Run away but we’re running in circles

[Angel Miguel Albares]

"Hello?" Angel fingered the case of his phone nervously. The person on the other end said 'hello' back and asked what he wanted. "Um. Can I... Is it possible to request a... private booking?" His other hand slid down to the laptop sitting on the countertop and he flicked through the profiles of dancers listed on the club's website.

"I want... Julio de la Rosa. Tonight, yes." His gaze flicked over the expertly taken photographs of Julio, all of them intense. Sexy. Smouldering bedroom eyes and body on display. He looked almost like a different person here than the gentle, smiling man who had made paella for him and saved him when he needed a hero. Señor Milagros...

"Oh. The address is..." He gave his name as Steven S. when asked, as a nod to their evening together. Angel couldn't stop himself from smiling too, when he thought about Señor Milagros and Steven Seagull. Then he flicked through the image gallery again and nibbled on his lower lip anxiously when the person on the end told him to wait while they checked Julio's schedule. Was he willing to pay for transportation to and from Portland? Yes, of course. And how long did he want to book Julio for?

"Is... three hours okay?" It probably wouldn't take that long to give him a painting but... but maybe they could talk or something. Did Julio mind if he stayed only to talk? Angel knew he would be getting tips if he danced but he could... he could tip Julio too. Money wasn't really a problem for him. So it was all settled, and the person gave him a contact number; he thanked them politely and hung up.

And then he sort of collapsed over the pristine white marble counter top, exhausted and relieved. That was a whole ordeal for Angel! Who knew it was so stressful? But it was done now and he had maybe two hours to kill before Julio got to his apartment all the way in the bustling city center of Portland, Oregon. The nightlife here was supposedly all right; Angel wouldn't know. He could see all the lights across the city from the penthouse he lived in but had no desire to join the people down there.

So Angel drifted around the place listlessly. Occasionally he checked his painting, which took the better part of a week to complete. He really poured all of his time and effort into it (and into learning sign language) and he thought it looked good. Julio's mother was dancing in it, wearing a soft blue dress that was less strictly costumey and more fantasy. It flowed around her legs, flew behind her like wings as she soared through the air with her hair streaming behind her. Free. Lighter than air. Joyous. Her smile had elements of Julio's smile, Angel thought—beautiful and genuine. He focused on her eyes too, trying to make them seem as alive as her pose.

Hopefully Julio liked it. Hopefully he didn't find it weird that Angel called him all the way out to Portland to meet but... Angel didn't think he wanted to go back to Hazleton for a while. Not even to see Logan. After what happened, he shut himself away in his apartment and just painted. The night terrors came back; the horrible ringing kept coming and going. He'd gone to see his psychiatrist who prescribed new drugs which left him feeling oddly disconnected with the world, but those weirdly were also his most productive, artistically speaking. Like he could somehow tap into a whole new stream of consciousness when he lost track of his old one. Weird.

Eventually he passed out on the white leather couch for a nap—that was a theme around the entire place, white, but it honestly felt like an insane asylum with everything so stark and clean and pristine. All he needed were padded walls.

[Sean Yun]

"Eyy what's that?" Sean leaned over and deftly slipped the paper out of Julio's hand. He whistled and his grin widened. "Portland huh? Private booking too, damn. Steven S... No last name? Uh oh... Hey Lo, isn't this downtown?" Sean nudged Logan in the ribs with his elbow to get his attention—Logan hated that. Always said he had pointy ass sharp elbows that hurt. Was that even a thing? Elbows like knives?

The address was vaguely familiar to Sean; he'd had a client out that way a couple of months ago. Pretty swanky, upscale neighborhood, too. Lots of designer shops, Michelin-starred restaurants, glistening highrises and the like. The address said penthouse suite. Damn. Somebody rich evidently took a liking to Julio, didn't they? Steven S. sounded like it could be an older guy, probably bored and looking for a bit of a thrill with a hot, younger man. Not uncommon in their line of work, to be honest.

