We Are Bulletproof

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not unless it was worth his while financially.

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

Trash Bat

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ding!

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

This was feeling a lot more like...

He didn't think he should be here.

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

Was it too late now to back out?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No to a drink, no to having a seat. Julio seemed confused, but understandably so since... he didn't know why Angel brought him here and admittedly, ordering a stripper by phone was a skeevy, sketchy thing to do. It was kind of disgusting, to be honest. Like—seriously—ordering a pizza. But a man. A whole human being.

Angel read the text slowly and then it dawned on him how terrible this looked. Did Julio think he was brought here to strip? Was that why he seemed so... tense? There was so much strain in his body language; he was clearly not comfortable. Part of Angel wondered what made him—Angel—so weird to strip for when Julio put on shows for strangers every day but probably... he didn't expect to be paid so much.

And with so much money on the line, things got weird. Like maybe if Angel wanted him to do more than dance...

"Wait." He motioned—wait—and then turned abruptly towards the master bedroom. The painting was there propped up against the wall, carefully wrapped so as not to chip the paint or rip the canvas. Angel returned with it in his arms; he hugged it like a shield again, feeling nervous about the whole painting thing. It was such a personal painting; he didn't want to be found lacking. He wanted to do Julio's mother justice because he could easily see how much Julio still loved and missed her.

"This. I—well I finished it, so I called..." He trailed off awkwardly and turned the painting around to show Julio. "This. Is why I called you here."

There was nothing else left to do except wait. Julio looked around surreptitiously while Angel left him standing there, feeling like a fool. Why did he do this? Why was Julio so disappointed? Probably because he thought Angel was different. Swallowing hard, he turned away from the hallway and eyed the windows, which were huge and looked out over downtown.

He only looked back when Angel came back with what looked like... a canvas. Julio raised a brow in question. The painting of his mother? Was that what it was? Julio relaxed--slightly--and watched while Angel turned it so that Julio could get a look at it.

It was
definitely his mother. It was his mother, probably the way she was in her dreams, how she envisioned herself, rather than the increasingly disabled, sick woman that ended up virtually chained to her bed for the rest of her life.

Despite himself, Julio could feel emotion welling up at the vision of his mother as he would have wanted to be viewed. Julio had no idea how Angel managed to capture something so accurate and true with just a one time conversation and a photograph but... there it was. Swallowing hard again, Julio nodded and signed It's beautiful, even though he was aware that Angel might not understand it. They were the only words he had right now.

Stepping closer, he took in a breath, then slowly let it out before he turned his gaze down to his phone, typing quickly. "Why didn't you just text me? I waited. And then you called me in this way. I don't know what you want from me."

"You like it?" Angel didn't know what Julio was trying to sign but he understood bright eyes and that expression. He saw the tiny tremble of his lips too and he felt Julio's emotion and all of those were encouraging signs. Despite himself, he began to feel pleased with his work and with the fact that his painting had touched Julio. But he still had to ask because he was unsure of himself and doubt kept creeping over him, at every opportunity.

He painted her as he would have wanted to be painted, in his glory rather than at his lowest point. He wanted to capture his own yearning for freedom in her too, the way she effortlessly soared through the air, graceful and beautiful in all the ways he had never been viewed. Angel felt so ugly inside some days; it made it easier to look for and recognize beauty because nearly everything was beautiful compared to him.

"Oh... I'm sorry. I wanted to text you. A lot. But you didn't text me either so I thought maybe..." His shoulders lifted and fell. Just like last time, words flowed out unbidden but he owed Julio an explanation anyway. He didn't want Julio to misunderstand his intentions. "I didn't think you'd come... if I asked you to."

He pressed the painting into Julio's hands with a small smile, an uncertain and shy one. "I don't want anything from you. But if you don't mind... maybe you could stay and just... keep me company for a while?"

Of course he liked it. He nodded for emphasis. Yes. He liked it. He loved it. How did he even express how somehow Angel magically captured his mother as she would have wanted to be remembered? That was how she must look now, in heaven, as an angel herself. He wanted to believe. He had to believe.

Ah. Julio looked down at his own phone as he thought about the many times he hadn't texted Angel despite wanting to do so. Kinda... funny. A little sad, too. He half smiled. A misunderstanding on both ends? His brow furrowed and he frowned slightly as he looked up. What? Why... would Angel think he wouldn't come if he asked him to?

Why? he signed, a moment before Angel was pressing the painting into Julio's hands. His gaze remained on Angel, though. Hard to believe that he would go through the trouble of paying so much money just to contact him! Should it not be the other way around? Shouldn't Julio be paying for this painting that he seemed to just... hand over to him?

Sighing, he typed, "You don't have to pay money to spend time with me. I almost didn't come. I quit doing this a while ago. I only came because I thought it was you."

Shrugging again, Angel looked off to a decorative twisted chrome piece sitting on an end table beside the couch. Why? He understood that one. Why did he think Julio wouldn't come? Because Portland was far. Because it cost money and time to move back and forth between Portland and Hazleton, time that Julio could spend with his friends, money he didn't have to spend. At least this way he was getting paid for his troubles.

Angel was just a stranger to him. Somebody he picked up off the street, actually. They had no attachment beyond what happened that night—Steven Seagull, making dinner together, spending a night just... being together. Being themselves. The evening started off rocky but Angel warmed to him and after he did, he enjoyed it so much that he thought about it for a week afterwards.

But what was a special evening for Angel—in both good and bad ways—might have just been another Wednesday or Thursday night for Julio.

"Oh." He had to read that again. "You... don't... do this?" Somewhat desperately he tried not to focus on the last part—the part where Julio came because he thought it was Angel. "Why?" He asked before he could rein it in.

Why? Shrug. That was his response? Shrug? Julio took in a deep breath, feeling somewhat impatient with the response. He didn't understand what Angel was doing but he was starting to feel played. Could he trust somebody that used money to get what they wanted? People like that were notorious for not seeing people like him as people at all.

His nostrils flared slightly as he took in another breath and let it out on a soft snort. What did the oh mean? Watching Angel read what he wrote, he couldn't tell what Angel was thinking. Was he disappointed to learn that he didn't normally do this (anymore)? His tone was hard to read. And his stilted words made it harder to read his tone, to decipher his intentions.

Taking the phone from Angel, he turned away from him as he walked over to one of the pristine white couches nearby and sat down.

"Bad experience. Wasn't worth the money." That was the short story. He set the phone down on the fancy coffee table for Angel. He only knew Angel for a night, so he wasn't getting into the details. But it had been a companionable, nice night together with him--with Angel, not the other thing. But Angel had left him in the morning without a goodbye and then it was radio silence until that job came through. Julio couldn't help it; he felt... used. And confused. The painting said something else. The lack of communication said another thing.

It was a question in two parts, really—why Julio gave up private shows and, separately, why he came because of Angel. What did that mean? It meant... something, obviously. But things were all jumbled up and he could sense Julio's impatience and mounting displeasure. He felt it. He saw it in the way Julio's nostrils flared, the way he snorted, the way he pulled his phone back and went to seat himself onto the couch.

Somewhere between him being touched and happy about the painting and now, something had gone horribly wrong. Wires were crossed again; Angel was back in the dark about Julio's moody expressiveness. What did he say? What did he do? Did he offend Julio in any way? If so—when? How?

Slowly he walked over to check out the phone too and frowned at the message there. A bad experience at another private show? Did that explain why Julio was so cagey with him just now? Angel studied him silently for several long moments but still had no idea what went wrong for them.

