We Are Bulletproof

As soon as the bouncer let him in, Angel slunk to his usual seat at the back of the room. Half-hidden in shadows he slipped around people--mostly half-drunk women, half-hugging the walls in a bid not to be seen. When he got to his table, he sat with his back to the wall and slipped a hand into the messenger bag resting on his thigh.

After rummaging through it a couple of times he peered inside, brushed aside a bus ticket from Portland and then cursed softly under his breath. No pencil. Usually he had one in there along with a sketchpad, headphones and his meds--the essentials. Shit. Maybe he took it out and forgot it, or he plain never packed one.

With a sigh he sank back in his chair, disappointed in himself. He thought tonight he could get a better sketch of some of the dancers but without a pencil he couldn't do much. The show was ending up on stage. Lights came on, music died down. The announcer said the name of the next stripper and Angel sat up a bit straighter, craning his head over some tall woman blocking his line of sight. This table was empty for a reason--it offered a shitty view of the strippers but it was the least noticeable as well.

Maybe tonight wasn't a total wash-out... if Logan was dancing. Not that Logan knew who he was or anything but he knew who Logan was and that was the important thing. Angel slipped his dark hoodie up over his head when he noticed some women eyeing him. He sank down in his seat, waiting for the last stripper to exit the stage and for some of the women to clear out. A bunch of them swarmed the bar in search of drinks and Angel sat up taller again when the lights dimmed and new music came on.

In terms of sheer enjoyability, it was... The music was not enjoyable. There was too much bass and it was too loud, there was no real rhythm to it except for the pounding drum beat. Yet he felt his pulse quickening when that familiar, tall, handsome figure stepped onto the stage.

The music roared into a new song and Julio finished off his bottle of mineral water before crushing the plastic bottle and tossing it into the recycling receptacle nearby. Moving around the bar, he winked at the bartender. Meanwhile, Logan was making his way out onto the stage, moving his perfect body in perfect time with the throbbing bass of the music. Julio smiled to himself as he bumped fists with one of the other strippers--Jace.

Women closed around the stage as Logan got down to the music, pulling off piece of clothing after piece of clothing until he was wearing nothing but his g-string. Money was both tossed onto the stage and stuffed into his g-string as he gyrated in time to the music and grinned away at his fans.

Julio stood on the sidelines in the bar area, clapping for his friend as the women cheered and whistled. While he did, he noticed that one of the usually unoccupied tables had an occupant tonight, although it was somebody that seemed to want to hide themselves, since they were wearing a hood over their head.

"Should I ask if they want a private dance?" asked Shane as he noticed where Julio was looking. Julio shrugged good-naturedly, then watched as Shane approached the loner with a definite pep in his step. Troublemaker.

Here was the problem with being Angel Miguel Albares: he was Angel Miguel Albares, son of Juan Javier Albares. In political circles his father was a well-known figure, easily recognizable as one of Spain's top diplomats. He was photographed everywhere he went, followed by reporters and camera crews, working hard to establish relations between Spain and the United States.

Angel was no stranger to publicity--and to staying out of it. His father was more than happy to never mention him, never speak of him, navigating around and past the subject of family with practiced ease. When Angel was smaller and obedient, a golden-haired little cherub toted around in cute outfits by his mother, he was allowed to be seen.

Once he grew older... Once he came out as gay, he was deemed unfit to be seen in public with either of his parents. They had a reputation to maintain; there were consequences to having a son like him so they distanced themselves from him. And it hurt, he wouldn't lie; it cut him down to the marrow.

But as with all things, he internalized. Swallowed the hurt. He 'fucked off,' as they colorfully put it here and went off to do his own thing in anonymity. It didn't matter if he dyed his hair green or got a couple of piercings or tattoos. Didn't matter if he dressed in black, embraced punk fashion. As long as he was half-way across the country where he couldn't be photographed with his parents, he could do whatever he wanted--they didn't know about him here in the States, but especially not in a dinky town like Hazleton, Oregon.

And yet, he still didn't feel at ease here. He still hid himself, his face, with the hood pulled down over his eyes on the off-chance that someone might recognize him, even as his eyes were riveted on Logan. That was, until someone came up and flippantly pulled the hood down, exposing him to the strobing multi-colored lights. Angel jerked up suddenly but wasn't fast enough to save the hood. Some guy--another stripper--was grinning down at him.

"Hey fella. You here for a good time?" The man winked, and then eased into the seat next to him with all the fluid grace of a dancer. "I can show you one of our private VIP rooms, if you want."

Angel sat for a moment silently staring at him. Part of him responded eagerly to the idea of a lap dance in private--and possibly more, if he knew anything about strip clubs--but most of him was stuck in the trap of still being Juan Javier Albares' son. "No. Thank you," he mumbled in the thick accent that people had come to associate as being 'foreign' and quickly got to his feet. The hood was jammed back on over his head and he hurriedly walked away.

"What'd I say?" the man called out behind him, either to Angel or to somebody else--he couldn't tell.

And Shane the Troublemaker struck again. Normally, he was all kinds of charming, but some people found his brusque manner to be too much. Somebody sitting in that spot probably didn't want attention on him, least of all, attention from one of the dancers privately. Or, conversely, maybe he did but Shane wasn't the one.

Curiously, Julio looked up at the stage. He'd come to see Logan, probably. Since he didn't even see Shane coming, he was probably fixated on the stage. Poor thing. Logan was straight as an arrow. At least, he only ever had girlfriends from what Julio knew; he wasn't that close to Logan. Kinda hard to be, honestly, with the divide in communication. But Julio was getting a lot better at understanding English and Logan was... terrible with sign language. He tried but... he was terrible at it.

Jace was the one who called back to Shane that he must have scared him away with his B.O. There was a playful swat, a playful dodge, and the two teased one another while Julio shook his head and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He said goodbye to the pair and they each clapped him on a shoulder and said goodbye back.

Threading his way through to the back, he used the alley way door to head outside into the cool night air. He cocked his head curiously at the sound of several footsteps moving from behind the alley and just caught the tail end of a group rounding out of the alley and toward the street.

Angel barely heard the response—he was already well on the way out, spooked by being caught staring at the handsome, nearly naked man on stage. It wasn't unheard of for men to visit this strip club but he felt prickled by pangs of conscience; in the back of his mind he kept hearing his father's somber voice drilling the message into his head that he must never draw undue attention to himself. He must never be caught doing anything to bring scandal to their family. That was worst than death, apparently. Or happiness.

Outside, he stumbled quickly away from the main entrance and slid his headphones on so that the music could sooth his jangled nerves. His shoes scuffled noisily as he walked into an alley, taking a shortcut to the bus stop that would take him out of town and back to Portland. Angel hadn't gotten more than a couple of steps in, though, when a group of three men melted out from the shadows. One of them was grinning as he asked for a light, wiggling a thin cigarette at him. The other two flanked him.

Angel looked at them while nervously licking his lips. "I-I don't have," he began, only to be jostled roughly by the man to his right. "I'm s-sorry, I don't—"

"Aww c'mon now buddy. I'm askin' you real nice for a light and here you are, bein' all rude." The leader's grin widened. "Well maybe you got somethin' else... in that little bag of yours, huh?" He reached out and tried to open the messenger bag, to which Angel quickly jerked it away and hugged it protectively to his chest. His sketchbook was inside—the one filled with sketches of beautiful people. Beautiful men. Like Logan.

A hard hand shoved him again, sending him stumbling. The bag was stripped from him after somebody tripped him and its contents came spilling out—his keys, phone, the tube of small pills, the sketchbook. Angel silently scrambled to pick up the sketchbook but someone kicked him hard in the stomach and winded him. He knew he should have shouted and made a commotion or something but in the moment he froze. His throat closed up and he... he just froze. It didn't seem like this was a thing that could happen, much less happen to him, and yet...

"What are you? Some kinda queer?" The leader's voice was filled with disgust as he shook the sketchbook at Angel. There was something ugly in his gaze, as Angel looked dumbly up at him, too scared to say anything. "Look at this fuckin' fag." He tore off a page and crumpled it, then threw it hard at Angel. "We ain't got room in this town for faggots like you." Wincing as the paper ball struck him, Angel shrank away from him. The other two laughed nastily and all three of them closed in on him.

It really didn't seem like something that could happen to him. And yet it was happening. Fists, feet, angry eyes and vicious homophobic slurs kept raining down on him. Eventually he stopped feeling the individual strikes because all of him hurt. He took the beating in silence because his voice had deserted him and when he stopped twitching or responding, they turned to his bag, looting everything of value from it. Angel moaned softly when something struck him in the side of the face—his sketchbook had been thrown onto him, half the pages ripped and littering the ground around him.

Through half-swollen eyes, he watched their feet moving away from him towards the mouth of the alley. Angel was in total shock; he didn't know how to process what just happened so he laid there, prone and still like he was playing dead in case they came back.

Counting out the money he'd made, Julio smiled. Good, it was more than enough for dinner tonight. Plus, once he added it to his collection at Greenwood, he would have enough collected for rent, which was coming up soon. Tucking the money away into the back pocket of his form-fitting jeans, he watched the moon for a moment. It was starting to just get chilly out and he was out here in little more than a tank top and a flannel shirt.

But he felt good. Stripping had a certain reputation but they weren't actually selling sex. They were totally above board here at this establishment. Although what they did afterward, that was up to the individual. What Julio loved about it was the dancing, the movement, the music, the athleticism. It was a good workout, although that didn't stop him from working out and keeping fit.

Ever since he watched his mother wither away, he couldn't help it; he did everything in his power to stay healthy. Body and mind. Soul.

Heading toward the street, he found that a group of rowdy guys were coming around the corner... Seemed like the same ones from before. Narrowing his eyes and lowering his brows, Julio dogged them as they came upon him and they didn't give him any trouble. But he did hear them gloating as they passed by, pushing and shoving each other, about some fag they beat. Julio's lip twitched at the word.

He turned around but there was nothing he could say to them, so he watched them walk off for a few seconds before frowning in thought. They beat somebody up. Around here? Probably one of their customers! Julio ran the rest of the way to the street, coming out to darkness. Nothing. Nobody. He skirted past the curve of businesses behind the strip club and through to the next alleyway.

At first, he saw nothing. Just the usual janky old alleyway. But then he realized that what looked like strewn garbage was somebody's things and a body. With a nasty jolt, Julio hurried over. The body remained unmoving, even upon his footsteps. The person was out cold or... dead. Julio could see all kinds of things littered across the ground from a flattened bag nearby. A bunch of half ripped papers skittered in the wind. There was a notebook on the person's face.

Holding his breath as if that would help somehow, Julio crouched down and reached for the book, pulling it away with one hand, while the other moved to check for a pulse.

