First class pain in the ass

[Angel Miguel Albares]

The tell-tale line. The scar, shining dimly silver, skin slashed and healed over but--not quite right. Never quite the way it used to be, never able to be mended to blend in seamlessly with the rest of his skin. Angel's breath seemed to stop at the base of his throat, catching there with a small sound of pain.

He turned over his own arm too and pulled his sleeve up. He was so... ashamed of them. His own scars, there on the upper part of his wrist but also all along his inner forearm, up to the crook of his elbow. They were everywhere--on his other arm, on the insides of his thighs, places he could cover with clothing. Places he was terrified of people seeing, and yet desperate for someone to notice.

Angel dyed his hair bright blue and he lived in an ostentatious apartment and lived in luxury, as if those superficial things were what he wanted people to notice. But what he really wanted was someone he could show those scars to--someone who understood. And he knew Julio did, from the moment they locked eyes, but...

"There is no future for... us, Julio. I can't be like you. I don't know how to be... brave like you. If you let me go now, you can still find someone. Someone who deserves you."

[Julio de la Rosa]

Julio stared down at his own words, wondering how they couldn't be comprehended correctly. Balling it up, he tossed it toward the corner of the room. Not out of anger. It wasn't an angry movement, more like a resigned one. He couldn't feel more vulnerable and he still was being misunderstood. Was this because of the key thing? He wasn't asking Angel to move in, he was just giving him options for places to go, if he didn't want to be alone, if he was in town, if he needed a place to go or an ear to listen. It was just... disappointing that he wasn't being heard, too.

Slowly, he took a new sheet of paper.

I'm not holding you down or holding you back. I don't know what you mean by letting you go. I'm not asking for a future for us. Just one for you.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

Angel flinched when the paper hit the floor with a tiny smack, not because the act was violent but because of the unexpectedness of it. The fact that Julio's frustration showed through in a physical act wasn't something he necessarily expected from someone who had only been gentle and careful with him.

"There is no future." He pushed the paper away, far away from himself as though the words themselves were poisoned. Julio meant well and Angel knew what he was saying. He did, the message wasn't lost but--Julio didn't know. Angel brought the pills up again to look at the tiny words on the label.

"These don't work, Julio. Nothing's been working. I told you... I got checked too late. The drugs don't work. So... there is no future. You see? Not for me, not for us as... friends or as anything. That's why you should just... let go. Stop coming for me. I know you want what's best for me but there's... nothing in this for either of us. I wish it wasn't like this but you'll just get hurt again. Over me. It's not worth it."

He tucked the pills back into his pocket with a slow, small smile. "You know they used to call me an alien back in high school, because I was weird. Maybe they were right. Maybe I'm just a visitor to this planet..."

[Julio de la Rosa]

Julio frowned as Angel pushed the paper away. Nothing he wrote worked. With his heart slowly sinking, Julio only folded the page over and slid it onto the table. Maybe Angel was right, then. They didn't know each other. Angel certainly didn't know him. Shutting everything down like this... It was like everything he wrote meant nothing. And what did he hope to gain from pushing Julio away? Julio thought they were kindred spirits but he wondered if he had it wrong.

Dropping his gaze, Julio couldn't even look at Angel. Choosing not to look at his words was like somebody talking over him. It was worse than that. It was like being erased. It hurt, even though he didn't want to show it. Why are you here? he wanted to ask. If there was no future and Angel wanted to hold onto his death wish so hard that he refused to even contemplate one... How was Julio even supposed to do anything about it? Julio didn't hold onto people, the way Angel was thinking he did. His arms were there when there was need but he didn't force himself on anybody, especially somebody who didn't want him in their life.

He slid out of the bed, past where Angel sat. And even though he knew Angel wouldn't understand half of the signs, he signed, "You don't get to choose what's worth my time. Just like I don't get to choose what's worth yours. I thought I was worth something to you but I think I was just an escape for you."

Even if Angel could read the signs, he certainly wouldn't catch most of them at the pace he was going, because he wasn't going slowly or patiently. Turning away, he pulled out some pajamas from the bureau and placed them on the bed next to Angel.