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, choosing to remain standing. "If you're uncomfortable here, you don't have to stay. I didn't know about..." His hand swept across the table, down towards the phone with the stark and blunt explanation. Not much to go off of but he wasn't close enough to Julio to really be confided in like a friend. That thought made his chest pang. They weren't friends. Or they were only in Angel's mind, because he thought one nice evening together automatically made them friendly.

"I really didn't want anything... other than to give you the painting." Without realizing it, he shrank a little into himself and withdrew in a physical way. Again he felt small and dwarfed by his surroundings. "I'm sorry if I offended you. I just thought..." He moved back, a retreat to safer space. "It... I wanted to see you..." But all he was doing? Was wasting Julio's time.

No, he didn't expect Angel to know about the bad experience. Not even his colleagues knew about it. They just knew he'd given up private shows, despite how well they paid. At some point, he had decided that the money wasn't worth the degradation. Julio threaded his fingers together, elbows resting on his knees.

He looked up and saw Angel shrinking into himself and Julio turned his head away, one leg bouncing edgily up and down a couple of times. This was turning out to be a disaster. But he'd come all the way out here to make sure it was Angel. And it was. And he was already here but now it sounded like Angel might be regretting his decision.

Not helped, he was sure, by Julio.

Running a hand over his face, he let out a sigh and reached for his phone. For a second, he just sort of looked at it, at the words. They were a bit short, maybe snippy. Biting his lower lip for a moment, he glanced up at Angel and his gaze softened. It wasn't his intention to make Julio feel backed up in a corner. Apparently, he really meant it when he said he didn't have friends or people to talk to. He was just clumsy at it.

"Almost a year ago, I was hired for a party. Turned out to be a group of friends. They drugged me to make me more compliant. Took turns. But they started humiliating me and I punched one of them. They drugged me with something else. Don't know what but I woke up in an alley with a bunch of money dumped on me. Swore off private work after that."

He paused. Then added, "It's not your fault. Besides... I came because I wanted to see you too."

Hesitantly, he read over what he'd written and held his breath even as he held the phone out to Angel, his eyes on him, waiting.

This wouldn't be the first time Angel's lack of communication skills and general hesitance to speak his mind tried someone's patience. His mother, his father, his uncles all told him how undesirable a trait that was. How difficult it made their lives to have to stop and listen and decipher what he meant when everyone was so busy.

Honestly he didn't expect Julio to want to see him. It sounded like a foreign concept. No one especially wanted to see Angel and Angel got used to a certain amount of rejection. He just pulled his headphones on, slipped a hoodie over his face and sidled into the shadows. Or he found a nice, secluded corner to sit in and watch a show while nobody around him even noticed he was alive.

He might not be alive without Julio's intervention that night. Realizing that made him want to repay Julio somehow—with the painting, with the money. Angel didn't have to pay for three hours but he did, even though he only thought that Julio would stay for maybe ten, twenty minutes at most. And that was fine. It was an excuse to see him again, to offer him incentive to come here.

In the time it took Julio to type all of his explanation out, Angel thought that he was seriously pissed off. Maybe it was a whole diatribe about how he shouldn't assume things. About strippers being people too and if he didn't want anything he shouldn't waste time. People were busy. They didn't have time to spend holding his hand.

Angel almost didn't look when the phone was turned onto him but he did, and he felt, if possible, worse than before. They raped him. Julio. They did those terrible things to him because... they, too, were rich. Looking for a good time with a handsome man who took clothes off for a living. And Julio thought... Angel was like that? It was a repulsive thought, one that made him suddenly hug himself as the ringing came back. He cringed. "No—no I would never—"

Did he take his pills today? Earlier did he—he did. Yes, he took them when he had a light lunch. The pills were the only things keeping him sane these days so thank god he took them. This was. Just. It would pass. Angel swallowed and closed his eyes briefly but his hand extended out to touch the phone as if he was about to take it.

No... he reached out to touch Julio's fingertips with his fingertips, sliding lightly together. "I—" Angel's voice trembled. "I wouldn't do that to you."

In telling Angel what he told him, he was extending an olive branch. An overture of friendship. A story nobody else knew, except those who were involved. And they had probably forgotten all about it by now. But it would stay with Julio for the rest of his life. Kalvin, one of the other strippers who had been working longer than Julio, once said that he would have to get used to feeling like a piece of meat. Julio hadn't thought much of it at the time. But it rang true now.

No, no, no, he signed quickly with his free hand, expression distressed. I know. I know.

He didn't think Angel would do that to him. Drug him, humiliate him, nothing like that. He did wonder, at first, if Angel meant to make use of him. If this was his roundabout way to say he wanted to have sex without having to say it. But he had thrown that assumption far, far away. Nobody like Angel could even think that way. He could barely even touch or be touched. Even now, their fingertips just barely touched and Julio was sure if he made any kind of move, it would scare Angel away.

For a long moment, he let their fingertips stay that way and then he took in a breath and took back the phone to himself so he could type, "I know you wouldn't do that. I'm just hurt you went through my job to talk to me when you have my number. I don't need your money to spend time with you."

It was fine. Julio was here now, sitting on his couch, and he was fine. His experience was harrowing and awful but look at him—he was so strong. He could talk about it without wanting to run head-first at the nearest wall. He could tell someone he barely knew without ending up curled in a corner, hugging himself and shivering out of his skin.

Julio trusted him. Angel got the message loud and clear and it helped to bring him back. The warmth of his fingers grounded him too, and he managed to take in a few deep breaths that calmed him enough for him to smile slightly and nod.

I'm sorry. He slowly sat beside Julio, not too close, not too far. "I didn't think about it that way. Like I'm... trying to buy you off. Portland's so far and asking you to come here without some kind of compensation felt wrong. Money's not really..."

Angel gestured to their opulent surroundings with an almost bitter smile. "I should have asked first," he said quietly. "I just didn't want you to say no." Kind of stupid now that he thought about it. Really selfish, too.

Money really didn't seem to be an issue for Angel. That was the problem with people who grew up with money; they didn't really think about how much easier having it made things for them. But coming from a world of no money, with constant debt, living paycheck to paycheck and sometimes still not making ends meet, Julio knew a very different world.

He nodded, though, understanding now where Angel was coming from. His heart was in the right place. As Julio said--it wasn't Angel's fault that Julio took it hard at first glance. At least he acknowledged how it looked and that he should have asked. Julio looked over at Angel, not too close, not too far away. Somebody hurt him, too. Maybe physically. Maybe not. But Angel was nervous. Skittish. Scared. For some reason, that brought out Julio's gentle side.

Smiling, he reached out with a careful hand to touch Angel's cheek, again so that he would look at him. He lowered his hand, then signed, I wouldn't say no.

He had waited for that text like a fool. Constantly checking his phone, as if he might have missed a message. Angel had disappeared for some reason and Julio had no way of knowing what happened to him. Did he go to the hospital? He looked at the wounds, at the worst of the ones on his face. After a moment, he tilted his head and leaned slightly forward, gently touching the area under the wound where he had applied the butterfly bandage. He smiled.

Looks better, he signed.

Angel tensed at that innocent touch to his cheek but somehow an unexpected brush of the fingers from Julio didn't set off all the alarm bells in his head. Just some—but not all. That was already a vast improvement over the way he acted around other people, though Julio didn't know it. He didn't know the extent of just how skittish and at times stand-offish Angel could be. One moment he was hot, the next he was cold; people didn't call him difficult for no reason.

He knew that now, that Julio wouldn't have said no. Angel smiled and nodded to show that he got it. Without being face-to-face with Julio he had no way of knowing if his offer would be accepted or rejected and it was fear that stayed his hand. He kept waiting for Julio to make the first move when he could easily have said something like thank you for the other night and gotten the ball rolling.