Were they coming back? Angel heard footsteps. He didn't know how much time elapsed between the group leaving and them returning, whether it was minutes or hours or days. At some point he passed out from the pain, then came back to consciousness with a few low groans, only to drift back into darkness.

The footsteps woke him again. Somebody was coming. Angel stilled, swallowing the breath that threatened to explode out of his lungs. He closed his eyes and tensed up; the footsteps came closer. One side of his head throbbed mercilessly and he felt congealed blood all over his face, which burned like the surface of the sun from being kicked and stepped on and ground into the hard concrete. His body was a mass of pain, too, and each breath felt like a knife in his lungs.

When someone touched him, he finally let out the breath in a fearful, sharp exhale that shattered the silence of the alleyway. The torn book was lifted from his face and a warm hand touched his wrist, which he jerked away like a scared animal. Angel tried to get away but could only fight weakly against this new threat.

"Please... don't..." he said weakly in his native Spanish, not up for translating into English. "Don't... hurt me..."

Oh! Julio paused. The person was alive. There was a sharp and painful inhalation. The wrist he tried to catch a pulse on immediately moved away, like a skittish alley cat. It's okay, he wanted to say, to quell the fear he heard in the young man's voice. But he couldn't. All he could do was grasp onto a shoulder and an arm and try to keep the man from moving too much.

It looked like this was it. The person those nasty sons of bitches beat half to death. Julio could feel his hands balling up, wanting to... But no. He couldn't hunt them down and try to fight them. This was more important.

As nicely and gently as he could, he tried to help the man up and to keep him from thrashing against him in a panic. Greenwood was nearby and he could take him there to help him if he needed it. But what if he needed to go to the ER? An ambulance? Julio worriedly tried to get a look at his eyes, to make eye contact and to see if he was concussed.

For a little while he fought against this new menace but really, Angel wasn't much of a fighter. He wasn't much of a lover, either—hence pathetically hiding in the back of a strip club, miles away from the stage where the action was. Angel wasn't much of anything despite the bright hair and the clothes. They were ways of standing out in an indifferent world. They were cries for attention from indifferent parents.

Even when the other guys beat the shit out of him, he laid there and took it like a pussy—their words. Pussy, fag, fairy, queer. If he thought Americans were more progressive about gay people, he was sadly mistaken, especially in a small and quaint town like Hazleton. To his face, they were polite here but in the shadows... Well.

The breath ran ragged in his burning lungs as he struggled for a few more seconds, before he recognized the guy holding him down. It was somebody from the club; earlier Angel passed him after he'd been exposed. He didn't notice the man at the time, being so embarrassed and eager to escape, but unconsciously he noted his face in passing.

"I... saw you... earlier...?" he asked half-incoherently as the fight drained out of him. Slowly and painfully he let himself be eased onto his feet but leaned heavily against the other man. Angel understood that he wanted to help. Right? He didn't say anything but his hands were gentle and his movements were slow, careful.

Yes! Yes, they did see each other in the nightclub. Julio nodded and smiled. It was a small smile, mostly to encourage the man to trust him and not to try staggering off on his own in his current state. Hard to tell in the darkness, but it seemed like the poor guy had taken quite the beating. His face was a mess and as he got to his feet, Julio tried to detect if anything had been broken during the beating.

Still hard to tell. The man leaned against him quite heavily but that could have been loss of blood. There seemed to be a lot of it. With a steady arm around the man's waist, Julio indicated the items strewn across the alleyway with a questioning tilt of the head. Seeing a stack of pallets from one of the businesses, Julio helped the young man over to sit down, then put his hands up and then gestured to the items. He was going to pick them up.

There was good reason for that; amongst the items, were keys and a wallet. Julio scooped them up and put them into the bag as quickly as he could but tried to take care not to bend the papers he could find too much. They were already damaged pretty badly. The last item he picked up was the notebook, which turned out to be a sketchbook. In the dim light of the streetlamp, he could see that the image half torn out of the page was an image of Logan, mostly naked. The picture revealed behind it was Logan's face, expression fierce, hair in one eye. There was a smattering of the man's blood covering part of the face, where the sketch book had been on the man's face.

Julio didn't say anything about what he saw. He just slid the book into the bag and slung it over his shoulder before he moved to the young man and helped him back up. Sliding an arm around his waist, he let him lean on him as much as he needed to. He made the sign for Greenwood, but he didn't think the man would know what it meant, so he pointed in the direction of the apartments, which weren't far.

He... wasn't much of a talker, it seemed. Not much of a talker at all. Angel tried to understand what he meant when he swept a hand across the area but he was so tired and hurt and on the verge of passing out. Not the best time to try and decipher what a stranger wanted to convey with gestures instead of words. It didn't even occur to him that the man might be unable to speak; he merely, almost abstractedly, wondered why he wasn't speaking.

Didn't matter though. All of his things were on the ground, carelessly scattered. Pages of drawings were torn, crumpled, ripped. He would never get them back. And the notebook was smeared in blood and dirt, laying behind him as he was helped onto some pallets. Angel half-collapsed onto them but luckily there was a wall behind him for him to rest on.

In the dim, ghoulish light of the alleyway, he studied the stranger who was trying to help him. His brain still wasn't working at 100% capacity so he watched as though in a dream, or as if he was viewing a movie, feeling oddly disconnected to the moment. It was like an out-of-body experience... if his whole body didn't remind him with every throb of pain that he was, oh, very much still present.

If the stranger saw anything questionable in the sketchbook, he made no mention of it. And Angel was too beat up to feel any kind of embarrassment. Bemused, he sat there until the man came back for him and tried to get him to go... somewhere with him. Sign language? It was kind of hard to miss sign language—except Angel didn't know how to read it. But he knew what it looked like and finally it clicked that the man was mute. Deliriously he nodded once the way was pointed out to him and he dragged his tired old body towards the apartments.

Really... this man could have been some creep looking to take advantage of him. It wasn't like Angel was blind to the dangers that lurked around here. But he was in no fit state to fight back and any resistance had been kicked out of him. So he let himself be taken to a humble set of apartments and he let himself be half-dragged in through the lobby doors. Loosely he curled a fist around the man's shirt as he felt himself beginning to slide side-ways as they waited for the elevator to get back to the ground floor.

It wasn't easy getting the man to Greenwood but luckily, it wasn't a long walk from the strip club. But with every step, he swore he could feel the man growing weaker. By the time they stepped together into the lobby, he felt like he was losing him. With alarm, he grasped the young man as he began to slip out of consciousness.

A panicked look was thrown around the lobby but nobody was around to see the two of them at this time of night. Should he call for an ambulance? Ding. The elevator doors opened and Julio had to make a choice. Keep going to his place or call for help. Calling for help wasn't easy without a voice.

Practically holding the man up, he stepped into the elevator and cradled him against his chest as he pressed the button for the fifth floor, where he lived. But as the doors closed, he tried to get a better look at the wounds. So much blood and filth from the alleyway; the grime made it hard to see the actual wounds.

Ding.

The fifth floor. The doors opened and Julio was glad that his apartment was only two doors down. Propping the man against the wall and pressing himself against him to make sure he didn't slide to the floor, Julio fished out his keys and kept hold of the man as he unlocked the door.

Once inside, he immediately helped the man to the couch, lying him down. He made the sign for wait, then quickly ran off to the bathroom to get his first aid kit.

Ding! In his crumpled up brain he was taken back to the one summer when they went on holiday in Italy, in a small and remote region way up in the mountains. There had been a tiny hotel there with an unmanned desk, and Angel—then aged eight—was permitted to press the service bell but one time.

Ding!

He felt them moving again, and then he was being wedged up against a wall. There was no other sensation quite like being wedged up against a wall—don't ask how he knew that—so he realized that they were at this man's apartment. After a moment and some fumbling he heard a door open and in his half-conscious haze, he was led inside and laid onto a couch. Dazedly he gazed up at his rescuer, again studying him.

The only thing his brain came up with was that he wanted to paint him.

Then the man was gone and Angel let his head drop sideways. He passed out again and merciful darkness claimed him. When he came to, something clattered nearby, like a tin box. He groaned softly and tried to ease away from the sound, opening his heavy, heavy eyelids to the face of the stranger again.

"Who...?" Angel asked weakly.

The old tin box he used for his first aid kit clanked down on the wheeled metal table beside Julio as he sat down on the edge of it. He found the table at a rummage sale; it was low enough to serve as a coffee table but it was industrial, made of dark brushed metal.

Everything in Julio's apartment was old, hand-me-down, thrift bought, secondhand. The old cuckoo clock on the wall that didn't work. The couch that had once been red but was now a faded pink color. Even the things he hung up on the wall, like a painting of a hummingbird he loved and found at a thrift store for just three dollars.

He didn't have a lot of money, despite stripping. The real money was made elsewhere and Julio had stopped doing that a couple of years back after... an incident he really didn't like to think about. It was okay, though. He made enough in dollar bills to keep this place over his head and go to the market for food. That was what really mattered.

And people.

They mattered, too.

People who were beaten up. Called faggot. Julio's expression softened as he watched the young man edging away, like he couldn't be sure that Julio was going to come for him, too. He showed the young man the contents of the tin box. Just bandages and ointments and gauze and medications.

But he was asking who he was. Julio bit his lower lip, then turned his gaze downward. Right. He pulled his phone from his pocket and typed in Spanish, "I'm Julio. I found you in the alley. Are you feeling okay or should I call an ambulance?"

Details came into and out of focus behind the stranger, one moment clear as day and the next blurry and indistinct. He saw paintings—the artist's brain recognized that straight away. The frames were all mismatched and there was no central theme to the collection but they were colorful, pretty things.

And then there was the man himself. He looked intimidating, no word of a lie. That was probably why he didn't trust him and why he still wanted to run. Nothing about him said that he wanted to hurt Angel but then the tattoos on his hand, the hair style... Neither of those things fit with his gentle eyes though.

Again, things came into focus and other things went out of focus. The paintings went away; the first-aid kit was scrutinized. Oh. Yeah. Angel nodded slowly as he was shown the contents, still wary but less skittish. He didn't know why a stranger wanted to help him out—maybe he thought he would be paid or compensated later. Those guys took his money and whatever else they thought was valuable inside his bag but he could probably just make it up to the stranger later.

"Julio?" Achingly he tried to sit up, feeling like all of his bones were rattling around in their sockets. So Julio was mute, like he thought earlier. "No ambulance. Please." He didn't want the publicity, not even the chance of being recognized. "I'm Angel."

Angel.

At the moment, Angel didn't look like one. Or maybe he did. An angel that had taken a dive for the world below and met the ground too hard. Julio reached out and helped Angel to sit up. Part of him wanted to tell him to lie back down, to give himself a break. But part of him also recognized the prideful side of man. Julio wouldn't want to lie back in front of a stranger, either.