"Sleep," he signed. An easy sign to figure out without knowledge--a bent head over a palm to the cheek, the motion for sleep. He heard the alien comments but it was just--to him--a guilty non-sequitur to bury away the sting from his earlier words.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

Was it worth it? To be happy for a brief while, and then... And then what? Angel had a year, maybe two. Three or four, to be optimistic. In the advanced stages of illness he would probably only end up being a burden to Julio and for what? A few months of happiness?

He had to weigh the pros and cons and the cons seemed so much heavier. Keeping himself far away from everyone was his way of protecting them, somehow. As though... if they no longer saw him in person, they could erase him from their lives. He wasn't trying to erase Julio—he was trying to get Julio to erase him.

Somehow, in some way, Julio managed to get through the barriers. Almost effortlessly, it seemed, he began to occupy Angel's thoughts. He became his muse. When they were together, Angel almost forgot his death sentence and he started to live again, but he could not in good conscience let Julio do this. Get close. And then lose him.

Better to never have him, right?

He watched the furious signing and while he didn't understand most of what was being conveyed, he understood the body language. The frustration. The hurt. A little hurt now, before they got too close, was better than a lot of hurt later. Angel never meant to do any of this—hurt him, make him run back and forth saving him. He lowered his head in silence; Julio didn't need to hear more from him. Anything he said, any well-intentioned warnings, only hurt him more.

When the clothes were set down, he took them. Sleep. That one was easy. Angel nodded and stood up with them in his arms, awkwardly lingering and wishing that he could make Julio see how futile it all was. He started to apologize, thought better of it and turned away to find the bathroom so that he could change into the clothes offered to him.

[Julio de la Rosa]

He left the bedroom and went to the kitchen, not even sure what he was doing anymore. Inside, he felt oddly hollow, which was the exact opposite of how he used to feel with Angel. Why did he go and share things with him that he never shared with other people? Why did he bother working so hard at a new language--art--just to communicate if he was going to be shut soundly out? That was what it felt like. Like the door had been shut directly in his face.

Mindlessly, he opened the fridge but he wasn't hungry or thirsty. He left the kitchen and sat on the couch. After a moment, he curled up on the couch and turned on the TV. Didn't matter what was on, just something to make noise in the background. All he had was basic cable anyway and he was too drained to get up and mess with the DVD player.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

By the time he was out, Angel heard the television going in the living room. He loitered at the bathroom door, uncertain as to how the night would pan out now. Telling Julio everything opened up a world of hurt—for both of them. There was so much tension in the air, he could practically feel it.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he made his way out of the bathroom, clutching the clothes that Julio had given him, still wearing the ones he came in with. He didn't change. Inside the bathroom he sat on the toilet and buried his face in his hands and just... did nothing.

How could he stay, after he told Julio to keep away from him? After locking him out of his life—kicking him out, really—he couldn't make himself change into those clothes and then curl up in Julio's bed. Or even on the couch. He couldn't make himself stay just to hurt him more. Seeing Angel would be a constant reminder of the terrible way he rejected any overtures of friendship and help and comfort.

"I..." He held the clothes in his hands, feeling so stupid. So useless and nothing like the heroic figure Julio used to see him as. Right now he felt like nothing and if he felt like this, Julio probably felt so much worse. "I'm... I should go."

[Julio de la Rosa]

Julio looked up when Angel appeared at the edge of the living room. But he sat up when Angel talked about leaving. He shook his head. Was he crazy? It was dark out. It was late by now! This was the worst time to be out and about in this area, especially after what happened to Angel last time he hung around here alone like that.

"It's late," he signed. "At least stay until morning."

The awkwardness wasn't gone and maybe Julio was nursing a heart full of holes but that didn't mean he wanted something shitty to happen to Angel. Part of having a heart full of hurt was because he cared about him, even if he was disappointed.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

Angel felt deeply uncomfortable—and deeply guilty. It didn't make him feel good in the least to hurt Julio and he didn't think he deserved to be here, even if Julio was still kind enough to let him stay until the morning. It was true that Angel didn't have anywhere to go. His apartment was taken over by the party; he didn't feel right staying with Julio after what just transpired.