But with Julio smiling at him again and no longer twitchy and cagey and upset, Angel began to relax as well. The second time Julio touched his face he didn't even flinch; he saw it coming and sat calmly while Julio inspected the cut under his eye. Luckily it didn't need stitches and was healing nicely on its own. His hand was warm, though. Angel briefly allowed himself to close his eyes for a few seconds to enjoy his touch.

Yes. It doesn't hurt. He smiled with a bit more pride as he signed, having anticipated using that phrase once Julio got here. Someone as caring and gentle as Julio would, of course, want to know how he was doing. "Are you sure you don't want anything? We can get food delivered if you're hungry."

He smiled, because Angel was healing and because he signed back to him. It was funny to him that people began to understand him when he signed but they usually just talked back. He could hear perfectly fine. But it still felt a little more personal when somebody signed back.

No, he signed. Not hungry.

Mostly, he was just... still a little flabbergasted. This place. He couldn't stop looking at everything. It felt so strange that it was Angel's. So cold and colorless. Did he choose this? When he looked back at the painting, which he'd set gently against the table, he couldn't help thinking that the painting showed more than all of this... white. Pristine. It felt like a clinical place.

Where... he started to sign, then picked up his phone. Sometimes, it was just easier to write things out. But he had confidence in Angel. One day, he would know all the words. And he was already thinking of him in one days and some days. Curious.

"Where do you paint?"

Because surely that was the place that was most like Angel. More than this.

A little distractedly Angel wondered if Julio ate before performances. It seemed like such a stupid thing to be curious about so he didn't ask, but he thought about Julio a lot lately. His routines, what his days were like, if he enjoyed his line of work. Some people did; not all the dancers at the club pasted fake smiles on their faces. Some of them seemed genuinely proud of their choreography and their athleticism.

It was so strange that he had never even seen Julio there before, but he assumed that the times he went didn't match up with Julio's schedule. Also he didn't go every day; he went when he felt especially lonely because there he could be with people but also not be noticed. Kind of weird, when there were parks and the whole downtown area was full of people, but those spaces were too open. It was too easy to get overwhelmed, feel lost.

As for where he painted... Almost sheepishly he pointed to the double glass doors leading out onto the balcony. "The pool." He painted poolside, yes. Cliche? Maybe. Maybe not. But the presence of water calmed him in a way that he couldn't accurately describe. Just being near water soothed his troubled soul, plus he had the advantage of being able to look out across the city. And if he made a mess, it was fine; the pool was cleaned professionally every week. He wouldn't have wanted to cover a white room in paint for the poor housekeeper to scrub.

"Do you want to see it?" He had an awning set up and everything for rainy days; it was an open air, mini studio of sorts.

His gaze followed the direction of Angel's pointing finger toward glass doors that led outside. Outside? Oh, the pool. Of course there was a pool. Penthouse. It sounded like such a rich person thing. Pools and penthouses. Painting outside by the pool of the penthouse. He turned his gaze back to Angel, then nodded.

Yes, he wanted to see this place where Angel painted. He stood up with a smile. Why not? Julio thought he could understand the desire to paint outside, with the fresh air and the sun when it was light outside or the moon when it was dark. Julio used to sit on the top of the hospital rooftop when his mother was asleep and... admittedly, he thought about what it would be like to leap off but he stayed his hand because of his mother.

And when she was gone...

He glanced down, at the painting of her angelic face, dancing. Her smile was so genuine when she looked at him and brushed his hair from his eyes. But he had to wonder what she looked like when he wasn't there and she had nothing left to smile for.

He knew, he knew, he was the worst stereotype of a little rich boy living up here in his high perch above the clouds, in a penthouse suite stocked to the brim with beautiful furniture and outfitted with every amenity. There was even a gym here, although Angel never went near it—and it was obvious from his noodle arms and chicken legs.

But that pool was really quite a marvellous thing. He loved it the second he set eyes on it. It was lit at night and it was an infinity pool; if he got too close to the edge, it felt like he could fall right off. He went close to the edge quite a lot these days, looking down, contemplating...

Maybe he was just waiting for something to give him that one last push. Every day felt like a tug-of-war. Some days he took that extra step forward. Other days he took one back. Forward and back, forward and back, one step forward, two steps back. The meds kept him from swimming right over that edge but... for how long?

The beginning of tonight, when Julio looked at him with distrust in his gaze, was a step forward. But right now when they were smiling and getting up and moving outside to see the sparkling pool, it felt like two steps back. The night air was cool and there was a bit of a breeze stirring his hair when he walked outside. Angel gestured to the glass-domed structure just off to one side of the pool; it glistened as it reflected the lights set all around the balcony. Tonight the pool was backlit in a mysterious purple-blue color, with its surface rippling ever so gently every time the wind passed through.

"You can see all across the city here," he said as he stopped at the small studio space. There were two easels, one long table with his paints in racks, brushes on stands and various bottles. Angel painted standing up so there was no chair near the easels but one was pushed in all the way at the back. He tried sitting; it didn't work and he was too lazy to drag the chair back, so that was its new home.

Aside from the painting equipment, there was also a life-sized Captain America cutout in one corner, several small sketches of random superheroes hanging up along the back wall and one very conspicuous tiered cabinet that held an assortment of figurines.

Do you like it? He went over to grab a figurine of Thor off the shelf and showed it to Julio. "It's signed by the actor Chris Hemsworth. Look!"

Whoa, he wasn't kidding, Angel, when he said that he could see the whole city from this vantage point. It was kind of an exhilarating feeling that was almost like flying. Or being an omnipresent creature, looking over the city like the superheroes Angel so loved. He grinned when he turned to see the cutout of a Captain America nearby. His grin only grew as Angel delightedly showed off his signed Thor figure.

I like it, he signed, and he didn't mean the figure. This is more you. More Angel. The sign for angel as a word was quite a funny one--a bit like chicken wings flapping. He remembered when his mother taught it to him and he laughed silently and she laughed aloud. He was like... four years old.

Looking at the easels and the paint, he cocked his head and then turned back to Angel. Can I try?

Julio liked it! The way he smiled lit up his whole face and Angel's heart turned over in his chest when their eyes met. He grinned too; he couldn't help it. Joy was infectious coming from Julio. It was so easy to get caught up in those smiles that even the silence between them didn't feel awkward anymore.

But...

"Are you calling me a... chicken?" He didn't recognize 'angel' so it just looked like Julio was flapping his arms in a chicken dance. Which... um. He'd take it? But he was confused. But the first part—about the space being more like him—made him look away, smiling madly. Yeah... his safe space was definitely this studio.

While Julio went over to the easels, Angel went to replace his precious signed figurine. He liked playing with them too—but he didn't say anything about that because obviously he didn't want to come across like a child. Of course you can! Enthusiastically he grabbed a pre-stretched canvas and set it up on the easel.

"What do you want to paint?" Angel pulled a rack of brushes over so that Julio had easier access. "You can even do... Bob Ross style paintings if you want." Assuming Julio knew who Bob Ross was... but the man was something of a national treasure.

Again, silent laughter in tandem with the word angel in spanish sign language. It really did look chicken-ish. He shook his head and signed it again and pointed at Angel but he was pretty sure he was only confusing the poor guy more. Names in sign language were given by others. Julio's name signed was... embarrassingly, because it was given to him by his mother, the sign for sunshine only instead of starting with the letter S, it started with J for Julio.

But before he could explain it--he was still fumbling with getting his phone back out--the topic had moved to the painting and Angel seemed more than thrilled with the idea of Julio trying his hand at painting.