Sitting his phone down on the table, Julio traded it for one of the sterile wipes. He made the sign for this is going to hurt before he thought. Angel wouldn't understand it but maybe he'd get the gist of it. He made the sign for hurt again to emphasize it, two fingers brought together with a slight twisting motion. Then he took the sterile pad and brought it to the gunkiest, worst looking parts of Angel's bloodied face.

He didn't... didn't really want to know how bad it was. There was blood, there was dirt and grime, bits of garbage stuck to the wounds. If he didn't die from getting kicked in the head, he was probably going to die from infection. Angel swallowed hard. It was nice of Julio to let him be, to help him sit up, but a large part of him still wanted to head for the door. He didn't do well in strangers' apartments, when it was just himself and the other person. He didn't feel safe.

But there was no other choice, because he was beat up to hell and back and the last thing he wanted to do now was run. Where would he run to? The bus stop with no money? To buy a ticket with the cash he didn't have? His own apartment in Portland was about four times larger and ten times more opulent than this, but the problem was it was in Portland.

"What?" He watched the signing, completely clueless. Julio repeated it but he had no idea what that meant so he only nodded and gave consent to whatever he wanted to do. "Nnng..." Angel winced as the wipe slid against his cheek, stinging him sharply. He grabbed the faded couch cushion and grit his teeth hard—but he didn't make a sound. Just like he didn't make a sound back in the alley when those guys beat the shit out of him.

Ah, he knew it was going to hurt but there was so much grime that Julio didn't want to leave it to infection. Still, he tried his best to be gentle with his ministrations. He made a slight grimace and made the sign for sorry, expression just as apologetic.

Tucking a couple of fingers under Angel's chin, he moved his head as he continued to clean his face up. It took a couple of sterile pads before he had cleaned up the majority of it. Putting up a finger to tell Angel to wait--as if he was going anywhere?--Julio quickly got up and went back to the bathroom to find a clean washcloth. Soaking it in warm water, he squeezed out the excess and brought it back.

Sitting back down before Angel, he finished washing his face. Underneath all that blood was an angular, narrow face with big blue eyes and high cheekbones. It was the kind of face that belonged on a model, even with the bruises marring his face. Gently, he turned Angel's face so he could get a look at both sides.

Pointing to his own face under the eye, where Angel had a deep cut, he pointed back toward Angel's face in the same spot and then pulled out a sterile needle in a package. It might not need stitches, though. He bit his lip and rummaged through the items in the tin until he found a butterfly bandage, then looked at Angel in query.

Was he a stripper? Or—dancer? Angel knew some of them didn't like being referred to as strippers, finding the term derogative. He didn't speak to them or anything to find out, it was just stuff he heard when they spoke near him. A lot of them didn't notice him when he wedged himself into that corner table, blending in with his dark clothes and usually with a hood over his head to hide the hair.

Vaguely he noted Julio's apologetic expression but all he did was shrug lightly in response. It had to hurt if it was going to be disinfected, there was nothing worth whining or cringing about. Angel did wince a few more times, unable to stop his body's natural response to the sharp stinging sensations, but he didn't say anything more. Julio couldn't respond to him anyway, could he? All of the signing went right over his head and in the end there wasn't much to say.

Thanks. Sorry for the trouble.

Eventually the wipes were put away and still silently, watchfully, Angel sat on the couch, barely moving. He eased back a little, still wary, as Julio returned from the bathroom but he had only gone to get a washcloth. Angel dropped his gaze as soon as his face was taken and turned and fought hard against the urge to pull away.

"What?" The... eye? Under his eye? He reached up a shaking hand to touch it and instinctively winced again when his fingers encountered a cut. "No. No needle. Please." Angel physically pushed away from the sight of it, curling into himself. He yanked nervously at the edge of his sleeve so that it fell far down over his hands and hugged himself. No needles. There were enough needles in his life that he didn't need to be prodded here, too.

All right. No needles, then. Julio put the needle away. Honestly, he wasn't even sure he could do it; he had never had to give anybody stitches before. He didn't think skin was quite as pliable as cloth. Especially the taut skin under Angel's eye. So Julio settled for the butterfly bandage, which would help close the wound without the use of the stitches.

Once he had carefully placed it beneath Angel's eye, he smiled to be encouraging. There! He had survived that part. But... After a moment, Julio reached for Angel's hoodie, as if to pull it up. There was no telling what kind of bruises and wounds Angel endured underneath all of his dark clothing.

No needles.

He didn't fully relax until the packet had been set aside, and the butterfly bandage applied under his eye. It was taut and felt uncomfortable but it was better than having a needle inches from his eyeballs. Angel's gaze didn't lift up while Julio was leaned in close, but once he eased back, it hiked up to his face and to his handsome smile.

There wasn't much motivation in Angel to smile back at him, even if he found Julio's smile almost dazzling, but he nodded once slowly. "Thank you." The hood, though, was staying on. Angel was quick enough to catch it this time—unlike back at the club—and he shook his head stubbornly.

"I'm fine. Thank you." He didn't speak above a whisper. "I can—I just need some bus money to get home. I'll pay you back."

Although Julio tried to point out that there were likely more wounds beneath the coverage of his clothes, Angel seemed more than a little reluctant to let Julio look. It was almost foreign to him, to be shy about a body. Working with all the strippers at the club, he saw half naked bodies constantly. And he showed his own, too. But... not everybody was a stripper.

So Julio dropped his hands, to show he wasn't going to come after Angel again. Julio started to sign but then let out a sigh and reached for his phone instead. Carefully, he typed, "Are you sure? You can stay here, on the couch for the night."

Julio turned the phone toward Angel so he could read it. After all, it was dark out and if Angel went back into the night with those assholes walking around in their pack, beating people up for being queer...

It was kind of weird being treated like this. Angel was sure Julio wanted some kind of payment in return for his kindness; it seemed like that was just the way that life was. It was the way life worked. Everything was... transactional.

He started to reach for his messenger bag, laying in a little heap by the side of the couch. No point checking for money in there; he heard those guys bragging about how much money they got out of his wallet earlier. Angel didn't think it was a lot but apparently those guys thought it was. Then again, most people didn't carry a couple hundred on them.

Money was never in short supply for Angel and truthfully he didn't spend much of it on anything other than that lavish apartment—and only then because his father wanted to invest in some real estate out here. He just happened to live there. It wasn't his to own. Although he didn't pay rent, he was responsible for not trashing it which... wasn't hard since he had no friends to speak of.

He peered at the phone; one of his eyes was puffy. "I'm okay." It was nice of Julio to offer but he wouldn't sleep a wink if he had to spend a night in a stranger's place. Angel was guarded for a very good reason. He brought the bag up into his lap and then hugged it almost like a shield. "I'm okay," he repeated, softly whispering. "I can get home on my own."

After a moment, Julio reached out and lightly touched Angel's forearm. He wasn't okay. He said that he was but clearly, he wasn't. Not only had he been beaten savagely, but he had been left for dead, all of his belongings on the street. There was no guarantee those assholes weren't patrolling the area for more victims to pounce on. What if they ran into Angel again and decided to finish what they started?

Obviously, Julio couldn't just let him go out alone, so he got to his feet and shook his head. Tilting his head, he began to type on his phone again.

"Let me go with you."

He turned the phone back toward Angel, brow furrowed. Angel said he could get home on his own but... There was no telling where that was or how safely Angel could get there. And what if he passed out on the way? Julio would never forgive himself for just... letting him go out into the night without an escort. (Double entendre unintended.)

For half a second, Angel let the hand linger on his arm. A simple human touch, the warmth of a hand through the cloth of his sleeve, felt nice. It was something he needed in the moment. He'd had a rough night. He wasn't able to sketch anyone at the club; he couldn't watch all of Logan's show because someone spooked him. When he went outside, he was ambushed and beaten to within an inch of his life.

Right now, everything hurt. His body, his heart, his soul. Everything throbbed and ached and he was so tired that he could have passed out again. If he blinked too long, he might have slumped over. So having someone touch him gently, it meant a lot in that moment and Angel's guarded expression relaxed briefly into something a lot more honest and vulnerable.

But then it came back up when Julio's hand pulled away so that he could type on his phone. Angel shook his head again as he struggled to stand. "No... no thank you. I'll be fine. There's a bus stop outside... I live in Portland, so... it's fine." Julio couldn't escort him all the way out there—no point in him leaving his apartment when he'd just got home.

Did
Did he come across as some kind of creep? It was possible. People naturally didn't trust somebody that didn't talk. And somebody as skittish as Angel definitely must have seen Julio as another enemy, which was a shame. All he wanted to do was help; he had been in Angel's situation before. And he didn't have a friend to help him then.

Turning his gaze down at his phone, he read and reread his own words on the notepad. Even trying to stand, Angel looked unsteady on his feet. And he wanted to go out there on his own, to face that instead of staying here? Gently, Julio pressed a hand to Angel's shoulder to sit him back down, then signed don't. Quickly he sat back down before Angel and typed, "Please. Stay. You don't have to sleep. We can watch movies until it gets light and then I'll take you to the bus stop."

Pleadingly, he turned the phone to Angel.

It probably wasn't good that even a little pressure to his shoulders made his knees buckle. Angel sat back down on the couch; a small crease appeared between his brows as he frowned. Was Julio trying to take him hostage here? Did he know who Angel was or something? Why did he insist on Angel staying?

Normal people would have thought that he was simply being nice. Normal people would have been glad for a place to stay for the night, to be taken care of by someone who had no visible ulterior motives. But Angel wasn't normal and he'd had some pretty traumatic experiences in the past that didn't lend themselves well to interacting with strangers in situations like these.

He read the text on the glowing screen with another frown, and then looked outside. It was really dark out there. Small towns weren't equipped with the sorts of lights that big cities were, so out here when it got dark... it got dark. The thought of going out there with those violent creeps outside made something in him shrivel.

"...you don't have to do this." He hugged his bag tight to his chest, gazing at the edge of the coffee table. "You don't even know me."

Huh? Stunned, Julio blinked, not even sure how to react for a moment. He... didn't have to do this, no... But... he wanted to. Did it seem like he was just doing this for... brownie points? Or... something else? Julio didn't know what Angel thought his motives were but it was clear that he wasn't accustomed to people treating him with kindness.

Slowly, he turned his phone back to himself and prepared to type but he didn't even know where to begin. No, Julio didn't know Andrea. He couldn't remember ever seeing him around before... which made sense, since he said he came from Portland. All the way from Portland... to see Logan? Julio wanted to ask about that but as skittish as Angel proved to be, he was afraid he would drive him out if he did.

"I just want to help." He paused, contemplating before he added, "I know what it's like to be beaten and left for dead over being different."

He thought it over a little more, then decided that it was okay to tell Angel this and turned the phone back to him. With his free hand, he pointed to a spot above his eyebrow, where the faintest line from a scar remained.

