Angel spooked awake. It was still early. The sun had barely broken the city’s skyline. He was gone. The television had been turned off. Something warm had been gently tucked in around him. His hoodie. He’d left it. Angel had been laying on the blankets so he had covered as much of him as he could with the soft black material that he had been wearing. It smelled like him and Angel hesitated with his sleepy mind before pulling the blankets from under him so that he could cover himself without flipping it off. It didn’t feel like he was gone. It didn’t even feel like he was in another room. It felt like he was still right there, just not laying with him in bed. Angel’s brow furrowed in the slightest scowl as he did a quick scan of the room and saw... nothing. The TV was off. The window was closed. No lights were left on. Nothing was out of place and there was surely no place for anyone to hide in his small space with the bathroom door open. Dallieh wasn’t there. Angel closed his eyes. He could still sleep for days if he let himself and drifted off easily, surrounded by the comfort of the smell of him.

When Angel woke later he felt a bit more rested. His clothes had dug into him while sprawled, asleep. His stomach growled. Fine, he was getting up. Moments later he wandered out of the bathroom in comfy loose pants and fumbled through the motions of looking in the nearly empty fridge. Take-out? He scowled. He hadn’t worked at all last night so that just wasn’t possible. Freezer. He grabbed a box without even looking. It didn’t really matter what it was. It all tasted the same anyway. He shoved it in the microwave and crinkled his nose. He’d gotten spoiled when there was fresh fruit in the house. Fresh bread in the house... fresh anything in the house. The microwave beeped and he turned, opened the door, and promptly burned his fingers just like he did every single damned time. Oh how he wished he could have afforded take-out. He had become slightly addicted to egg drop soup... even if he had never been able to find anything as good as what Dallieh had managed to round up. He grabbed a book off of another shelf by the TV before gathering up the meal that had scalded him and walked over to the table by the window. He plunked in the chair with an oomph and then got lost in its pages. He barely touched his food as he read. Small nibbles like a bird, only as much as he could stomach at a time. Why did companies add spices to their mashed potatoes... if you could call this white brick mashed potatoes? He was force feeding himself. Oh how he wished he had take-out.

When he sighed heavily and turned the page, he heard a quiet rustle that just didn’t quite line up with his actions. He scanned the room, looking for movement. Nothing. What had he heard? He looked back at the book letting his eyes devour the words on the page. The author spoke of a man that was a slave, a chained lover, but... could never get it up. He laughed, just a snort at the irony of such a thing. He heard it again. An unmistakable rustle like one soft surface slipping across another soft surface and then becoming still. He closed his book and put down his fork. There was something else in here with him. He knew it. He just needed to figure out where.

He stood, making sure that his chair didn’t slide across the floor. Where the hell was that coming from? Once more his eyes scanned the room searching for some clue. Nothing. Fine. He stood very quietly in the middle of everything with his eyes closed. Surely they were betraying him and he would be able to identify the source of the noise more easily with them closed. He’d almost given up when he heard it again. It was on the side of the bed where all of the pillows and blankets had been pushed, which hid the far part of the frame from view completely. He fought the urge to fling all the blankets across the room and instead tiptoed over, trying to see what was hidden in the darkness the mountain of pillows made. He thought it was just Dallieh’s hoodie until it shifted, just a little, but not enough to make any noise. His eyes were drawn to where the hoodie still lay partially covered in the blankets. The black before him was not a piece of cloth. Then it moved again and he clearly saw... wings.

What was before him was a bird. A really big black bird, that was perched in the small hollow space that had been formed by all the pillows and blankets. He craned around. The window was closed. How had it even gotten in here? He didn’t want to spook it and send it crashing about. It shifted again and he froze where he stood as it moved its head and opened one of its eyes. Angel didn’t have the manual on big wild birds in your apartment and how to make it so they didn’t claw the crap out of you, so he just slowly straightened up and backed away. Should he just open the window and leave? Before he could even make a move for the table it had turned where it perched and sleepily peered up at him. He scowled at first. Didn’t birds like this usually have brown or golden eyes? This one’s eyes were not gold at all.

