I know where beauty lives

[Angel Miguel Albares]

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

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

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

[Julio de la Rosa]

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

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

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

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

[Angel Miguel Albares]

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

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

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

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

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

[Julio de la Rosa]

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

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

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

[Angel Miguel Albares]

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

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

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

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

[Julio de la Rosa]

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

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

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

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

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

[Angel Miguel Albares]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Julio de la Rosa]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Angel Miguel Albares]

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

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

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

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

[Julio de la Rosa]

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

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

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

[Angel Miguel Albares]

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

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

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

The silence it left, though, was horribly deafening.

[Julio de la Rosa]

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

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

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

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

[Angel Miguel Albares]

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

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

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

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

[Julio de la Rosa]

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

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

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

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

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

[Angel Miguel Albares]

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

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

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