Angel kept looking nervously outside, out at the darkness. Being alone... being alone in the dark, that was his worst nightmare. He couldn't even sleep in the dark, keeping a little night light on at all times while the radio or TV babbled on in the background to keep him company. It wasn't the silence that bothered him but... his imagine would invariably take over if he didn't have anything on.

He would hear things and he'd get twitchy, anxious.

So being out there in this pitch black darkness in a town he didn't feel familiar with, after being beaten up savagely... That wasn't a situation he wanted to put himself in. On the other hand, he was also skittish with strangers so it was kind of a toss-up between the lesser of two evils. Maybe a large part of him skewed towards staying with Julio, though, especially as Julio had been keeping a respectful distance and had made no untoward overtures towards him.

"...I'm sorry... I didn't mean to accuse you of... of anything."

He looked at the scar for a long time, as though he could tell its origins from staring at it at length. There was no way of knowing that Julio was telling the truth... but there was also no way of knowing that he was lying. Angel's grasp on the bag loosened and he forced himself to relax a little bit. Even though he wanted to know what happened to Julio, it seemed inappropriate to ask. But somebody handsome, tall, tough like Julio didn't seem different in the ways that Angel was different. His different was an attractive kind of different, the kind that drew people to him.

"What... kind of movies do you want to watch?"

Ah. Julio smiled and waved off Angel's contrition. He appreciated the apology, don't get him wrong, but he understood. Julio could be anybody. For all Angel knew, he was a bad person that had trapped him here for nefarious deeds. With so much evil in the world, it was a small wonder that Angel couldn't trust anybody. Honestly, the two of them were in the same boat regarding that one.

He could feel Angel's gaze on his scar and he remained still for a moment, to let him study it as long as he wanted. There were others, too, but they were currently not on display. The one over his eyebrow seemed like the easiest one to show Angel.

Smiling when he saw Angel starting to relax a little, Julio continued to smile as he typed. "Anything but horror?" He handed his phone to Angel for him to hold onto as he got up and went over to the hand-me-down TV cabinet. Crouching down, he opened the cupboard under the TV to reveal a bunch of old DVDs, stacked in no particular order. He started picking them up and putting them down on the ground, lining them up so Angel could see them. Since they were all dollar bin items, they were mostly old movies ranging from action movies to thrillers to the occasional romcom. Nothing from after 2015 or so.

You pick, he signed.

Julio had an engaging smile. Angel looked down when he was smiled at but he saw enough of Julio's smile to make him feel like smiling back. He didn't—but he wanted to. When Julio smiled his features softened and it was harder to see him as a weirdo taking advantage of guys he found in the alley. Not that Angel thought of him that way... anymore.

He held on to the phone, feeling kind of dumb in that schoolgirl seeing a cute guy for the first time kind of way, awkwardly hunched against the very end of the couch. Nothing scary? Really? Julio looked like such a tough guy with all of those tattoos and with his hair done that way. He didn't look much different from the men who had set upon Angel in the alleyway, to be perfectly honest, but they always said not to judge books by their covers...

DVDs though were fair game. Angel looked at the array laid before him. He didn't recognize most of them since he'd grown up overseas and was accustomed to foreign language films. But one caught his eye and he pointed to it. Still no idea what the signing meant but he assumed that Julio wanted him to pick.

"Steven Seagal?" Only he said it like 'seagull' and he knew it was wrong, but that was just how he pronounced it! It was his accent!

After a long moment, he set Julio's phone down onto the coffee table, having just realized that he could do that. "Why no horror films?"

Steven Seagull! Julio's smile turned into a silent laugh. He couldn't help it; it sounded so funny and the image of a seagull in the actor's likeness immediately popped into his imagination. Still grinning, he picked up that DVD and opened it. Action movies were probably his favorite. Not that he was delighted by gratuitous violence. It was just the fast pace of everything, the absurdity of the story lines, the silly fight scenes. They were fun; movies were meant to be fun.

As he popped the DVD into the old player's tray, he turned back to Angel, who wanted to know why he said no horror movies. His grin softened into something almost shy. Was it strange for him to hate horror movies? When it came to monsters and horror violence, he didn't have the stomach for it. Action movies were made to fun and silly and over the top. Horror movies, though... Their version of over-the-top churned something in his stomach.

While the DVD menu popped up, Julio grabbed the remote to hit play and then set it on the table  next to the first aid tin. Sitting beside Angel without encroaching on his personal space, he leaned over and took his phone so he could type, "I used to have nightmares about monsters coming to eat my mama's soul and I would stay up all night to guard her from them. After she died, I was sure they would come for me next. I know they're not real but horror movies still give me nightmares. Silly?"

Yes well.

Steven Seagull could have been a thing maybe.

Angel wasn't exactly offended by the way Julio laughed at him but he felt a prickle of embarrassment that made him tug the hood down further over his head, half-hiding his face from view. The accent got him a lot of comments--not all bad. Most of the time people just wanted to know where he was from, usually cashiers at stores he went to since he didn't go out of his way to talk to people. It was all smalltalk, really, that didn't mean much to either the cashier or to Angel, who treated it like a necessary evil.

He watched Julio fiddling with the dated DVD player curiously. Not a lot of people had them anymore; most people had Netflix or something. DVDs were also conspicuously out of favor at the moment but Angel kind of thought it was interesting. Did Julio spend a lot of time browsing bargain bins? Or did he pick something up that looked interesting and a collection happened over time? He wasn't rich, that much was obvious, but that didn't really make much of a difference. He was still interesting in his own way--probably more so than any weird rich kid with blue hair and too much time on his hands.

Once he sat down, Angel had something to look at that didn't make him feel strangely awkward. He watched the opening credits until a phone came his way, and then he studied it religiously in lieu of looking up at handsome Julio. So that was it. Nightmares. His mama... She was dead. Another long pause occurred before Angel returned his attention back to the TV.

"No," he said to Steven Seagull on the TV. "It's not silly. I don't like horror movies either." It was the blood. He couldn't stomach the sight of blood after what happened to him before. Angel pulled at his sleeves, half-hugging his knees as he pulled his legs up onto the couch. He didn't look at Julio but he kept talking and he didn't know why. Just. Something about Julio's companionable silence made him want to open up. A little.

"I used to sit outside my parents' room when I was little... to warn them in case the monster under my bed came for them in the night." Similar kind of feeling of wanting to protect the people they loved, but... probably different receptions. Angel didn't think Julio's mom would stare at him in disapproval and roughly haul on his arm to drag him back into his cold, dark room with all the creepy shadows along the walls.

Ah. Julio nodded, knowing the feeling of acting as sentry to a parent all night long in an effort to save them. They had that in common, a common bond. They loved their parents so much that they sacrificed themselves to keep them safe. Julio wasn't able to save his mother from what ailed her. Maybe Angel still had time. He turned his gaze on Angel and smiled softly, reaching up to touch his cheek. Just the barest touch, a flutter of a butterfly's wings.

No horror movies, then. They both agreed. Which was just as well, because Julio didn't have any in his collection and he didn't plan to add any in during this lifetime. Noticing the way Angel was curling up, Julio tilted his head slightly and made the sign for cold. It was almost a self explanatory sign, since it involved a shivering motion. He pointed to Angel--the sign for you.

With his phone, he typed out: "Do you want a blanket?"

He really wanted to say that he was sorry Julio's mother was dead but he couldn't find the words. They all sounded weird in his head, maybe inappropriate. Normal people would have said it without thinking, and most without really meaning it. Angel meant it, which was why he didn't say it; he kept it bottled up inside, like all the things that mattered.

One shoulder came up in a slight flinch when Julio touched his cheek but it wasn't out of discomfort or pain. Surprise. He half-turned to look at Julio, wary again, startled, skittish. But he felt the heat long after Julio's hand slipped away to sign, and then to type on his phone. Was that his way of getting Angel to look at him?

Or...?

Quickly Angel shook his head. "I'm okay. Thanks." He hugged himself tighter and fixed his eyes back onto the movie but now he wasn't taking much of it in. The light touch still tingled on his cheek. He wanted to touch the place Julio's hand grazed but... he didn't want Julio to think he was being creepy or anything.

It was probably his way of getting Angel to look at him. Surreptitiously Angel's eyes slid over to him, though his head didn't turn. Then just as quickly they returned to the TV, where Steven Seagull was beating some people up--in typical fashion. "Just like a superhero," he said quite without thinking, half-smiling despite the split lip.

Wasn't he cold? The apartment wasn't too bad. Greenwood had problems sometimes, with their heating and AC units and Julio couldn't afford to have either of those running constantly. Mostly he just opened windows if he needed air and if he was cold, there were blankets. But Angel wasn't cold. Just... scared. Julio wanted to reassure him, to embrace him and hold him. That was what Julio wanted when he was scared. But... probably not from a stranger.

So he didn't. He left well enough alone, turning his gaze to the movie, in all its silly glory. Oh, it was so hammy. The acting, the fight sequences. Julio couldn't help grinning at some of the sheer absurdity and he'd seen this movie many times before.

When Angel spoke, Julio looked at him. Just like a superhero, huh? Steven Seagull, superhero. He laughed silently at that, amused at the very picture of Steven Seagal as a Seagull based superhero. He gently nudged Angel in the side before he grinned and showed him his phone, "Steven Seagull, the newest Marvel superhero! He has a seagull outfit and his power is flying and detecting garbage food."

Nobody was going to say that the movie was fantastic but it was a good way to pass the time and to help take his mind off of things. Angel liked action films but he also preferred them on the fantasy side and preferably with lots of superheroes. Sometimes he imagined himself as one of them, beating up bad guys with super strength or running circles around them like The Flash or something.

Sadly he was just human. If he'd had superpowers he could have defended himself against those goons out in the alleyway... For a moment he dropped his head, inspecting a tear in the knee of his gray jeans. Then a light prod in the side made him look up, into Julio's smiling face.

"Does he flap his arms when he tries to fly?" Finally he cracked a half-smile at Julio, amused by the idea of Steven Seagull in a seagull wingsuit. "Maybe he fights the garbage men over food."

Another silent laugh. All right, he could see Steven Seagull flapping his wings uselessly as he tried to fly away. No actual flying, though. Just attempting to fly with cloth wings that were useless. Maybe he didn't have any special powers at all; he was just a crazy man in a winged suit going around acting like a man-sized seagull. This struck Julio as terribly hilarious--he laughed so hard tears came out of the corners of his eyes.

"And the garbage men are his nemeses," he signed, before he thought. It felt so much like being with some of the guys that understood him that it just sort of happened. With a half grin, he wrote it down on his phone, along with, "And he doesn't know he's not a real superhero, just a crazy old man who thinks he's part seagull!"

Turning more toward Angel, he pointed to Angel's bag and made the sign for draw which also was self-explanatory--it was a pinky finger drawing a squiggly line down his palm.