"I can go to a motel."

He looked down at the clothes, which were soft and a little worn, but comfortable. It would have been nice to slip into them. They smelled like Julio—clean, masculine, a scent that was pleasant and natural. It would have been nice to curl up with him in bed and be held. Or maybe... even to hold him. In that moment Julio probably needed someone to comfort him, too.

"I should go," he repeated again, still contemplating the clothes. "I'll be okay. I can get a taxi." He had his wallet and money. For once, having money didn't seem like a bad thing.

[Julio de la Rosa]

Was there no way to fix what had been fractured? Julio didn't feel like anything had been broken yet but there were definitely little cracks in their relationship. It was barely even that--a relationship. A friendship. What was it, then? Julio had imagined that it was a friendship, a two way street. Now he felt like it was only going one way and he was confused on top of everything else. He  just... he didn't understand how Angel could openly need somebody the way he did in the cab. And then just... not.

He wanted to argue. But he also didn't want to keep overstepping his apparent new boundaries. There had always been boundaries and he was okay with that. Now the boundaries were much tighter than he remembered them being. Angel felt... held back by him. Angel was an adult, too. If he didn't want to stay, who was Julio to argue or insist? He already shared his misgivings.

So he just sat stiffly on the edge of the couch. He couldn't sign okay when he didn't think anything here was okay. Go seemed rude and abrupt. Eventually, he just nodded.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

It happened again and again and again. Any time someone tried to get close to him, Angel shut them out before anything meaningful could develop. Before the friendship could evolve into a deeper connection, he backed out and turned away, scared of disappointment, of disappointing the other person. Scared of the ticking clock counting down the seconds remaining of his life.

But it never happened like this. He never hurt this badly before. He never... wanted someone like this before and all of it was proving to be too much. Angel was so overwhelmed, by the party, by his brush with death, by Julio's well-intentioned attempts to help him. That made it worse, somehow, that Julio wanted to help him so much. So badly.

Overwhelmed didn't even half cover how Angel felt right now. Overwhelmed and sorry and guilty, which made things that much worse. The emotions were running so high that he felt suffocated by them, and he was already high-strung to begin with.

He walked over to place the clothes down beside Julio, on the couch. Then he straightened and his hand, of its own accord, slid out. Paused. His fingers flexed for a second, a twitch forward then one back. He wished that he could make things better but how could he, when he was the problem? Angel's fingertips touched him, barely, somewhere between neck and shoulder. An awkward place.

He wanted to apologize but again, didn't. So he pulled his hand back and turned away, swallowing all of the useless words that were building up inside his heart.

[Julio de la Rosa]

Slowly, he looked up at him. Accepted his touch. But Angel didn't say anything. Julio didn't even know what he wanted to hear or if it would even make things better if he did hear what he wanted to hear. Not at the expense of somebody else. Never. Julio had never been that person, the one who just grabbed what he wanted when he wanted it. He was glad, now, that he wasn't. His impression of those type of people... weren't exactly cast in a positive light after what happened at that private party.

Nobody could understand the kind of feelings that came from something like that except somebody who had also gone through it. Empathy could only reach so far. Julio didn't understand, though, why Angel didn't want to connect. Even if there were terrible things in the past, those things didn't have to keep defining them.

And Julio didn't quite understand. He didn't understand the pills, what they were meant for, what it meant to be too late. It mattered a great deal to Angel, though. Swiftly, he got to his feet before Angel could get to the door and open it. His expression was pained. Don't go. But he didn't sign it. After a moment, he took Angel's hand and he placed his closed fist over his palm. Then he set a single key there.

Maybe it was the catalyst to all this, his offer. But he still had it. The key. And it was his. Angel could keep the door closed in his face if he wanted... but at least... he still had a choice in opening it back up again.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

There was a moment during the evening when he could have saved it. When he could have made a choice, a conscious decision, not to reveal the whole truth, keeping that final secret close to his chest. Then maybe he could have carried on pretending that things weren't falling apart, and he wouldn't have scared himself with the truth.