He grinned again as he slipped the paper back to Julio. They were just chilling before the shows started so there wasn't much else to do except rag on one another. "So I guess Señor Julio won't be joining us for the final number?" He winked at Julio. "Ah, damn. Why can't I ever get a rich client to pay for three hours for me to hang out in a penthouse suite?"

Heh. Not that Sean didn't have his own clients, but most of them were in town. Bored housewives. Rich divorcees. The usual. Some men too, although he made it clear to the guys that he was only there to dance and not to engage in any shenanigans. It was hard to get away from that kind of reputation and he'd rather not dip his big toe into those waters, thanks.

Not unless it was worth his while financially.

Hey, everybody had a price, even on their ass.

Trash Bat

[Logan Go]

Oof. Logan scowled at Sean for doing exactly what he hated and he elbowed him right back before taking the slip of paper from him to examine it. He raised a brow.

"Yep," he said. "That's downtown."

He looked Julio over critically. Julio had been working at the club since before Logan started as a bouncer part time, a few years back. It wasn't all that strange for him to get private work back in those days and everybody knew what he was really doing, even if they didn't say it aloud. But it had been a while since Julio had taken a private job.

"It's not three hours of hanging out, Sean," Logan said with a knowing Look. Julio reached out and took the paper, giving them both the finger before turning away from them and stuffing the paper into the pocket of his jeans. See? Nobody who was going to just "hang out" would be so defensive. Logan shrugged.

Once Julio was out of listening range, Logan lowered his voice and asked Sean, "Who do you think Steven is, huh? That old perv that comes to see him sometimes? Maybe?"

[Sean Yun]

"Hey! Don't jostle the beer!" That was a new word he learned--jostle--and he was using it everywhere, even in places where it didn't belong. But getting elbowed back and almost spilling it, he used it right this time. What? Sean read. Stuff.

He sipped from the can and eyed Julio, Mr. Defensive, when he flipped them the bird. Looked like a well-paying job. Sean couldn't blame him for taking it, what with the economy tanking and rent going up. Guy had to eat, right?

"What? The perv who touches himself in the corner?" He let out a raucous laugh. "Yeah maybe. Didn't figure him for the type to live in a penthouse though." Sean slid his phone off the table and googled the downtown area. He pointed out some pretty fancy-looking, sparkling highrises. "One of these? That old guy?"

Seemed unlikely but... maybe that guy was loaded. He grinned. "Why? You worried about Julio?"

[Logan Go]

"I mean, he's not the only one touching himself here," Logan said with a shrug. He wasn't going to shame the guy for fondling himself over sexy dancing. Some people did, and as long as they weren't whipping out their dicks, they were left alone. And as long as they paid for their time in the club by purchasing drinks and giving tips nobody really cared.

"But yeah, I guess it doesn't look like his kinda place," Logan said, looking over the fancy buildings. The older man was also a resident of Hazleton, he was pretty sure. Crossing his arms, Logan glanced over at Julio, who was pulling his long hair up into a bun, expression unreadable.

"Not worried, really. He's always taken care of himself and he's been doing this longer than I have... I was joking about the old guy, anyway. I don't remember seeing anyone around here lately that could pay those kind of numbers, is all."

[Sean Yun]

"Yeah not for three hours," Sean muttered darkly, mostly envious about the pay he normally got for three hours than anything. Julio deserved what he got; if someone valued him, that was good on him. Sean wasn't the petty type, anyway.

But Julio was tough enough to look out for himself, that was true. If things got weird, he could punch his way out--not like those muscles were only for show! Sure, he wouldn't get paid, but he'd get some satisfaction at least. And transportation was paid so he had nothing to lose anyway! See, Sean thought in positives. He was a sunny guy.

"Well he'll tell us about it later I'm sure. Right buddy?" Easing out of the chair, he walked over to sling an arm around Julio's shoulders. "If they got rich friends, you gotta hook your brothers up, you get me?" He grinned and winked.