You. He wanted to paint Angel. It would probably look terrible; Julio didn't know anything about painting beyond finger-painting when he was a child in primary school. The last time he painted anything, he was probably eight or nine years old. Looking at the daunting white canvas, he didn't even know where to begin.

"..."

Julio wanted to draw a chicken?

Seriously he didn't know what that would look like and he never once imagined Julio wanted to paint him. As a subject, Angel wasn't anyone's first choice--not even himself. Especially not himself. He had tried to paint himself multiple times, since it was easiest to sit in front of a mirror instead of hiring a model or staying in one place staring creepily at people. But the pieces were... grotesque. Twisted. The colors ran into each other, creating a heinous nightmarish blend. It was all dark, all tormented.

"Wouldn't you rather draw something like... a duck? Or a swan? Instead of a chicken?"

Huh? What was that look on Angel's face? Why was his face making that face? Did he not like the idea of him painting him? But then it all made sense and dawned on him when Angel oh-so-gently tried to persuade him to draw something else, instead of a chicken. Julio laughed so hard this time that tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he doubled over.

He shook his head and signed no a couple of times but he couldn't seem to gather his composure. Every time he looked back up at Angel and his adorably confused expression, he ended up in a new fresh hell of silent laughter.

No, no. This time, he pointed directly at Angel before making the sign for angel.

Wha? Julio found something incredibly hilarious about drawing chickens and Angel was so baffled that he didn't know what to do with himself. He stood there looking confused. Staring. And every time Julio looked at him, he burst out laughing again, which started to disturb Angel because that was not the behavior of a normal man.

"Me?" Julio pointed right at him. Earlier he signed 'you' but Angel's brain was still on chicken so he assumed it was a chicken that Julio had his heart set on. Now... his heart was set on... "Me?"

He leaned back in his surprise, almost taking a stumbling step backwards. Like that finger directed at him was a gun. "Why?" The smile on his face was disbelieving, incredulous. No one in their right mind wanted to paint him. Every painting was personal, anyway, and Julio... Maybe he just wanted to paint people. In general. And Angel was here.

"I don't mind but..." Maybe it was just because he was here, and convenient.

Yes. You.

Once the hilarity of chicken Angel had subsided, he took in a deep breath and finally got a hold of his phone. Poor, poor Angel. He still looked utterly confused, now more by the fact that Julio was pointing to him. He seemed more incredulous about that than the chicken debacle.

"That sign is angel, not chicken. I'm sorry. My mama thought it was very funny when I was young. It must have brought back old memories." He grinned as he showed that part to Angel, lightly reaching out to touch his wrist. It was nothing against Angel. It was just... an old, happy memory.

Then looking down, he began typing up more: "Why you? I like you. Does it bother you?" He turned the phone back to Angel, a little nervously this time.

Oh! Ohh! It meant angel, not chicken! Well one could see how Angel had gotten that mixed up, what with the chicken wings and all. He laughed now too, relieved that Julio hadn't gone out of his mind. Angel would have had to run for it if he thought Julio went crazy all of a sudden and lock him out on the balcony.

But there was that light again in Julio's eyes when he talked about his mother. The way he smiled made Angel feel slightly envious. Sad. Wistful. But mostly sad because Julio was alone now and all he had of his mother were memories. Good ones, though. Look how strong he was, how brave, to be able to laugh and remember her in all of those funny, endearing moments.

Angel looked down at the phone again and his heart caught in his throat. I like you, it said, plain as day. Not that way though, right? Surely not that way. Angel reached over to touch his wrist, like he'd touched Angel's wrist earlier, and he smiled. "It doesn't bother me." Julio couldn't like him that way but it was still... nice to be liked in any capacity.

Okay, he signed and then turned to drag the chair over so he could sit in it. "Do you want me to get it started for you, or do you want to paint on your own?" He could sketch out an outline for Julio and Julio could fill it in, but Angel often thought learning by doing was the most effective way.

A funny little warmth filled him when Angel touched his wrist. It had been a long time since Julio made any kind of meaningful connections with other people. Those he worked with were close as friends could be. Maybe some were even like brothers, especially those that had worked before him and acted as mentors for him.

But it wasn't quite the same as this. His smile was small but it was warm as he nodded slightly. Good. It didn't bother Angel. And he didn't know where to start with the paint but he wanted to try it on his own so he shook his head when Angel offered to help.

Just sit, he signed. And I will paint!

Choosing where to start turned out to be the hardest part. What color, what brush? But eventually he made his choices and he started to work sincerely. His style was not a thing like Angel's--at all. His strokes were painfully amateurish but he thought he was capturing the essence of Angel. Like his drawing, his painting was sort... of round. It was not a portrait or realistic likeness, even with Angel sitting right there.

He painted a paintbrush into Angel's hand and added little angel wings, making them short and stubby and a little like chicken wings. Although he drew Angel with a little smile, somehow, his eyes still came out looking a little sad. It hadn't been his intention; but it was what he saw when he looked at Angel so it must have come out in the artwork.

All right, Julio was going to do this himself! Good. Maybe he had skills that Angel didn't know of. Back at his apartment he sort of drew a little cartoon version of himself that was pretty cute; perhaps he was a bit of an artist at heart, too. So he sat there quietly, feeling self-conscious since no one really ever offered to paint him. It was usually the other way around, if he had to be honest.

He felt squirmy every time Julio looked his way. Was that natural? Did models who posed for paintings feel the same way? It wasn't all over, either, just... in his chest. His heart was restless; it couldn't decide if it wanted to beat fast or if it wanted to beat at all. Angel tried focusing on the Captain America cutout in the corner but his gaze refused to stay there.

It was a good chance to study Julio, though. He memorized Julio, the shape of his profile, every feature on his face. He was so handsome. Something about him made people take notice and it wasn't just his good looks. His personality shone through, too, in the flick of his gaze, the quirk of his lips when he smiled, the seriousness of his expression as he concentrated. Angel already envisioned him being the subject of his next painting. Or maybe... a sculpture? A bust? Would that be creepy? (Not if he didn't show Julio...)

Eventually when curiosity got the better of him, Angel peeked around the side of the canvas to try and look at what Julio had done. It was his turn now for his eyes to light up and for him to laugh. Not because it was a bad painting but because in a kind of weird way, it was him. There was a likeness there that couldn't be missed.

"I like this." He stood up and walked around to get a better look. The little paintbrush, the fat angel wings, the shy smile, that was him. Angel slipped a hand over Julio's shoulder without realizing that he was doing it, like an encouraging gesture or an affectionate one. "I like it a lot!"

It had his eyes, too. Sad eyes. Was that what Julio saw? He even managed to translate that onto canvas somehow so it must have been obvious. Angel's smile faded a little as he leaned closer to both Julio and the painting, really studying it this time. All the colors—the mop of blue on top of his head—were not colors he usually chose for his own self portraits. "It's... very optimistic," he commented thoughtfully. The colors weren't blinding but they were somewhat vibrant. Optimistic, like... Julio picked out the good parts of him instead of seeing the darkness inside.

Oh, he was laughing. Julio was somewhat self-conscious. His work was nothing at all like that gorgeous painting Angel had done of Julio's mother. It had a definite cartoonish style to it; not intentional, it was just how his drawings came out and it seemed to translate into paint, too. Natural, he thought. But not as good as Angel in any capacity.

But it was a good-natured laugh, not a mean one and he smiled as Angel said that he liked it. That was... good. Somehow, he hadn't realized how important it was for him to like it. After all, the subject was Angel. If he didn't like it... it almost felt like Julio didn't get it right.

His smile only grew as Angel placed a companionable hand on his shoulder and they both stood there, taking in the painting together. Already Julio could see places where he made mistakes but paint wasn't an easy medium for him. The gist of what he saw was there. It was very clearly Angel, he thought. Down to the expression to the bright hair and the pose. Like he was trying to be smaller than he was. But the paintbrush gave him a kind of confidence, too.