The whole signing thing was kind of mystifying. A whole other language. Angel tried to make sense of what Julio was saying but all he got was... Well he didn't get any of it. That was what he got out of it, that maybe he needed to learn sign language or something. Because... some day he might need it. Some other day.

He couldn't help bursting out laughing when he read Julio's comment and quickly stuffed a fist against his mouth to hide it. Then the fist pressing against his lips made it throb painfully and he winced and stopped, gingerly touching the swollen area. It wasn't bleeding anymore though--Julio did a really good job of patching him up.

His hand settled on the bag when Julio pointed to it but he sort of got it. Maybe. "You want me to... sketch it?" The half-amused smile returned. He pulled the sketchbook out, in all of its crumpled, bent state and flipped it open. A stark study of Logan appeared, one of his profile, looking wistfully at someone. At another dancer. Angel hastily flipped over to a blank page--avoiding Julio's gaze--and reached for the pen he saw on top of the coffee table, sitting over a pile of random papers.

"Okay let me see..." His ears burned but luckily the hood hid them. Julio didn't say anything about the drawings earlier but some of them were really intimate and really important to Angel. He didn't show them to just anyone, especially not ones like these. Clearing his throat, he began to draw a picture of a man in a patched-up seagull costume, with spindly thin legs, a scruffy long beard and a crazy cartoonish expression of rage on his face. He laughed as he penned in some rough images of burly garbage men running away from him--wheeling garbage bins.

Ah, now his own smile grew, eyes lit up in amusement. Angel had a cute laugh, even if he was shy about it. Or maybe that was what made it cute. Julio angled his head to try and get a better look at Angel's split lip afterward--worried by the grimace he made that he might have hurt himself. But he seemed fine. He wasn't bleeding.

He nodded, at the same time making the sign for yes! for emphasis. With curiosity and interest, he watched Angel pull his sketchbook out. It was a shame it had been torn up the way it was. Julio did his best to save every piece of paper he could find and put them in the bag for him, not knowing what images meant the most to him. He imagined they all did, in their own way. He was an artist, after all.

Blinking, he noticed there was another picture of Logan; was this the third one he'd spied so far? Julio thought he must be in love. That was why he was there. To see Logan. But he'd captured something in that sketch of Logan that Julio never saw before. Was it fantasy on Angel's part or had he really seen that look on Logan's face?

As the new image took shape, Julio could not help laughing some more, at the costume, at the legs, at the face. Somehow, it was Steven's face, in all its cartoonish glory. It was clearly him, in drawn form, hunting down and scaring off garbage men.

Once the laughter subsided, Julio rested against the back of the couch, tired but amused, relaxed and content. Normally when he came home after work, it was just him and something to eat, one of these DVDs, maybe, for company before he went to bed. It was nice to be with somebody else for a change. Somebody that wasn't stuffing money down his underwear or trying to coax him into spending an evening with them at exorbitant costs.

"It's perfect," he typed.

Julio's silent laugh was cute. Angel sort of filled in the silence with what he imagined it might sound like, with what he thought Julio's voice could have been if he had been able to talk. What happened? Why couldn't he speak? There was no scarring anywhere near his throat so it wasn't an accident. He was born this way?

There were lots of questions but he didn't feel comfortable yet asking them. The atmosphere was definitely more relaxed though, and there was no more tension from earlier when Angel was first carried inside. He laughed too, more freely, as he added knobbly knees to crazy old Steven Seagull and some actual seagulls hovering above in the sky--sidekicks. Then he drew one pecking a garbage man, and added flies to the bins for effect.

There. Now it was complete. Once the laughter died down, he doodled some more things absently on a fresh page and then glanced over at the screen pushed at him. Angel half-smiled, still on the high of... whatever this was. A normal moment with a normal person. Laughing over something he drew, which filled him with an odd kind of pride.

"Thanks," he said and added without thinking, feeling good and amused and still thinking about Julio's smile and laugh, "So are you."

He signed, "No problem," with a smile. Angel was polite. He shifted to look at the other random doodles on the fresh page, then looked up with surprise. What? Did he just say so are you? That was... ah. It was cute but...

"Me?" he signed with a half smile. "Perfect? No."

It wasn't the first time somebody said he was perfect. But that was a different context and not a pleasant one, either. Julio had grown so tired of it. All the sweet nothings that came with the price of company. Compliments that were showered on him because he showed up to look good and favor the person with the pleasure of his skills. The money supplemented what his other jobs couldn't pay. Jobs at mechanic shops, jobs as a grocery clerk, a janitor, a stocker. He was unskilled labor. That was what they called it.

But as a child? As a child, he had been a dancer. And as a teenager, an athlete. His mother was so proud of him. If she knew what he had to do to start paying off her enormous hospital bills and all the debt she left behind, she would have been so hurt and so horrified. Not by what he was doing but what she felt she was making him do. And it killed him inside but... a person had to do what he had to do.

When he found stripping, it was the best day of his life. It had its ups and its downs, like any job. But he was actually skilled for once, at something less demeaning. Maybe it was to some but it wasn't the same as prostitution, although some people likened them to the same thing.

He was still paying off those debts but at least it was by a different means now.

Still... he didn't think he was perfect. He had that gap in his teeth that he had been bullied over for years. No money for braces. By now, he accepted it as a quirk but boy, did he hate it for the longest time, refusing to smile unless he covered his mouth.

Angel, he thought, was perfect. Underneath all those bruises, he had perfect bone structure. He was slim but he looked like he might be athletic, not skinny. Hard to tell with all those layers and the hoodie. Gently taking the pen from Angel's hand, he wrote on the page, "Perfect is Overrated." Then he drew a speech bubble around it, coming out of a circular head with a dark-haired bun and a gap-toothed smile.

Yes. Him. He was perfect. Angel didn't need to know sign language to be able to see semi-incredulous disbelief in the way Julio pointed to himself. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder maybe but Angel thought he was perfect in his imperfections. The gap between his teeth when he smiled, the inherent shyness of those same smiles, the way his action juxtaposed his appearance, all of it was unconventional and strange and perfect.

Perfect is Overrated.

He gave up the pen and watched a little Julio emerging from the page alongside his scribbles and doodles of the movie scenes. Bun, gap-toothed smile. Cynical speech bubble. Angel reached for the pen again. His fingertips grazed the side of Julio's hand lightly and he jerked the hand back.

"Perfect people never think they're perfect," he said instead, eyes on the screen.

Julio's smile slowly faded as he watched Angel. Did he do something wrong? He had gone for the pen, then decided not to and now he was steadfastly staring at the TV. Confusedly, Julio looked over at the page and at his own drawing, his own words. Perfect people didn't know they were perfect, he said. Maybe that was true. It felt to him like maybe Angel didn't think he was perfect in any way.

Maybe he wanted Julio to say he was perfect back. Did he hurt his feelings? Tapping the pen against his own chin, he glanced hesitantly over at Angel, who seemed determined to watch Steven Seagal punching bad guys. Furrowing his brow slightly, Julio struck out the Perfect is Overrated and replaced it with Angel is Perfect and is not Overrated. :)

Julio gently slid the pen beneath Angel's fingertips to give it back to him. He made the sign for sorry, a slide of the fingers over the back of his hand.

The word struck a nerve, that was all. Not a bad one or anything, just A nerve. Perfection was expected; perfection was a state meant to be achieved by the age of 8, when he ought to be old enough to know not to make a fuss in public and to stay still and attentive at whatever functions his parents hauled him off to.

He tried. To be perfect. But he knew he wasn't and it seemed like perfection was synonymous with love, so... Being imperfect took some getting used to. Angel glanced over when the pen moved, but only to tap Julio's chin. He watched the words being struck out and new ones added, an untruth overtop a cynical comment.

But it still made him smile slightly. He held the pen rather tightly for a moment as Julio signed again. Then he reached over to cross out Angel and wrote down Steven Seagull as a compromise. Neither of them were perfect but Steven Seagull was. There. The smile widened a little and he doodled a small Angel beside the small Julio with headphones around sticky-out ears and hair all in his eyes. So emo. So blue all the time. It was his favorite color and his permanent state of being. Blue.

"You're pretty good at drawing." The likeness of himself was good!

Okay, neither of them were perfect then. Julio couldn't help grinning at Steven Seagull being perfect; but he was. They both determined that now. The perfect superhero the world didn't need but they were certainly getting. He watched Angel draw himself beside the drawing Julio had made of himself and his grin grew wider at the compliment.

He signed thank you. He wasn't as good as Angel by far--he saw what he had drawn of Logan and he'd never drawn anything as good as Steven Seagull. But when it came to small little doodles, he was all right.

Picking up his phone, he wrote, "You're an artist. Is that what you want to do? Artwork? Animation? Comic books?" He tilted his phone toward Angel, looking from the sketchpad up to Angel's face, at his blue eyes.

Thank you? Was that what it meant? Angel thought he was picking up a few things here and there, although he could never be sure. It helped when Julio wrote out what he wanted to say though, and Angel could match the motions of his hand to the text on the screen. Somehow communicating with him wasn't difficult. It was like... whatever couldn't be signed or said, they communicated silently through glances. Or smiles. Or lack of smiles.

"Si. I do freelance work. Painting usually, some mixed media art, sculpting. Wait a minute." He set the sketchpad down briefly so that he could rummage through the bag, through the crumpled pages, searching for a particular one. Luckily it hadn't been torn too badly; most of it was intact. Angel smoothed it out on top of the doodles on the pad, the comic that he was working on. It was a full-figure sketch of a muscled superhero with a cape and tights and all, and a face that actually resembled Julio somewhat.

With something of a mischievous smile he took the pen and drew in a small gap in the superhero's brilliant toothy smile, and added dark hair, a goatee and a bun. "What do you think? Could this be the main character in my comic?"

See? An artist. An artist with talent. Angel, he was sure, would go places. Julio tilted his head as Angel began to look through his sketchbook. There were a few more of Logan, definitely Logan. Julio's lips twitched in amusement. His crush was cute.

The page skipping stopped on a superhero. Julio rested his chin in his hand as he leaned in closer--close enough to brush shoulder to shoulder--and watched as Angel worked on adding details to his superhero. Some familiar details. The resemblance once the gap was added and the hair and the goatee--it was uncanny. Julio stroked his goatee after the one on the superhero was drawn in. His eyes lit up with amusement.

He lifted a finger--wait--and picked up his phone. "What will you call this one? What are his powers?"

Julio seemed to like the modifications he made because his eyes lit up. Angel always heard of it happening (like in those fanfiction stories he read online) but he had never seen it in real life up until now. But it was true. When Julio smiled, it was like a little light turned on behind his eyes.

And their shoulders were touching, too. Very slowly and very gently he eased away from Julio to put a small bit of distance between them. He didn't feel comfortable being touched—or touching. It was nothing against Julio because he was an obviously kind person who had no intentions of harming Angel, but Angel wasn't like everyone else in the way he reacted to simple things.