[Julio de la Rosa]

The others thought he couldn't hear him but Julio could hear every word. It was sort of funny how people thought just because he couldn't speak that he was also deaf. He could hear everything they were saying; it was quiet enough back here that even when Logan tried to lower his voice, he even heard that part.

They assumed he was going to have sex. Honestly... Julio... didn't know what he was going to be doing. For the past seven or eight months, he had been turning down private shows, leery of going into another situation like... Well, it didn't matter. He knew who Steven S was. Or thought he knew (who else could it be?!).

Did he change his mind? The last time Julio saw him, Angel didn't seem to want to be touched. He didn't even like it when Julio sat too close to him. To request three full hours was... a lot. And usually those kind of hours were requested by people who had very definite ideas about how they wanted to spend those expensive hours. It was hard to imagine that Angel would want to but...

Julio didn't know anymore. Maybe he imagined Angel one way but he was another way. Or maybe he realized who he was dealing with. If he wanted him, he could have him... one way or another. If he was too shy to make something happen unofficially, there was always this.

Or it could just not be him. But the name was too on the nose to be a coincidence! He turned his head toward Sean, who was grinning.

Sorry, I don't think this one has friends, he signed with an exaggerated frown. Too bad. No rich friends for Sean or Logan.

[Sean Yun]

"This... one... doesn't have..." Sean wasn't good at reading sign language so he pieced it together slowly. Over the years he learned by observing Julio but he'd never formally learned. It wasn't that he didn't care about Julio or anything, it was just that he learned better through practice and use. Sean wasn't one for the book-learning...

"Oh no friends? No rich friends. Well damn. Back to shaking this fine ass for dollar bills then!" His smile didn't fade though; he was mostly joking around. Giving Julio a slap on the back, he wheeled around and returned to his beer--only to have the announcer blast his name over the loudspeakers.

"Time for Seanie to shine, boys." Laughing, he set the beer down--with a Look at Logan in case Logan tried to steal his shit--and then sighed. Pulling first shift was never ideal; there weren't that many people out there early in the evening. But somebody had to do it.

"Good luck buddy." In passing he gave Julio a pat on the ass, and then he was disappearing through the curtains and dancing onto the stage.

[Julio de la Rosa]

Julio shook his head. The others were friendly enough and they were good guys but... they had everything all wrong. At least, Julio was pretty sure that they did. After Sean left, with his buddy slap on the ass and Logan grinned and gave him a gentlemanly salute, Julio gathered up his things and nodded to the boss. Time to go.

No show for him tonight, not when he had a private one to put on. Which was just as well. Julio felt so strange this past week. He had gone from having somebody in his home overnight, to just... Nothing. Even with his number, Julio had received nothing from Angel and because nothing came from him, Julio hesitated to send anything. Maybe Angel had decided not to be friends with him after all. Or maybe he was in the hospital with wounds, worse wounds than he allowed Julio to see.

And tonight, he had thought, tonight was the night he was thinking about sending a text. Just an hola to start with. But then he came into work and this. He wasn't sure if Steven S was really him or if it was coincidence. He thought about it the whole time, as he got into the car waiting for him and it began its journey into the heart of Portland.

Angel... how much money did he really have? Was he has rich as the others made him sound? Like filthy rich? It didn't really matter much to Julio. Money or no money. He just kept seeing those eyes, those eyes that were afraid to meet him but slowly began to warm up to him. The way he moved from Julio for sitting too close. The look in his eyes when he saw that photograph of Julio with his mom.

Maybe it was him. Maybe it wasn't. He really shouldn't let his hopes get too high. But if it wasn't him, he was going to feel like a fool. He had given up the private show life for a reason. He could still feel it in his veins. The drugs. The way those men had made an utter fool of him. Because they had money and they could do whatever they wanted to those who didn't. What would a mute like him say, anyway? They even said it, as he took their abuse without a sound, without a word.

Because he did need the money. And that was why he was there. But it had ended badly, when Julio finally had enough and decked one of the men. That was when they'd brought in more drugs. Julio woke up in an unfamiliar back alley. The only money he had to show for it at all were a few hundreds that had stuck to his wet body. The rest--he could only imagine--had been taken right off his prone body by vagrants and vagabonds.