Maybe I'm optimistic, he signed, smiling. They were close right now. Close enough that if Julio wanted to, he could have leaned in and... nuzzled Angel. Or kissed him. He didn't, though. He only cupped his cheek, thumb gently caressing his face. ...and leaving a little streak of blue paint where it had accidentally gotten on the side of his hand. His eyes widened for a second and then he took his hand back, signing, Sorry!

More than anything, Julio was an excellent study of character. He got the essence of who Angel was; that was something all artists struggled with, to imprint the soul of their subject onto their works of art. But this skill wasn't one that could be taught. It came from within and certain people were born with it. Julio could learn how to blend colors and how to judge proportions; he couldn't learn how to express the subject's sadness and pain in such a sensitive way, not if he practiced for a hundred years.

Angel brushed his free hand over the side of the canvas, liking the painting more and more the longer he studied it. It was such an intimate glimpse into Julio's thoughts. Into the way he truly saw Angel, which couldn't be expressed in so many words. He saw into the heart of Angel's sadness but the optimistic parts showed, too. His paintbrush was his sword—he used it to speak when words failed. His wings were cute, funny, things that Angel could never be accused of. But there were cute moments, funny moments, between them.

Then—as he was so absorbed in the painting—a sudden touch startled him. He reached up to brush off Julio's hand on reflex alone and thankfully he didn't get a chance to. It might have sent the wrong message again. Julio pulled his own hand down and Angel felt something thick against his cheek. He touched his face and his fingertips came away blue.

It's okay! He laughed again as he noticed more splotches of paint along Julio's hands and arms. Oops! Painting did get messy! Angel glanced around for the paint thinner to take off the smudges, but his eyes caught on the glimmer of the pool and a surge of boldness caused him to turn to Julio. "I know where you can wash that off. Come on."

He walked out of the studio, right up to the heated pool, and dove in—clothes on and everything.

Oh? Somewhere to wash off the paint? Julio liked where this was going. To be honest, the moment he glimpsed that magical pool, he wanted to leap right into it. The evening air was just right for a dip in a pool and Julio was fond of water, too. He understood immediately why this place was Angel's special place. The city and the pool and the area where he kept his beloved heroes and his paint and canvases...

As soon as he stepped into that studio, Julio felt it, too. Like it was a magical place. It touched the soul. And it was a far cry from the pristine white decor of the inside of that penthouse.

Julio couldn't help grinning as Angel leapt right into his pool without preamble. But Julio, who didn't want to have to change into stripping clothes in his duffel bag, was definitely not hopping in there fully clothed. Expertly, with the grace of a stripper that had been in the business for half a decade, Julio removed most of his clothes. His shirt, his jeans. (Strippers did not strip in jeans, however.) He was down to his skivvies before he joined Angel in the pool.

And he dove right in, water up over his head. Underwater, everything was slow and quiet. When he came up for air, his hair was sopping wet, the bun he'd tied it up into loose at the back of his head. He wiped his face before treading water in place.

The water was warmer than he had expected it to be. He pointed to Angel's cheek, where the paint had mostly washed away but there was still a tiny smudge of it clinging on.

Angel stayed underwater for a long time. He sank to the bottom with his eyes closed and he held himself there, letting his body drift. All the world faded; all colors, noises, sights. Julio didn't join him right away as there was no accompanying splash, so he stayed under and had that magical, muted world all to himself for a while.

Then the splash, and Angel resurfaced to take a long breath, floating at the deep end. He smiled when he noticed that Julio was in his underwear. How prudent. Angel could have helped dry his clothes but maybe he wanted to feel the warm water on his bare skin, rather than have soggy clothes slap around his body. At any rate, him being nearly naked was not an unwelcomed sight at all.

Angel swam closer; in the water he felt much more graceful than he did on land. As a kid he was gangly and he never filled out enough to make the best use of his tall body. He did well for a while but then the drugs took away his appetite and he stopped eating. He stopped laughing, too. Tonight was probably the most he'd laughed... since the other night a week ago, when he and Julio had a good laugh over Steven Seagull. Angel kept that little drawing in his sketchbook; he looked it over fondly throughout the week.

"There's something on your face too," he said as he slipped closer. And then splashed Julio—gently—before darting away laughing.

Julio tilted his head, expecting Angel to wipe whatever was on his face off. But instead, he mischievously splashed water in his face and Julio made a surprised face before shaking his head and splashing back. By then, Angel had gracefully swam far enough away to avoid the splash. With his head start, Julio ducked down under the water to swim toward him, popping up on the other end of the pool.

Whoops. He was still off. Angel was an arm's length away. Julio leaned back in the water and gently poked Angel's calf with one of his feet, as if playing tag before he let the water swallow him again and swam off.

His mother taught him to swim when he was young, like so many other things she taught him. She told him swimming could be a kind of dancing, too. Some people even danced in the water. As she grew weaker, it was the only place she could still dance.

Popping up on the other end of the pool, Julio looked out over the city from inside the pool. It looked like they could just swim right off the balcony and over all of Portland. He smiled over at Angel.

I wish I could fly, he signed, even though he wasn't sure Angel would understand, since it wasn't a common phrase to look up.

Angel was a good swimmer too and with a head start he avoided most of the retaliatory splash. Laughing to himself, he turned to see Julio following him and put on a burst of speed, but was still in range to be poked in the leg. He poked Julio back—tag!—before doing a half lap around the pool, ending up floating beside him at the edge looking out over the city.

He rested his elbows against the broad glass ledge and leaned his chin onto his forearms. The smile disappeared as he turned his gaze down, down, down... down... How easy it would be to swim off the edge. How nice to shed all of his weight, all of his problems, and fall so fast and so far that he could leave them all behind.

Julio signed something that he didn't understand, but he reached over anyway to touch his arm. Brushed away a bit of orange paint. Slid his fingertips along the length of his wrist, and down to his hand. The tattoo on his arm was beautiful and fierce, just like him. Strong. He was no stranger to pain. Angel's fingers curled around his hand silently as his eyes flicked up to Julio's eyes. No more smiles now. Just the sadness that Julio captured so well.

Then he was gone, sinking underwater and swimming away—away from the edge.

Julio smiled as Angel touched his arm. But his smile slowly faded as he realized that Angel was no longer smiling. And when he took hold of his hand, Julio tilted his head and watched the sadness in Angel's eyes growing. What was wrong? He started to move closer but then Angel was gone, dipping into the water and away from him and the edge where he had been staring over the cityscape.

Bewildered, Julio turned to watch Angel swimming away, fully clothed. Somehow not slowed down by the weight of all those layers.

Julio slowly swam away from the edge, too, following Angel at a respectful distance. He wasn't sure what just happened. His head felt a little like it was spinning from the sudden change in atmosphere. One moment goofy and light, the next minute, it was like Angel was back to being scared and skittish. Was it something Julio did?

He waited for Angel to resurface. Waited for him to look in his direction. You okay?

With a splash that sent water over the edge of the pool deck, Angel hoisted himself up and sat on the ledge far, far away from the dizzying drop. He wanted it. He wanted to throw himself off that edge. Even with Julio here, even with the evening going so well and even with that cocktail of drugs inside, he wanted it and that scared the shit out of him.

Angel didn't know what that meant. In the moments where he stared death in the eye, he wasn't afraid. But when he snapped out of that trance he was horribly afraid. He wanted to die but he was scared to die and that didn't seem quite right, did it? How could someone want both, when they were mutually exclusive?