He was weird. He acknowledged that. He was very weird.

"Ah... hm." Luckily Julio asked him about the superhero and his tilting away coincided with him looking Julio up and down. What would Julio's name be if he was a superhero? Angel thought for a while as he took him in. There was something about Julio that made it hard to look away from him, if he had to be honest.

"I think his name would be... Señor Milagro." Mister Miracle. Kind of a dumb name but most superhero names were dumb, weren't they? That was half the fun of them. Nonetheless, Angel smiled shyly and tried to hide behind his hood as he turned his head away, breaking their gazes. "His power would be to save people by performing miracles and making people happy. With a smile."

It felt like Julio could have that power—the power to change lives. To transform horrid nights into pleasant ones with almost no effort at all.

Ah. Julio saw the way Angel eased away from him when they touched. Was it because of the thugs that beat him up? Julio's gaze swept over his shoulder, looking for a hole or tear. But he might have bruised it. Somehow, though... Julio got the feeling it didn't have to do with what happened tonight. Angel did the same thing when their hands brushed, too. Maybe he had an aversion to touch.

"I'm sorry," he signed again. He wasn't aware that being close was a problem as they sort of started to become friends. But it was clear that there was a problem so he moved back and away, too. But he gave him a thumbs up sign to show that the name was a good one and that Angel didn't need to hide his face over it.

Trying to lighten the mood since it felt like awkward tension was starting to creep in, he typed quickly, "I should use Señor Milagro as my stripper name."

Ah, the universal sign of approval: thumbs up. Angel nodded as he felt the same measure of awkwardness beginning to slip over them, but then one message dispelled all of that and he laughed out loud before he could stop himself. Then it was his turn to give the thumbs up, rather discreetly at mid-chest height.

"If you do that, you need to dress like this." The tip of the pen tapped on Señor Milagro's cape and tights—very tight tights that left little to the imagination. Good thing Angel hadn't drawn him naked, or in any sort of erotic pose. Sometimes he did, as a creative outlet for certain urges but... He didn't think Julio would be very impressed by smutty pictures, when this was their first time meeting.

"So you work there, at the club?" Awkwardness again—Angel wondered if Julio had ever seen him there before. He hadn't seen Julio but then again he only came for Logan's shows and he left promptly after they ended, too embarrassed to be caught there. And too afraid that he would somehow tarnish his father's name if he was caught.

He grinned. The laughter dispelled the awkwardness and the very idea of dressing like Señor Milagro onstage was both hilarious and compelling. He wrote, "I don't choose the costumes but I'm sure a superhero theme would interest them."

Julio could imagine it working and there were plenty of songs about superheroes that they could choreograph a number to. Look at Angel, accidentally assisting the strip club with his ideas. But then the awkward tension seemed to come back. Julio couldn't tell by Angel's tone whether he asked that question out of curiosity alone or if it maybe bothered him that Julio was a stripper. It seemed everybody else had been outshone by Logan's light. But if Angel had a crush on Logan--a stripper--then he couldn't be judging Julio.

Slowly, he tapped out his reply before sliding the phone over the sketchbook, his eyes on Angel. "I've worked there for five years. You come to see Logan, yes? We don't usually work the same nights."

Was it that obvious? That he came to see Logan? Or was it a good guess? Angel was aware that Julio was looking at him, and he stared at the TV mutely for a few long moments before he nodded once.

It was pointless lying anyway--he knew that Julio must have seen the pictures of Logan in his sketchbook. There were a number of them, in various poses, with various emotions being poured into them. Longing, admiration, shyness, hesitation. They ran the gamut, depending on how Angel felt at any given time while watching him dance.

"Please don't tell him," he said in a tiny voice. If Logan knew there was a creepy kid watching him and... drawing him, even from afar, he would surely be disgusted. Or he might change his shifts to get away from Angel and the whole... fantasy would be ruined. While Logan didn't know he existed, he could imagine anything. Once he saw the disgust or loathing in Logan's eyes, it would all be over.

Julio dropped his gaze from Angel after he nodded, looking down at the phone resting on the sketchbook. It was still on that image of Señor Milagro. But Julio remembered the images of Logan that he had spied earlier. Were they only the tip of the iceberg? Logan didn't even know that somebody was watching him from afar, that he had a secret admirer. Most of his admirers were a lot less discreet, though, this was true.

Gently, he touched Angel's face, turning it toward him, away from the action on the TV screen. He shook his head, signing I won't. Angel didn't have to tell him not to inform Logan. Julio never planned to. It wasn't really his business and he regretted now bringing it up at all.

It seemed like the time to simply drop it. So he slid his phone back off the sketchbook and typed, "Are you hungry? I can make my mama's paella. Food for the soul. :)"

Eye contact seemed important to Julio. Angel was surprised when he felt a hand slide under his chin to guide his face--his eyes--towards Julio. For some reason it was harder to breathe when he looked into those gentle, dark eyes. It felt like the movie playing in the background was fading out and everything became muted and soft--colors, sounds, everything.

Hesitantly, he smiled. His secret was safe... Julio wouldn't sell him out. There was no reason to do it--there was no reason not to do it. Really to Logan it probably didn't matter because he had so many admirers. He had so many women--and a smattering of men--attending his shows that he must have been used to the attention.

But Logan never looked at them back the same way they looked at him. To Logan they were probably just clients. Angel would be too, if he'd ever worked up enough courage to get up close and personal. He was too shy, though. Too shy to go to the stage and tuck a bill under Logan's G-string.

And yet... somehow... he wasn't too shy to look Julio in the eyes. Not for long, but he made eye-contact. He felt comfortable laughing with him and joking around about Steven Seagull and Senor Milagros. Weird how that worked; how he didn't see Julio as a stripper as such. He didn't purely see Logan that way either--they were all just people in the end--but there was a difference between how he saw Julio and Logan.

He was glad when the conversation steered away though. To food. "You know how to make it?" Color him surprised! "Can I help?"

Julio smiled back. See, all was well in the world. Angel's secret was safe with him. Even if he hadn't been asked not to say anything, Julio wouldn't have told him. He didn't want to say it to Angel but Logan seemed mostly straight. He had his moments, especially with one person in particular but he seemed to mostly be interested in women. But Julio wouldn't spit on his dreams. Maybe one day, Julio could introduce the two and who knew? He just didn't... he didn't want to disappoint Angel.

So the topic was put away. Nobody was telling anybody anything. Maybe one day, something would come of that crush, maybe not. One day, Angel would see. Julio wondered how long he had been harboring this crush, though. But he didn't ask. Food for the soul; this was more important. Normally after work, Julio came home to cook dinner and take a shower and relax with some music or TV. His schedule was a little out of whack but that was okay. He liked the change in pace.

But he was hungry and he was happy to see that Angel also seemed agreeable to eating. He nodded while making the sign for yes, grinning at Angel's surprise. Most people were surprised he cooked for himself, but he'd learned to do it for his mama, because of his mama. There were recipes she passed down to him, her only son. And when she was too weak to cook, he cooked for her. It would be nice to cook for somebody else again.

Again, he nodded and got up, indicating for Angel to come with him into the kitchen, then turned around and grabbed his phone real quick, sticking it in his back pocket. Grinning, he led Angel into his modest kitchen and started bringing out ingredients and cookware.

With his phone, he told Angel how to prep the ingredients. "Chopping or seasoning?"

Was there anything Julio was bad at? First aid, getting people to open up to him, that smile, cooking--he had it all. And he was a performer so obviously the aesthetics were... nothing to complain about. Angel was used to looking for beauty in everything but here, he didn't have to try hard at all. Not at all.

He was glad to have something to do. Sitting there on the couch together was nice but he might have been hungry too. And, well, if they sat there, they'd talk and Angel didn't know how many more secrets he wanted exposed. One was enough--his crush on Logan was already pretty big, for him, to have to admit to.

The kitchen was small but it looked like one that had been in use. Not that it was grimy or crusty, just that everything looked like it had a proper place, and all the necessary pots and pans and jars and bottles were there. In comparison, Angel's kitchen at home was spotless and never used. He only had some cereal and milk in stock, and snacks. Terrible.

"I can chop." He hesitated and then added--a corny joke. "If you trust me with a knife."

I trust you, he signed with a smile, then reached out--then thought better of it. He only meant to give him a friendly squeeze but he felt like he had pushed Angel a lot more than intended tonight so far. All he really wanted to do was help; not scare him or get him to admit to having a crush on one of Julio's co-workers.

He touched the chopping knife nearby and nodded at Angel to let him know that he could do the chopping. Then he got to work on seasoning.

It had been... he couldn't even count how long it had been since he cooked with somebody else in the kitchen. Once upon a time, Julio had a live-in boyfriend but things hadn't worked out between them. There was a lot that got in the way of that relationship and things ended bitterly on both ends. It was nice to paint over those memories with new ones. Nice ones.

He kept smiling at Angel as they worked together, showing Angel how to make the paella as his mama had taught him. By the time it was finished, he felt quite proud of Angel for his participation. When he asked to help, he meant it.

Finished! he signed with a flourish, which was two hands up, palms toward the body and then a flick of the wrist, turning the hands out so the palm was away from the body. He grinned. Let's eat, he signed, bringing the pan over to the small table in the kitchen. It was made for two; Julio didn't exactly throw dinner parties. As he put the utensils out, he turned back to the fridge and opened it, pointing inside at the various drinks inside. There was mineral water, orange juice, a gallon of milk, and a couple of beers.

Oh... wow... Julio really took him up on the offer of help! Angel liked that, actually. So many people treated him like glass because of his... condition but he wasn't a helpless baby. He could do things on his own. Did it help to have Julio guiding him though? Absolutely.

Know what didn't help? Julio smiling at him so often. So distracting...! Somehow he managed to avoid slicing off all his fingers, although he did nick himself a little, which he hid immediately. And it helped that he was kind of banged up so he could pass it off as a preexisting injury. But strangely even in his current state, he felt pretty good. Sore, yeah, but having something to do took the focus off of his bruises and cuts.

It was mostly the face that got the brunt of the beating; his body was bruised up but nothing was broken. Ever since he was a kid, his injuries always healed faster than other kids'. He used to be a scrappy little thing and he climbed everything that could be climbed, which meant tons of scraped knees and busted palms. But within a couple of hours he could be back out there again, good as new!

Eventually the meal was cooked and— "Finished?" That was what it meant right? Angel just had a feeling. He grinned too and followed Julio to the table, proud of his accomplishment. Their accomplishment. They made this meal together and it looked really good! Chicken, sausage, seafood, all on a bed of rice and peppers and onions. Angel sniffed the air appreciatively.