After that, he refused to go to another private show on his own. If it was with the others, fine. A partner, okay. But never. Never alone again.

He kept looking at his phone, where his hola was typed but never sent. He left the messages and scrolled through his social media. Finally, he slid his headphones in and listened to music, staring out the window for the rest of the drive. He let his thoughts go where they wanted and when they finally arrived at their destination and the driver signaled to him, Julio picked up his duffel bag. Sliding out of the backseat, he headed up to the address on the paper.

It took him a moment to compose himself but he finally pressed the doorbell. The driver was already gone, having instructions from the boss to stay until pickup time in three hours. Again, Julio checked the time. This was it. He was on time, this was the place. As he waited, he turned and looked around the area, taking it in. Definitely not the kind of place Julio would ever live in his life time. But that... was fine. Luxury wasn't for him, anyway.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

Time—like sexuality—was a fluid thing. It slid by unnoticed sometimes, when a week felt like a blink. Sometimes it dragged, and an entire day spanned ninety-three hours. On the new drugs Angel lost all sense of time. He didn't have a job, he had nowhere urgent to be on any given day, so he tended to lose track of the time and even the days of the week. When he had a new project it took precedence above all else—even eating.

The only rigidly scheduled part of his life were drugs. Pills. A little box sitting in the drawer of the large kitchen island, sectioned off into the different days of the week. Monday to Sunday. Each day a different cocktail to keep him sane, to keep him from hurting himself, to keep him from feeling. He felt too much; the traumas of the past could never be allowed to come back to claim him. They'd tried multiple times. Those scars down his wrists, at the crook of his elbow, on the insides of his thighs, each healed over cut told a story of its own.

Angel woke up to the sound of the buzzer ringing and absently wiped a hand over his mouth as he stood up. He went to the door where a panel near it showed an image of Julio with a duffel bag standing outside, glancing around. Angel half-smiled as he pressed the button to let him in. The security guy at the front desk would record Julio's name and the person he was going to see—that was all in the instructions he'd left with the person from the club. Then an elevator ride up to the very top and... his door was the only one on the landing.

He felt a little crazy standing there at the open door, waiting for his guest. For the... stripper he ordered like... a box of pizza. Did Julio do this a lot? Did a lot of people request him? Angel didn't doubt that because Julio was a handsome man. So was Logan though. He thought long and hard about it before he placed the call and even part-way into it, he was thinking about it. About inviting Logan to his apartment.

Somehow Julio's name slipped out instead. He wanted Julio de la Rosa for three hours and he was willing to pay upwards of more than a thousand dollars for him to be here. Crazy. But this was it. He saw the light on the elevator spark—the private elevator up to the private penthouse. Angel swallowed hard and absently rubbed his cheek, which was sore because he'd slept on a partially healed bruise. His face was still a bit battered but it looked much, much better than it did the day he got home.

Ding!

Angel's hand fell to his side as the elevator door slowly slid open.

[Julio de la Rosa]

This was feeling a lot more like...

He didn't think he should be here.

Like he should have turned down the job. Why did he take it? Because you think it's Angel. But if it was, why go through all this foolery when he could just text him? And here he was. Signing things. Going into an elevator.

Was it too late now to back out?

It was. The elevator doors slid open with a soft wish sound, whispering it like it knew. That Julio wished he hadn't come. That he didn't realize how many of those memories of that night were still left embedded in his core. What it did to him.

But the elevator doors did not slide open upon a drunken party of men. They opened up to a familiar blue haired young man. Steven S. So it was really him. Curiously, and after spending five seconds too long in the elevator, Julio stepped out. He greeted Angel with a hello sign and a slight smile, still confused. Why all this... when he could have texted? He wanted so badly to ask but he only took another step in, until they were standing, face to face. Why pay so much to see him if he could call?