Julio seemed concerned as he swam closer hesitantly. Angel saw the way he approached, how slowly he was moving forward. He nodded silently at the ripples near Julio and swiped a hand over his cheek to finally get rid of the paint that may or may not still be there. Just something to do.

"I'm going to hang your painting up in my bedroom," he said out of nowhere, just to say something. Anything.

Since the fun had stopped, Julio also pulled himself up out of the water and took a seat beside Angel. Then realizing he was too close--close enough to feel the warmth of his body--he scooted away, to place the usual distance between them that Angel always placed between them. He reached up to run his hand through his hair and realized it was a horrible mess. Gently, he shook the loose ponytail out and let his hair fall to his shoulders, slipping the band around his wrist.

Toying with the band, he looked down at his distorted feet in the water as they gently kicked back and forth. Then he looked up at out at the now calm waters, still colored in that mystic purple color. It looked like magic. He stopped playing with the band and rested his palms down on the edge of the poolside.

When Angel broken the silence, Julio looked over at him. He almost asked him to see his bedroom but then thought maybe that would be out of line. So he nodded, trying to imagine how Angel's bedroom looked. Whether it was as white and intimidating as the front of the penthouse. Still with the space between them, Julio reached out to gently move his fingertips over Angel's hand. To hold it. Nothing big. Nothing kindergartners wouldn't do. But human contact of some kind.

Angel wasn't proud of it but when Julio sat too close to him, he shied away and leaned away from him. The warmth off of his body scared him. The emotion that welled up inside, that the drugs should have repressed, scared him. He wanted to lean in and not away so badly but it was like the connection between brain and muscles was severed. His body reacted the way it always did when a person got too close, even as his mind and his heart were opening up to Julio.

But they had only been together twice. It was normal to be wary, wasn't it? Angel knew Julio wasn't trying to push him into anything, evidenced by the way he readjusted the distance between them. Julio was sensitive to his needs without him having to voice them. He was the real angel between them...

Sitting there swinging his legs through the water helped him to calm down. And when Julio reached over to take his hand, there was brief resistance at first—again, that muscle memory—but he didn't let go. He held the hand that insinuated itself around his and slowly curled his fingers around Julio's. Earlier, his touch was a cry for help. He had to touch Julio to bring himself back from that edge. Now it was another step back, just holding his hand silently.

Angel looked at him, finally. With his hair down, Julio looked softer somehow. He seemed more gentle, another facet of him that Angel was seeing for the first time. All of the tattoos, the facial hair, the muscles, they stopped being intimidating. Julio was handsome. No, beautiful.

"Will you come again, if I called you?"

Julio smiled, an amused twitch of the lips. A call would make things a little difficult unless Angel face-timed him but... He nodded. If Angel called and just wanted to talk, Julio would pick up. He couldn't talk back but there were video calls, texts, anything. And he knew what Angel meant. The gist of it, not the stupid semantics.

They could be friends, couldn't they? Angel looked like he needed one. And Julio needed one. There was such a difference between this and the kind of things the people he knew did for fun. Parties, loud music, drinks, drugs, dancing, sex. It was probably cliche, too. But it was true. The lifestyle of strippers, of night club attendees, of bouncers and bartenders and escorts. The club was a den for all those things and sometimes, even when he wasn't at the club, it extended outward.

But in his tiny apartment, it was just Julio and his old DVD player and his stack of dollar bin movies five, ten years behind the times. There were shorts and running shoes so he could jog up the ridge or head to the gym with music. There was a kitchen good enough to make home cooked meals and a bed with a warm blanket to sleep in. When it came right down to it, Julio didn't have a lot of wants and needs. He'd learned far too early on what was really important.

And Angel, he had this enormous penthouse. But this was where he really spent his time. Out here on this balcony. Dreaming of... whatever Angel dreamed of. Maybe he dreamed about flying, too. Away from everything here. Or maybe he loved it here. But it didn't feel that way to Julio. It felt more like Angel was trapped. And there was so much Julio wanted to ask, that he wanted to know but he also tread lightly and carefully because he knew what it was like, to carry heavy burdens close to the chest. Julio wasn't here to open wounds. And if all they did was sit here with their legs in the water, hand in hand, looking at each other and at the city and at the sky... he was content.

"Okay."

There was reassurance in knowing that Julio would visit again if Angel asked him to come to Portland. And he did come all the way out this time just on the suspicion that Steven S. was him, without even having concrete proof. Next time Angel wouldn't go through the club though; he didn't think he could ever do that again, if all it achieved was to make Julio think that his intentions were lurid and selfish.

He lapsed into silence as they sat by the poolside, looking off into the distance at all of the colored lights twinkling like stars. In Hazleton he could look up at night and see a myriad of actual stars but here in the big city, that sight was much rarer. Angel caught maybe one or two exceptionally bright ones but the rest were doomed to obscurity.

"Let's go back inside, Julio." Sitting there was nice and all but it started to get chilly after a while. Angel didn't much feel like getting back in the pool when it was too easy to swim right up to that edge so it was better to get as far away as possible. He reluctantly let go of Julio's hand and squelched his way over to the studio to grab Julio's painting, leaving a long trail of damp footprints.

Ah. Well, all good things had to come to an end. Julio acknowledged Angel's words with a slight nod of the head, slowly getting out of the water. To be fair, the air was growing colder and he was still sitting there in his skivvies. Shaking out his wet legs, he pulled his shirt on and struggled a little with the jeans. The problem with wearing well fitting pants--they didn't go so well with wet skin.

Eventually, he managed to get them on, although the wet underwear definitely made things a little uncomfortable. Adjusting himself as best he could, he followed Angel's wet footsteps back to his studio and watched him take the painting that Julio had created from the easel. He was really going to do it? Hang it in his bedroom? Julio grinned.

Oh, was he going to get to see the bedroom, then?

"You're really going to hang it in your bedroom?" he wrote on his phone with an amused expression as he turned his phone toward Angel.

Angel kept his eyes on the painting while Julio dressed himself, determined not to look. Stare. Ogle. It probably didn't matter much to Julio, being that he was a stripper, to be seen in his underwear and admittedly he had the kind of body worth flaunting. But for the sake of being polite, Angel kept his eyeballs to himself. It just didn't seem... right to look at him that way at a time like this, when their friendship was just starting to take off.

Once the clothes were back on it was safe to approach again, and Angel nodded. "Of course. I like it." Why not? He liked this view of himself through Julio's eyes. It made him feel warm inside and he didn't often get to feel like that. Smiling, he walked back inside—dripping water—and led the way through the living room into one of the bedrooms. The master bedroom was surrounded by windows too, offering superb views of the city.

Angel turned the light on and wetly padded over to the far side of the room. His bed was enormous, the one thing he picked out for himself. It wasn't white; he didn't think he could go to sleep in an all-white room. Along the sections of wall were hung paintings, some that were his own (a lot of superheroes and mystical creatures), others that he had purchased. Like the pictures hanging on Julio's walls in his apartment, these were a motley collection. No theme, but he liked all of them.

On the nightstand there was a lamp but no alarm clock—he had no need of one. No pictures, though. Nothing to remind him of his family. Angel selected a blank section of wall that could be easily seen from the bed and hung up the painting. "How's this?"

His grin only grew as he followed Angel into the house. Angel was sopping wet and didn't even seem to care that he was leaving water everywhere. That seemed like him. And for some silly, foolish reason, it only endeared him to Julio.

That and he liked Julio's painting. He liked it. For some reason, that made him feel oddly shy inside. As if he'd bared something private and Angel found him not lacking but found him... worthy. A painter that liked his painting. But it was more than that. More than Julio could really put his finger on, so he just went with it.