The truth was that he was scared of happiness. He was scared to find it, to have it, to love and be loved and then to face the reality of his own mortality. He was scared that when the time came for him to leave this Earth, that he wouldn't want to. That it would be so unbearable in his final moments, fighting to keep living but still knowing that his body was incapable of accepting any type of medication needed to keep him alive. Angel wasn't brave; he didn't have that kind of fight in him.

So. It was better to not know anything than to know it all. Angel was sure this was the end, that Julio's nod meant he was giving up. Good. Right? But every step towards the door felt like the wrong direction and he almost didn't clear the doorway. Julio was stopping him anyway, and he turned out of surprise, hand taken, something cool and lightweight and small pressed into his palm.

He stared at it. The last gesture of goodwill. A final plea. He could come back at any time. The key... stupidly it felt like Julio was giving him the key to happiness. In that moment, that was what it represented to him. This place was a place of refuge, a place full of warmth and salvation. And he had the key to it.

"...thank you." Angel didn't know what to do with himself just then. He blanked and his arms were around Julio's shoulders, body pressed to his, cheek touching cheek. "Thank you." Even if he might never use it, he had it, and that in and of itself was a great comfort.

[Julio de la Rosa]

Despite himself, Julio was a little worried that it wouldn't go over well. The key that he promised Angel. He kept thinking it was the reason they were in this awkward mess now. That he had scared Angel by telling him he could come by any time, that he could have this key. It felt like things changed after that.

But he wasn't giving it to Angel in the traditional sense. It wasn't a free pass to come fuck any time or anything like that. It wasn't a sign that he wanted Angel to become a booty call or... for Julio to become one, either.

He hoped... that was evident.

Whatever Angel thought of it before, he seemed at first to be thanking him as a perfunctory courtesy. But then his arms were around Julio and Julio was confused. But he was relieved. And he was happy, a little. The key and the hug meant good things, right? That things weren't permanently done and over. Because before that moment, it felt like Angel was going to walk through that door and Julio would never see or hear from him again.

For the moment, he let Angel embrace him. He held him, too. Just so, the way he always did. Not too tightly. Not too lightly. Maybe it was enough, maybe it wasn't. He couldn't tell whether he was the rope tying Angel down or not but he hoped not.

[Angel Miguel Albares]

The key was a sweet gesture but a part of Angel thought... maybe Julio still didn't understand. That maybe he was still trying to keep their relationship—such as it was—alive by giving him a pass back into his apartment. And while Angel was glad to have it, glad that the rifts created this evening weren't irreparable, he was sad, too.

Truly, he didn't wish any kind of unhappiness on Julio. He wished he was better, that he could be the kind of person he knew Julio deserved. Someone happy, someone to take away his pain rather than adding to it. But all Angel did was cause pain and that was why he needed to remove himself now, before it was too late.

All the same, being held by Julio warmed his heart. He pulled back afterwards with a little smile and put the key away, even though he knew he should set it down. Set it down and walk away. Conflicted as he always was between what his head and his heart wanted, he kept it and he made sure it was secure and wouldn't fall out of his pocket.

He left without saying anything more, closing the door lightly behind him. Outside it was cold and dark, and he realized... he didn't have a phone. It was back at his own apartment. Angel breathed out and looked back up towards the building. He could go back and ask Julio for his phone to call a cab but maybe he could walk. It wasn't ideal, though. He might get jumped again, but his head was buzzing with thoughts and a walk might help clear some of them. With another sigh, Angel headed off.

A car glided up to the curb and stopped, its headlights helping shine the way. Angel briefly, idly, glanced into through the window and thought he saw one of the strippers from the party behind the wheel, getting ready to cut the engine. Maybe a friend of Julio's, he thought; someone to keep him company perhaps? He walked off before the man could notice him, turning the corner and making sure to stay on the main street and out of alleyways.