Because... Julio told himself, with dawning realization. Angel had asked if he worked there, too. A stripper. Because... he wanted him. To dance. To strip. More...? He touched Angel's face with one hand, cradling the curve of his cheek in his palm. The damage that had been done to him was fading. Soon, it would be like it never happened.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

Yes, why... did he pay through the nose to have somebody come all the way over just to give him a painting? Why on earth would he do that? He had Julio's number in his new phone. He actually wrote it down onto a piece of paper before he transferred over all of his files and contacts, in case something went wrong in the process and any data got wiped. He did that. He actually did that.

He also could have texted Julio at any point during the week. Angel thought about it and chickened out. Plus he had the painting to work on, sign language to learn, pills to pop. In the midst of all that, it became easier to not pick up his phone and send a quick hello. Besides... Julio didn't text him either and Angel was almost certain that the encounter meant more to him than it did to Julio. So a week passed, faster than he could blink.

And here they were. Julio inside the elevator, Angel at the door ten feet down the hallway. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until he began to feel slightly dizzy, and discreetly sucked in a greedy breath of air. It kick-started his heart, which beat crazy fast when Julio approached. Why. The hell. Did he do this in such a roundabout way? Why couldn't he be normal—like everyone in his life wanted him to be?

Because he really didn't think Julio would come all the way out to Portland just for (him) a painting.

Hola, he signed back, confident in that—he'd practiced that one a lot. It seemed like a thing not even he could mess up. Angel's hand fell again once Julio came up to him, looking somewhat bemused. Then touched his face, which immediately flared with warmth. His chin dipped like he wanted to pull away, but something stopped him in the process and he was frozen there for a beat too long, awkwardly not reacting.

Come in, he signed as he looked up at Julio with a little of that trapped animal panic in his eyes. Angel stepped back, breaking the one point of contact, to allow him inside. Into the white apartment with its tasteful and expensive furniture, into a spacious entryway that led into a magnificent reception area. Sometimes Angel felt lost in here—the space was too large and he was too small.

[Julio de la Rosa]

Okay... Julio furrowed his brows slightly, not sure what Angel was playing at right now. What did he want from him...? If he called him here through the club... Dropping his hand, Julio slid his hand into his pocket and ambled in after Angel into the penthouse. Penthouse.

And it was... pristine. It looked like the kind of place that would make pages of those magazines with fancy homes. It didn't look even slightly lived in, though. It looked cold and barren, almost like a prison.

In his other hand, he held the bag, the one that held various items needed for meetings like this. He eyed Angel, wondering what he wanted. If he would even tell him. Julio didn't understand; if he could barely stand human contact, then... how?

He watched Angel, waiting for him to say something, to give him any clue as to why he was here.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

Well this was... silent. Anyone looking for Angel to fill the silence had another think coming. He let the door swing shut behind him and then... he tried to think of something to say to break the ice but the... touch...

Why did Julio touch his face? To make sure he was okay? A cursory glance would have confirmed that he was, indeed, okay. Still a little beat up but not bloody, and his face was no longer swollen. Angel cleared his throat softly, then stepped further inside, since Julio was now standing there looking at him.

"Do you want something to drink?" That was what all polite hosts asked, right? Angel paused mid-way to the kitchen. "I only have... milk and water..." Um. Well both of those were boring options. Did it help that it was sparkling water? Probably not.

He glanced over his shoulder at Julio. Awkward. "Have a seat. If you want."

[Julio de la Rosa]

Julio immediately shook his head. It wasn't that he thought Angel would do something heinous like drug him but... He still wasn't taking any chances. Much like Angel had been ill at ease in his home alone, Julio was feeling the same way here. He didn't belong in places like this. He hadn't been in a place like this since... since a while ago.

And he still didn't understand what was happening. Have a seat? Julio looked warily at Angel. Have a seat? Have a seat... and do what? Licking his lips, his mouth felt dry. He started to sign, then thought better of it, pulling his phone from his back pocket.

"What am I doing here, Angel?" he typed, moving forward with his phone screen facing Angel. What was he doing here? He didn't want to be toyed with.