In one quick, agile motion, it hopped from the bed to the table without even spreading its wings. Did it want food? He caught himself glancing around the room, still trying to figure out how it had gotten in to start with. It just stood there looking up at him. He cocked his head. Could it really be that simple? Could he just walk up to it and open the window to free it? There was something tangled in its feet. He took a step closer and squinted to see. Chains. Angel blinked. The bird wasn’t looking at him anymore but at the book, at the not even half eaten meal that still sat on the table. Maybe it did just want food. Still, something was bothering him about the entire situation.

Now he realized it was watching him, very patiently standing on the table like a magnificent black statue, all except those piercing blue-green eyes. Blue-green eyes...  It couldn’t be. Angel took another step and still, the raven did not move. He was sure that’s what it was. It was far too large to be anything else. One more step and he would be close enough to touch it. He tentatively raised one of his hands, reaching forward so slowly, not knowing what to expect, hoping he wouldn’t get bitten for his momentary lapse in sanity. When his fingers touched the black feathers he fought his first impulse to instantly shy away as the bird leaned into him and closed its eyes. He was sure.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” He wasn’t expecting an answer but the raven shifted in his hand and looked up at him with one of those unmistakable eyes. It was him. Then it hit him. It had been a feather, so soft, the only thing that broke the pain, the thing that made the pain stop. Flashes of pale in a sea of flesh, so fast his eyes couldn’t hope to keep up. So much blood. Strong arms. A voice in the darkness and the smell of the night. The bird fluffed its dark wings when he withdrew his hand. Now it became more animated as it looked up at him and back down to the food.

“You can have it if ya want...” He didn’t even really get to finish his sentence before a black wing tipped out and shoved the whole mess on the floor, adeptly avoiding the book. Angel’s jaw dropped. He got the distinct feeling he was being quietly chastised by a big black bird that squinted up at him and craned its head to the side.

“Well what do you want me to eat then? That’s all I got, yanno? It’s not like I...” He cut himself short. He didn’t want to say the rest of that statement. It’s not like he’d made any money last night so that was the best he could do. Angel’s fingers coiled in his hair as his belly growled again. He’d just have to clean it up. He really hadn’t wanted it anyway. He wasn’t that hungry. Without even thinking, he went and got the garbage. The sad excuse for food was so dry it hadn’t even left any moisture on the floor for him to wipe away. Maybe it was better that he hadn’t eaten any more of it. He smiled at the raven as he finished picking it up.

“You sure got an opinion when you ain’t gotta voice. You coulda just said it was nasty instead of makin’ a mess.” Why didn’t he feel foolish talking to a bird? When he returned, he sat at the table. The bird walked over to the window, staring out into the late afternoon sun before looking back at Angel. He could take a hint. He stretched over and pulled the window open. He thought the bird would bolt the moment it was offered freedom, but instead it stood there and watched him braid his hair. Then it slowly strutted over looking between his hands and his face like he was supposed to figure out exactly what it was that it wanted. It didn’t want food. It didn’t look like it was going to sleep anytime soon. It was obviously waiting for something. Angel pulled the braid out of his hair with his fingers as he tried to figure it out. Couldn’t be.

Once more he reached tentatively. This time the black feathered face pushed itself into his palm as the raven closed its eyes. The feathers were so warm and soft even though the flesh below was cool. It opened its eyes and squinted at him one last time before unfolding its wings and taking one graceful hop away from him and out the window. Now... Angel felt like he was alone.

He read for a while before he got up and got ready to leave. He was just about to walk out the door when he heard a light tap on it instead. When he opened it there wasn’t anyone there, just a brown bag that smelled of heaven. Take-out.

“D...?” Nothing. He brought it inside and put it on the counter. When he opened it, he discovered that it wasn’t take-out at all. Everything was carefully wrapped, and had been made by someone’s hands, just for him... or more likely, just for Dallieh to give to him. His stomach growled. There was so much food that he didn’t even know where to start. Then his hand found it at the very bottom. Soup. Maybe there was a god after all. If there was, he had black wings.