going to happen next.

Sometimes there's no turning back.

"Stop it," I shrieked, squirming. "Stop it, you bastard."

"Sorry, Rae, I'm having too much fun to take pity on you right now."

He grabbed hold of my wrist, while I kicked out at him, giggling. I lost my balance then, and toppled over the side of the sofa, onto the carpeted floor.

"Shit," I moaned, rubbing my arm. 

A second later, Kal rolled himself down onto the carpet too. He landed on top of me, catching his body weight with his hands. I went very still. His face was directly above mine -- I could see every mark on his features. I could have counted the number of lashes surrounding his eyes. My heart was banging.

"You see," Kal said in a whisper. He smelled of aftershave. "That's what happens when you insult me."

I stared up at him.

"Well, serves you right," I teased back, breathless. His whole body was pinning me down. "So big-headed it's a wonder you can walk through the door."

He dipped his head forward so that his hair was brushing my forehead. His cheek skimmed mine. I felt the vibration of his voice next to me, and a strong wave of heat rose inside me.

"Apologise," he said.

I wiggled underneath him. It felt so delicious, this moment.

"No."

A low rumble next to my cheek.

"What did you say?"

"I said no," I said, emboldened. "I won't."

Kal readjusted his weight and raised his head. 

"Do you know," he murmured, "what I do to insolent girls who won't apologise?"

I looked up at him, in the thrumming silence. My chest was heaving. I saw his eyes flicker to my mouth, down to my neck. He was close – so close to me – was he going to – when was he going to – I couldn't wait much longer – I was going to explode –

And then, just as he was lowering his face so that it was inches apart from mine and our noses brushed –

Just then –

Kal recoiled back from me with a hissed curse. He stared at me, wild-eyed. Trembling.

"Demon," he whispered.

It was at that moment, air crackling, shadows twitching around us, that the word that had been sitting at the back of my mind all along broke with a shudder through my consciousness.

He was an angel, for the loveless love of Hell. An angel. How could I have been so blind?

Angel angel angel angel.

I knew, then, what was going to happen next.

Sometimes there's no turning back.

Kal Mellketh, singer, stranger, angel, and I weren't friends, nor lovers. We weren't even acquaintances.

We were enemies.

*

Then Kal lunged forward again and closed his hands around my neck.