"It smells amazing! Oh... water." He didn't drink. Actually he... never got asked to drink. And drinking alone was pointless so he never tried his hand at it but he wasn't strictly opposed to it, actually. For now though, water was good. He sat himself down and picked up a fork, then set it down. Better wait for the host to come back before he started eating—etiquette and all.

His grin only grew as he nodded. Yes! Finished! He made the sign again just for kicks. It was a fun one to do and he thought Angel might appreciate it.

As for water, he nodded and reached for the container of water. Julio kept a lot of water because nothing quite quenched his thirst after work or time at the gym than a bottle of chilled water. He brought one for Angel and a bottle of beer for himself. Paella was best with a margarita but he didn't currently have anything to make them with. Tequila would have worked well, too, but also out of that, too.

Beer would work, though. It was a lite beer--the kind the guys would have teased him about if they saw it in his fridge. After opening his bottle, he lifted it for a cheers to their dinner. Then he picked up his fork but he looked over at Angel expectantly, nodding toward the food.

Angel didn't need to be told twice to start eating; he scooped a spoonful of paella into his plate and picked up his fork too. For a moment he looked across the table at Julio and he smiled. This evening was so strange and terrifying and comfortable and nice. All jumbled up. It started out so awful and ended like this. A nice meal with a nice friend.

"Thanks." He didn't mind if Julio thought it was for the meal or what—it was for everything. Angel lowered his head and began to eat, trying everything on his plate because this was a meal they cooked together. He was sometimes picky with food but not tonight.

It all tasted good. Maybe because he had a hand in it, he thought it tasted delicious. "Good?" Angel sipped some water, glancing up. "I usually eat alone," he admitted quietly. Not morosely or anything, only softly. "This is nice."

He smiled and signed, thank you. He was glad Angel was here. And he was even happier when he ate and seemed to like everything he tried. Truthfully, Julio thought it tasted better than it had in a long time and it had to do with the present company. It wasn't everyday he cooked for or with somebody. And it was... nice. It was so nice and normal and homey.

Nodding at Angel's question, he agreed silently. With his handy-dandy phone, he typed out, "I do too. I miss having somebody to eat with. :)"

He set the phone down at the side of the table for Angel. Two peas in a pod. Lonely souls eating alone most nights. He wondered what else Angel did, if he went home and sketched and sculpted. He said he liked to paint, too. Julio wondered what his work looked like, the sculptures, the paintings. And he wondered what kind of place he lived in. Somewhere in Portland but he came out here to see Logan. He must have fallen pretty hard.

Maybe he worked here. He said he worked freelance, though. Maybe a studio out here?

Angel looked at the text on the phone and smiled down at it. His laugh was more of a breathy exhale too and he nodded, understanding exactly what Julio meant by that. It wasn't something you missed until it was gone, the companionship and the sound of another voice nearby. Or—well he supposed Julio didn't add much to the latter aspect but his presence alone made up for it.

And it was nice to feel like he had a friend again.

"I didn't think tonight would end up like this," he admitted as he kept eating, occasionally glancing at Julio. That first feeling he had when he was half-dazed and delirious of wanting to paint him or sketch him didn't go away. If anything the urge had gotten stronger. He had already mapped out which pencils to use, what medium, which colors might best suit him. He'd draw Julio with a smile because that was what he saw most often from him. Smiles.

That was why he started drawing Logan too—a smile. Logan was smiling at another tall Asian stripper; they'd been hanging out at the back of the club, each with a beer in their hands. Logan smiled at his friend and Angel felt the sudden urge to replicate that on paper. It was such a genuine, pleased smile, not like the ones Logan flashed on stage. That smile meant something.

Angel pushed an empty mussel shell off to one side, having scooped out the tender meat inside. "Are you from Spain? Or Mexico?" He thought Spain—the way Julio wrote certain things hinted that he was a native of Europe, but one could never be sure. "What brought you here?"

Oh, he didn't either. Julio nodded in understanding. He hadn't expected the night to take this path, not at all. The day had started out like any other. Work went as usual. And then he'd stepped out into the night. Ever since that mob of wicked shitheads moved through the alley, they inexplicably changed Julio's entire night. For... the better, though? Right? He thought Angel thought so, too. For the better.

Taking one more bite, Julio looked over at Angel. Washing down his food with a drink from the bottle, he pulled his phone over.

"Spain. Valencia. After my mama passed on, my uncle thought we would find opportunities here in America. And... somewhere without mama's memory everywhere, I think. He didn't say that but I gotta hunch. What about you?"

Yep. This night was ending on a definite high note, Angel could agree with that. He winced a little as Julio began to type however, not meaning to force him to stop eating to explain his origins. It was difficult for them to communicate at the moment, since signing was faster for Julio but Angel didn't understand anything. Typing everything out seemed laborious, but Julio was a good sport about it. He seemed used to it.

When he'd finished, Angel put down his fork and read everything carefully. Valencia. They had a vacation home there, a white villa by the ocean where salty sea breezes swept through each room at night to keep them cool. Angel smiled; so that was why Julio thought of paella first. It was more popular near the ocean where fresh seafood was readily available.

"I'm from Málaga." Another port city but known for its opulent resorts and wealthy neighborhoods. "My father is a diplomat, that's why I'm here." He pushed a piece of sausage around, suddenly feeling less hungry at the thought of his father. He would definitely not approve of Angel hanging out with an entertainer or a stripper.

"I'm sorry. About your mother." He'd wanted to say it earlier but the time didn't seem right. Now, the words came out easier.

Oh, wow. A rich kid. For some reason, Julio hadn't really noticed or realized that he was dealing with somebody steeped in money. Angel didn't dress like a snob. And the blue hair... Julio's eyes went over it. He liked it, though. Colorful. Interesting, like Angel's clothes.

But the way he held himself, too, like he wanted to shrink into the smallest corner. Like Julio, there was a difference in the way he presented himself and how he actually was. Because... his hair and his clothes screamed look at me! But his actions screamed the exact opposite.

Julio watched as Angel pushed a bit of sausage around now, a sign that he didn't want to talk about his father the diplomat. That was all right. He could talk about anything he wanted to. Julio liked listening. Surprise colored his face when Angel expressed his condolences for Julio's mama, though. Julio glanced downward, finding that now his fork had stopped moving, the opposite of Angel and his roving fork. When he looked back up, he smiled, if a little sadly.

He lowered his gaze again to type. "She was a strong woman inside but her body was weak. I think she held on until she thought I'd be able to take care of myself. When she was young she was a ballerina. She taught me a few things."

As he passed the phone over to Angel, he took a quick bite of shrimp before springing up and going into the living room to retrieve a framed photograph of himself as a seven year old with a huge smile, his hands on her arms and her arms around him with her warm brown eyes looking into the camera. He sat down, placing the image next to his phone, pointing to her, as if Angel didn't know she was the woman in the photo.

A sad smile. A sad, handsome smile. Angel was drawn to Julio's eyes more so than the curve of his lips. Maybe he saw the value in eye contact now; the emotion in Julio's eyes said far more than words or signs ever could. He loved his mother and he had been loved by her in return. There was love in the sadness in his eyes.

Angel read the text attentively again, taking his time to really study the words. The language. He wondered if Julio used the things she taught him in his dancing, or whether he held them separate. Stripping was a different kind of dance from ballet; Angel had seen plenty of both. The ballet was one of those snobby things that rich people attended to appear cultured. And strip clubs were for skulking around in with his hood up and bag before him like a shield.

He never felt quite comfortable in his own skin in either setting.

"She sounds like a lovely woman. A lovely mother." Sickness struck her down but she fought to the last for her son; that was beautiful. Angel could only ruefully think of his own mother, so cold and aloof and always too busy for him. She was a socialite, a philanthropist and a businesswoman—she was not a mother.

When Julio got up, Angel half rose out of his own seat, startled. But he sank down slowly when he saw Julio going to grab a photograph and brought it back to show him. Angel quickly wiped his hand on his pants—so as not to dirty the frame or the glass—before he touched it. His fingertips traced the smiling duo, following the contours of their faces, their hair, their smiles. "She was beautiful. Just li—" Just like Julio. But he didn't finish his sentence and quickly stuffed the bit of sausage into his mouth, embarrassed at his slip of the tongue.

For someone who didn't have a lot to say normally, he sure was babbling a lot. Angel swallowed the sausage with some difficulty and began pushing a bit of chicken around. "Do you mind... if I paint her?"

She was. Julio nodded. His mother was a wonderful mother. Julio had been so close to her. Despite her growing weakness, she did what she could for her son. Dancing had been her passion and Julio saw in her eyes the sadness when she could no longer dance. But she had imparted what she loved to her son, even if Julio wasn't exactly... a ballet dancer. He loved his mother and what she did but in his mind, he thought he was going to be a famous soccer player one day. That was what he was into during his young teen years.

Whatever he did, though, his mother was proud of him. Julio remembered his first kiss with a boy like it was yesterday. Julio was twelve. The other boy was fifteen. Before that, Julio had exchanged a few pecks with girls but deep down, he knew... He didn't like girls that way. But he thought at first it was just that cooties age thing taking its time to go away. It didn't make sense, though. He never had a cootie problem with girls; in fact, most of his friends in grade school were girls.

When he realized what gay was, he knew. He knew even if he was afraid to express it. That day, when he came home from school, he wanted so badly to talk to his mother about it. His mama, who loved him from top to tip, whom he told everything to... He was afraid to tell her. But she seemed to already know. A year later, when he finally gathered the courage to share with her that he was dating a boy from school--not the same one he first kissed--she had laughed and kissed his temple.

Julio could no wrong in his mother's eyes. His uncle's eyes, however?

He took a few more bites of food, savoring it. Glancing up, he wondered what Angel was going to say and why he cut himself off. Then he glanced over at the photograph again. His mother was quite beautiful, with her long dark hair over one shoulder and her genuine smile. Although she didn't have that gap, people said that he had her smile. The kind that reached the eyes.

Of course, he signed, flattered, actually, that Angel wanted to paint his mother. It was kind of like a little of her heart going on in somebody else's heart, too. Not just carried by Julio alone. Well... No, her brother, his uncle, carried her with him as well.

"You can paint her," he typed. "She would have liked that. :)"

All he needed to do was not talk, and everything would have been fine. Angel smiled weakly as he waited for a response but half of his mind was already gone, thinking about the composition of the piece, what colors he would use. Warm colors, he already decided. Warm like her smile, like Julio's smile, like their souls.

"Oh... great. I'll take a picture of her so I have something to refer to when I go home." He snapped two pictures for reference and then hesitated with his phone in his hands. Luckily it hadn't gotten smashed in the altercation earlier, though there was a crack running down one side of it. He could still use it though... and he could transfer the files onto a new phone that he could buy when he got back to Portland.

"...do you..." His gaze fell onto Julio's phone too. "...want to... give me your number?" Ah... he cleared his throat. "So I can let you know when the painting is done."