When they entered Angel's room, Julio's eyes widened at the size of the bed. It was... so huge for one skinny young guy. Did he... No. Julio didn't think he had a lot of people in his bed. He must just like the room. Maybe he needed it. Did he have a lot of nightmares? Julio could imagine him as skittish in his sleep as he was when he was awake, moving from one side of the bed to the other.

Julio also noticed it wasn't white. There was color here. And Angel had loads of other paintings on the walls. When Julio's was hung up, it definitely didn't seem to fit in but Angel seemed happy to have it. Julio smiled.

"It looks so out of place," he wrote. "But I like it."

Julio was out of place, too. And he felt like Angel knew that feeling, too.

Slowly and gently, almost tenderly, Angel brushed a hand over the edge of the canvas. For a second he lost himself as he gazed at the roundish figure with the chubby angel wings and the paintbrush in hand, trying to see what Julio saw. He tried to envision himself being that colorful, that... warm. There were a lot of warm colors in the painting and that was how Julio seemed to feel about him.

"I love it." It wasn't professional, no. But it was honest. And honesty was one of the few, rare qualities that elevated a piece. It was the thing artists looked for when they viewed other paintings, the thing that drew one's eye. Amidst the sea of 'professional' paintings, Julio's stood out because it evoked emotion in the viewer—even if the only viewer was Angel himself. Besides, Julio looked so pleased that it was impossible not to love it exactly where it was.

"I think it does belong." Like a centerpiece, perhaps, it stood out. It didn't belong; neither did Angel. Surrounded by other glossy paintings, it was raw and honest. And this was Angel's bedroom; he could put up whatever he wanted. As he stepped back, he squelched and it was only then that he realized he was wet. Oh... right. Angel lowered his head and laughed at the pool of water at his feet.

"I... should probably change..." he said slowly, making a face. The housekeeper wouldn't like this. Smiling sheepishly, he gestured to the bed. "I'll be right back. Have a seat. There's a remote on the bedstand, you can watch something if you want. A movie maybe? I think there's still more than an hour left of your time." The television was hidden at the moment; a button caused it to lower out of the ceiling and drop down right before the bed, for easy viewing.

For a second--just a second--Julio wished that he was his painting. Wistfully, he watched Angel as he stared at it. As he touched it. And he loved it. Julio didn't know what Angel saw in the painting. To the eye, it seemed pretty talentless beside all the other work, it was true. But Julio had put himself and... he had put his feelings into it. When he looked at Angel, these were the colors and the shapes that came through. And maybe that was what Angel was seeing, somehow.

But he still wished for that one second that it was him that Angel spoke to that way. He didn't even really know why. They just met. They were just becoming friends. But... he supposed attraction was attraction. Even if he had to put it away and store it for... another time.

The magic moment disappeared as Angel stepped back and the sound of his wet clothes brought them both back into the present. Julio's gaze, as it was wont to, followed Angel's to the pooling water around him. And he half grinned because it was funny. And because Angel laughed and his laugh was precious.

Okay, he signed. Slowly, he sank onto the bed as Angel left to get changed. His wet underwear made things... uncomfortable, to say the least. He thought of his duffel bag and how he should have changed into one of his thongs. It was better than being wet. But he didn't know where Angel had disappeared off to and he didn't want to look like a skeevy pervert so he stayed where he was.

He studied the room, the various other paintings, the superhero figures, the furniture. He looked at the remote that Angel had mentioned but he didn't see a television anywhere in sight. Still, he picked it up, turning it over in his hands. A movie. Was that going to become a thing? Should he come out here to Portland regularly and watch movies with Angel? He smiled at the thought; it made him feel like he was twelve again.

He wondered if Angel played video games. Julio wasn't impressive at them but he had a couple of the older consoles, some older games. Mario games were his favorite.

For some reason, as he got to the bathroom door, he turned back. There was no cause for it; Julio wasn't going to root through every drawer the second his back was turned. It wasn't suspicion that made him do it though. He kept thinking about the warm colors in the painting, the smile and the sad eyes. He kept thinking about the way Julio saw him, why he saw Angel that way when all everyone else saw was a strangely quiet young man with ostentatious blue hair.

What did he see that others didn't? How did he see it? There was an artist's soul inside, Angel was almost certain of it. He flashed a quick smile and disappeared into the bathroom to towel off and to change into some dry clothes. It was connected to his closet; the designer evidently took into consideration the fact that most people wanted to dress after they bathed and made another door leading into the walk-in.

So he put a towel to his hair as he stared into the mirror at himself but all he saw was how pale he was and how skittish he looked. Even he could see it. The wariness in his eyes, the sadness that he had lived with for so long and the inability to connect to other people. Except Julio. He connected to Julio; earlier when they held hands he felt connected. His lips twitched into a smile when he remembered it and quickly he slipped the towel over his eyes so he didn't have to look at the goofy grin in the mirror.

What happened to his crush on Logan? He still thought Logan was incredibly handsome but Logan had always been out of reach. Julio was here—sitting right outside on his bed. It wasn't that Julio was Logan's stand-in, either; there was a real place in Angel's heart for him. He was beginning to carve out a little niche for himself, with those gentle smiles, gentle eyes, gentle hands. Everything about Julio was gentle.

It didn't take long for him to change into another black hoodie and acid-wash jeans, and then he was back in the bedroom again. Julio was still there. A tiny part of him was afraid he wouldn't be but... there he was, and Angel's heart was glad.

I couldn't find the TV, he signed, almost guiltily when Angel reappeared, as if he had done something wrong just sitting there with the remote uselessly in his hand. Julio didn't know what he would have chosen to watch, anyway. There were no DVDs--although he was aware that DVDs were outdated. Anybody that had ever visited his humble abode made fun of him every single time because of the DVD collection and the DVD player...

But he did want to watch something with Angel. He didn't want to go anywhere, to be sure. As long as Angel didn't mind him sticking around.

Adjusting himself slightly, he started to sign before again thinking better of it. Writing quickly, he showed his phone to Angel with a slightly embarrassed face. "Do you mind if I change too? I'm wet under these jeans. I have things in my bag."

Oops—he forgot to tell Julio which button to press to get the TV down. Almost before Julio began to sign, Angel realized that and smiled apologetically. He walked forward to take the remote from Julio so that he could show him and took a seat on the end of the bed. It was a little hard not to laugh when Julio turned the phone around—somehow he managed it because he didn't want to hurt his feelings when he was already sitting in wet underwear!

"Go ahead. There's towels in there if you need them." And a gigantic porcelain tub, a glistening glass-doored shower big enough for four people, three sinks and another window with a view that couldn't be looked into from the outside. Angel grinned in lieu of a laugh and pressed the button on the remote to lower the TV. As it did so, he slid up on the bed so that he could rest his back against the headboard.

The first program that popped up was a cartoon—the last channel he had the TV on before he turned it off. Since Julio was going to be occupied for a while changing, Angel watched it instead of flicking through the list of channels to find a good movie. There was also Netflix and Youtube, but he would rather wait for Julio before they decided on what to watch for the night.

This evening was ending on a definite high note for Angel. He glanced at the bathroom door with a very fond gaze. Somehow, without intending to, Julio had already become an important part of his life. It was so nice, so heart-warming, to have a friend with him. And one who saw him in a flattering light, no less. Angel looked over at the painting which was hanging at just the right height. He smiled again; if he could go to sleep every night looking at that painting, maybe he'd be able to get more than a couple of hours a night.

He hurried away to change. There was no way he was going to be comfortable in wet underwear for the duration of his stay. And he probably waddled like a weirdo as he left. He felt like he was walking funny, anyway.

Quickly, he grabbed his bag and took it with him into the bathroom. It was such a damned relief to get those pants off, and even more so the wet underwear beneath. Since Angel said that he could, he used a towel to dry off. And he looked--gawked--at all the finery around him. The bathroom alone could have fit his entire apartment in it.

Then, reminding himself that Angel was waiting, he rummaged through the bag for dry clothes. Thongs weren't the most comfortably things, either but at least they were clean and dry. And he didn't want to put his jeans back on, since they were... wet. Around the underwear area. So he ended up in some of his stripper pants.

It was
kinda funny. He had to laugh silently at himself for it. The things he'd brought along only if he had to strip and entertain ended up saving him. And now he looked like a fool, but... that was okay. He looked into the mirror and he thought about tying his hair back up. His hand was halfway to doing it but for some reason, he stopped.

Was it just him, or did Angel look at him a little softer when his hair came down?

Lowering his hand, he kept the band around his wrist. He balled up the wet clothes and stuffed them into the bag. Might as well. He could clean them on laundry day. Once he was finished, he came out, letting the bag sit next to the door as he heard the sounds of a cartoon playing on the TV.

Much better, he signed, hesitating, then climbed onto the bed to sit with Angel. Still not too close, but with his back against the headboard, too.

He'd caught him, though. Looking at the painting again. Angel really liked it, didn't he? Julio was glad, then, that he'd asked to paint while he was here. He almost didn't, thinking he would create something laughable. The kind of thing a mother puts on the fridge to humor her son. (Julio didn't know if his mother did that to him but he liked to believe she really enjoyed what he created for her.)

For a moment, it was like being out at the pool, just the two of them. Then he wrote, "I'm glad you called me over. After you left last time, I thought I did something wrong."

Were those police pants? The kind with the stripe down the side that reminded Angel of the police here? He tried to be discreet but he was pretty sure he stared a little when Julio came out of the bathroom with his duffel bag. Then Angel recalled seeing similar pants at the club and he whipped his gaze right back to the TV. Yup those were stripper pants, not police pants.

If Julio thought he came here to dance, having a costume stood completely to reason. But it was still hilarious that he needed to wear it just to hang out in bed to watch a movie. Also it made Angel feel bad; he would have offered to dry off Julio's jeans but Julio would be going home soon anyway. The thought of that wasn't all that pleasant... actually...

"Next time you should bring swimming trunks," he said mildly, recalling with another pang how he just led Julio to the pool and dove in without thinking. At the time it seemed like a fun thing. Swimming in his clothes. A spontaneous thing, no? Angel was actually quite prone to doing things like that, just on the spur of the moment—it made parts of his life problematic, though, like when he was near the edge of the pool.

He flicked through a list of movies while they sat together at that perfect distance. Then he glanced over when the phone was nudged at him and shook his head. It was my fault. Aha, another phrase he anticipated using. I'm sorry.

"I was scared. Not of you, just... of the whole place. The town. After what those guys did, I felt sick being there so I ran out." For a few seconds he kept his eyes on the phone, and then he shifted closer to Julio. It didn't make him feel so bad to be closer. Actually it was... nice. It made him feel warm, like when he looked at that painting.

Swimming trunks? Julio looked over at Angel with amusement. Even if he had, there was no time for trunks when he was merely following Angel's spur of the moment demands. No, demand wasn't the right term for it. Games? No. It was just... something that happened. He didn't regret that it happened, though. Everything was fine; he was warm and dry, thanks to stripper clothes.

Angel apologized. Which was sweet of him but Julio shook his head. It's okay. Everything worked out fine in the end. He had gone about it strangely but Julio was learning that it was just Angel's quirks. And... that he was scared. Julio almost signed me? He was scared of him? But no, it was the events of the night. Ah. Julio looked down, too. They met under such horrible circumstances but... at least they met. And at least Angel was here, at home, healing.

He couldn't really blame Angel for wanting to leave Hazleton after what happened to him there. Maybe... maybe he would never go back. But what about Logan? What about... the club? Did this spell the end of it? Maybe so, but he was probably safer here, really.

Slowly, as Angel sat closer, Julio gently put an arm around him. A companionable arm. A safe arm. A half hug sort of arm, nothing more, nothing less.

None of this was normal or routine to Angel, whose evenings at home tended to consist of dinner in front of the TV in the kitchen, an occasional dip in the pool, some painting and eventually curling up in this very bed either watching cartoons to help him fall asleep or gazing out through the window at the city beyond. He didn't have to worry about being spied on up here in the penthouse, so the blinds were almost never drawn at night. The lights from outside helped stave off that inevitable panic he felt in the dark.

Angel watched their reflections in the windows facing the bed. He looked at Julio, whose arm was moving towards him, and he looked at himself sitting somewhat stiffly beside him. It wasn't a mirror image though; parts of them were blurry but the shapes of their bodies were maintained. It was still them, just not in all of their respective details.

Slowly, Angel leaned in. The reflection in the window leaned in too. He pressed play on a random movie, not even looking at the TV anymore, and then set the remote aside. Julio came out here for him despite having given up private shows. Despite the trauma he suffered in the past, he was willing to risk it. For him.

So Angel felt emboldened to do the same—to feel a little uncomfortable, to take a risk. It was no great sacrifice to let someone hold him or to lean up against them. To cuddle with them. And once he got over that initial hurdle, their images in the window merged and became one. They fit together.

"I'm glad you came tonight." Now he was safely in Julio's arms and he didn't have to think about that terrible night. He didn't think about being beaten up, about the pain and the shock. It was like all the bad events faded into the background and all the nice ones emerged into the foreground. Angel rested his head against Julio's shoulder and smiled at the animated film beginning to play on the screen.

Julio smiled. He was glad he came, too. Despite the rocky start, they managed to get somewhere comfortable. For both of them? He hoped. He thought. Angel seemed comfortable with him and Julio most certainly was comfortable with him. His gaze was on the movie but his mind was elsewhere. It floated around, serenely from the painting to the pool to cooking together to the jolt of surprise when Angel first signed to him.

There was a lot on his mind but nothing that required a lot of attention. Just passing thoughts, passing feelings. But without keeping his eye on the time, it passed by in a comfortable, quiet blur. His eyes grew heavy. The night before had been a long one--a bachelorette party, which tended to run long and push them to their limits.

Maybe it was just being warm inside the bedroom, with Angel's head on his shoulder. Maybe it was the loose thoughts running through his mind and then shutting down. Whatever it was, he eventually nodded off and fell asleep sitting up.

The movie was nothing special, just some Justice League thing, but Angel liked it. He liked cartoons and animated films over ones with actual people—some called him weird because of it, because he liked 'kid stuff.' But his fondest memories of his parents was curling up with them on the big couch back home to watch a movie. It happened only once on his birthday but he remembered it.

So watching this with Julio felt like being home. Curling up with an arm around him, keeping him safe, it meant so much more than Angel could express. While he was wrapped up in the movie, he felt the arm around him go slack and when he looked over...

Angel smiled. Silently he reached over to brush a few strands of hair from Julio's sleeping face, liking the way he looked in repose. So peaceful. So soft. Angel was glad he opted not to tie up his hair. It looked good whichever way he styled it, but down and framing his face was the look he liked the most.

"...thank you." Julio didn't have to be awake to hear it. He eased in closer and gently laid an arm over Julio's stomach and continued to watch the movie to its conclusion, feeling weirdly awake. Didn't Julio have to go back to the club? Or... home? If he didn't have to check back at the club, Angel had no problem letting him sleep here. It was so nice having another person here—it was nice to be with someone he trusted. Funny that it didn't even take that long to gain his trust, but here they were.