A funny ringing in his ears made him shrug his shoulders tensely, but the moment passed. Angel rubbed the back of his neck absently. Weird.

Julio looked curiously at Angel after he took pictures of the photograph but didn't put his phone down, as if he wanted to take more photographs. For one silly second, Julio thought he was going to ask to photograph him--absurd, surely! (So why did he... sort of hope that he would?) He didn't, though. Julio followed Angel's gaze to his own phone sitting there before Angel, with the notepad open to his messages.

Sure, he signed with a nod. He leaned over so he could switch from the phone's note function to his contacts. He clicked on add new contact and turned the phone so that Angel could type his information in. Pointing to Angel's phone, he signed, yours? Did Angel want him to put his number into Angel's phone...?

He noticed the way Angel rubbed the back of his neck, but he took it as embarrassment.

Angel sort of paused with the ringing in his ears but once Julio's phone slid over, he snapped back to the present moment. Shit. It was probably the drugs wearing off. He'd brought them with him in a little bottle—was the bottle one of the things Julio picked up when he helped Angel earlier? Hopefully it was... but maybe it wasn't too bad to skip one dose. He'd be home in the morning and he had a refill waiting back there.

"Oh here. Sorry, I—spaced out for a second." He smiled weakly as he placed his phone into Julio's hands. For a moment he studied those hands—before he put the phone into them. They were nice hands. Not too thin, not too thick, and well-formed. Angel's own, in comparison, were kind of bony and very thin, not exactly the graceful hands that everyone seemed to associate with artists. They were, though—artistic, if a bit scuffed up from the fight earlier.

"Do you need help cleaning up?" There it was again, the ringing. How long ago did he take his meds? A couple of hours; he meant to take more right about now, actually. Angel swallowed hard like that might help. It did when his ears popped on airplanes but here, not so much. He grabbed some water and took a long drink. Didn't help. The ringing got louder, then inexplicably softer, then stopped altogether.

The silence it left, though, was horribly deafening.

Entering his number, Julio glanced up at Angel, then poked the little camera icon in the contact area. He took a photo of himself for the contact listing, then finished it by putting his full name in the name field. Giving Angel his phone back, he looked around. Help cleaning up? He shook his head and put a hand out to indicate that Angel could stay sitting.

Cleaning up wasn't a big deal for Julio. By this time in his life as a bachelor, he had come to have a system. Except that the system usually meant coming home, showering, eating in front of the TV, and leaving the pans and plates in the sink to clean the next morning so that he had the rest of the evening to rest.

Since Angel was here, though, he turned on the sink to wash the dishes immediately. Since Angel asked about cleaning up, he supposed if he left them in the sink, Angel would want to clean them himself. And that was no-no for a guest. His mama taught him that much.

Once the scant amount of dishes were washed and placed on the drying rack, he turned back toward Angel.

He kept the water and sipped it sparingly while Julio went about washing up. It was nice that the paella could be made all in one pan—cut down on the amount of pots and pans that needed to be washed. Back home, Angel ate out of one bowl with one spoon. One set of cutlery for one person. He idly wondered if Julio had friends over a lot, or if he was usually alone too. The small table seemed to suggest the latter but... maybe he went to other people's places.

With the ringing dying down, he didn't feel quite so bad anymore. The water helped, and he stood up once Julio turned back to him. "If you don't mind... I think I should sleep." He didn't want to pass out on Julio and his brain was shutting down now from a combination of exhaustion and being full of good food. Honestly he hadn't eaten this well for a long time. Takeout didn't have the same effect as a nice, hot home-cooked meal, especially one made by someone from his home country.

"Thank you." His gaze on Julio was warm and he felt so grateful that it was Julio who found him back there. If it had been anyone else, he shuddered to think what could have happened. Angel turned back into the living room and went to look for his meds. They weren't in the bag... He worried his lower lip as he searched again, just in case he missed them. Nope.

Angel sat down slowly, rubbing his temple. Ringing. What was with that? It never happened before... but he was good with taking the meds. If he didn't, it... wasn't nice.

Julio nodded. The plan to stay awake all night with movies was meant to ease Angel's fears of sleeping in a strange place with a strange person. But if he felt comfortable enough to sleep here now, then Julio was... glad. Flattered, a little.

No problem, he signed with a small smile. It had been nice to make dinner for somebody else. He didn't know how to express all that, though. With his phone all the way over at the table and his words only made with signs that Angel didn't seem to understand very well. Before Angel left for the living room, Julio made the sign for goodnight, which was like the sun coming out of his mouth with one hand and then two hands coming down to form the night.

It seemed like Angel would want to be left alone to sleep in the living room so Julio wandered into his bedroom and pulled out a pair of sweats and a plain white shirt to change into. Normally, he went to sleep naked but he doubted Angel would be comfortable with that. (Even if he went to strip clubs, finding the man sleeping in the same house as him naked was a different situation.)

Then he thought of Angel and how he might be uncomfortable. He found another pair of sweats and a plain grey t-shirt. He grabbed one of his pillows off his bed and one of his handful of extra blankets. Everything smelled nice and clean as he hugged them to his chest and came out into the living room with his haul.

Gently, he placed everything on the end of the couch and gave it a gentle pat. But Angel seemed perturbed. You okay? he signed after he straightened up.

To help take his mind off of the intermittent ringing, Angel pulled up some tutorials on sign language. He'd never had an occasion to learn it but now seemed as good a time as any. While he curled up on the couch, he flicked through some common phrases and almost surreptitiously tried them out in Julio's absence, not really thinking much about pillows or blankets. Honestly he could have fallen asleep right then and there, if not for the freaky thing happening inside his brain.

Then the ringing intensified and he set his phone down with a low gasp. Shit. There was a pain between his shoulderblades now. Kind of... itchy too, like that feeling when you got a cut and it grew back, the flesh repairing itself. He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably and then massaged both temples again. What the hell was going on?

It was a while before he even noticed Julio with the change of clothes and blanket and pillow. Angel straightened, breathing somewhat labored. "I'm okay." Aha—he recognized that Julio was asking if he was okay. Hesitantly, he signed it too but... okay was kind of universal. The okay sign with one hand. Angel half-smiled, feeling unconscious as he attempted a thank you too—both hands at his chin, then moving out, palms flat. He didn't know if it was right—going off images was harder than it looked.

Good. He was okay. Something seemed a little off about him, though. Like he was in pain. Was it one of the wounds that Julio couldn't see? He wished Angel wasn't afraid of him, that he would have let him inspect him better. He might not be an expert but at least he could tell if a bruise was too nasty to just ignore. What if there was internal bleeding?

But he said he was okay. What else could Julio do? Force him to explain himself? He watched in amusement as Angel followed his movements, with okay. Okay was pretty self explanatory, wasn't it? Basically a fast finger-spell using the letters O and K. But then what followed was a thank you sign. Julio blinked, surprised. Then smiled as he realized that Angel had just signed to him. Did he pick that up from Julio earlier?

You're learning? he signed, smile growing.

That smile though. Angel had a hard time looking at him when he smiled and he seemed so pleased that Angel managed to sign something as basic as thank you. Picking at a stray thread on his pant leg, he nodded. "I looked up a few things just now." He shrugged—no big deal. It wasn't anything so impressive that it warranted any attention or praise.

Besides, he couldn't expect Julio to type everything out all the time! That seemed so tedious for him, when it was just easier for Angel to learn a few basic things, so they could converse. Finally he looked up, then at the things Julio brought him.

"Ah. You didn't have to..." That was really thoughtful of him. Angel pulled the pillow over and shook out the blanket, making a cozy bed for himself on the couch. He was quite thin so he didn't think he'd roll over so much that he would fall off in the night.

After a brief pause, he hazarded a good night, following Julio's motions earlier with a small smile. "Good night," he said... just in case.

Julio signed goodnight back to Angel, soft amusement in his gaze. Angel seemed embarrassed by the fact that he'd learned a few signs but... nobody ever really learned it for him before. It was Julio's mother who taught him to sign as a baby, when she learned he would not have words for some time. And there was a surgery that could possibly help the injury done to him in childbirth but it was too expensive and too risky. Now it was too late but Julio didn't mind. It was hard to miss what he never had.

Family knew signs. At least basic ones. His boss knew basic signs as well. But when it came down to his personal life, people just preferred to speak to him rather than to sign to him. Which was fine. It was. As long as they could read some signs, there was a way to communicate.

With one last look back at Angel, Julio went down the hall and into his bedroom. He showered and dressed in his makeshift pajamas before sliding under the covers. But he laid there for a long while, unable to get any proper sleep. He kept thinking about Angel. If he was okay. If he was covering for pain he didn't want Julio to worry about. Julio was accustomed to this. His mother did it, too.

Eventually sleep found him. He was tired from the nights work and a full belly and a little bit of alcohol and a warm shower. All the thoughts in the world couldn't keep him up under such conditions.

For a long while after Julio left, Angel kept seeing his soft dark eyes and his smile. He wished he could shut his brain off but if it wasn't thinking about Julio, it was thinking about the weird ringing and the itching at his shoulderblades. He much preferred the former, for obvious reasons. Eventually he changed out of his torn clothes and into the clean ones Julio brought, then slid his legs under the blanket.

He heard water running—Julio was taking a shower. Angel gingerly touched his own face; the split lip throbbed, the cut under his eye throbbed, his head throbbed. But the pain was much, much less than it had been just an hour ago. It receded enough for him to be able to lay his head down. Maybe... kind of creepily he turned his face into the pillow. It smelled good. Clean. Did Julio smell like this too? Clean and fresh? He might after his shower...

Angel laughed softly into the pillow at himself. Look at him. A guy treated him nicely and he got all starry-eyed. His phone buzzed beside him and he picked it up to a message from one of his uncles, asking if he was okay. Angel said yes, then flicked back to the sign language tutorial he'd been looking at. He tried to learn a few more things—good morning, hello, sorry, thank you, etc.—until his eyes got too heavy to prop open and he fell asleep.

He thought he'd sleep well but... not really. Weird dreams kept running through his head, nonsense that he usually saw when he closed his eyes. They were just more vivid because the drugs wore off, letting his brain have free reign. Surprisingly none of it was violent though. They sometimes were. But Angel still kept tossing and turning and he woke up even before the sun had risen, groggily looking around at his new surroundings.

Slowly Angel got up. He changed back into his clothes, folded the blanket and put everything in a neat stack by one end of the couch. Maybe he should have waited for Julio to wake up but he felt guilty for imposing already and... he had Julio's number. They could maybe text sometime. That wouldn't be weird.

So he slipped silently out of the apartment and eased the door closed behind him. Gently he touched the door, smiled briefly to himself and headed back out. He could get a cab out to Portland and... maybe start on that painting he promised Julio.