His footfalls matched the easy strides of the one who walked the streets below him. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t bring himself to stop watching the rise and fall of his hips as he moved, his fingers coiling in his hair which fell about his shoulders and down his back in loose waves. He had come to realize that the one he followed, knew. Somehow he knew that Dallieh was there, watching, and everything he did called to him. Even with that, with so much telling him that he should be closer... it was hard for him to believe that he deserved to be. It felt like a dream. A warm wish that he never thought he might actually be a part of.

They were almost to the apartment building. Angel walked to the door and touched his fingers to the surface but then turned. He had that little smirk, the one that spoke of so much trouble, and his eyes became a nearly glowing green in the dim luminance of the streetlight a short distance away. Was that an invitation? If Dallieh’s heart had beat within his chest, it would have stopped in that instant. Angel looked right at him. He always did. He could always find him in the shadows, with those big beautiful eyes, and make him squirm.

Dallieh rocked on his heels as that gaze released him, and Angel vanished inside. Some minutes later, the light came on in the window, which had been left open. It had been left open since that night, another invitation... but it may have also just been coincidence. Dallieh went to turn away but found he had only turned back to look again, making a neat circle. Why couldn’t he walk away? He should walk away. Some part of him still balked at the silent acceptance that one had of him, the lack of fear. What was it about Angel?

Dallieh closed his eyes and changed, stretching his wings into the night, enjoying the rush of wind upon his face. Before he was even aware of what he’d done, he had swooped down low and now came up just in front of the open window with too much speed to stop. The lamplight glistened off his wings for just an instant before he took two big strokes back, slowing himself enough so he wouldn’t stumble, before he changed.

It was quiet, so quiet. His back was to the man who reclined on the bed with a book in his hands. He swallowed hard. He couldn’t imagine what he might see... He couldn’t bring himself to turn to see the look upon his face. He had just crossed the line between preconceived notion, what Angel must have thought he was, and the truth of what he was, which was really very different. Angel had seen both halves... but not the bridge. Dallieh fought for composure before turning his head just enough so that he knew Angel could see the side of his face. He still couldn’t bring himself to look, afraid of the horror he would find marring those elegant features.

“Is this okay?” He was surprised that his voice hadn’t cracked. When he was left without an answer, he chanced a look back, finally allowing his eyes to rest upon the man who half sat, half sprawled across the daybed behind him. He was greeted with a look of amusement, almost pleasure. The smirk was sweeter and his eyes held the slightest touch of a smile as they looked up at him from behind the paperback, big and just as luminous green as they had been before he entered the building.

“S’ok.”

It was just a short time. He only had a little time left before he would have to go anyway. Why had he flown through the window? He stepped forward and turned, slid down the cabinets so that he was just a little ball, his feet crossed at the ankles, his arms crossed over his knees. He felt so foolish. He hadn’t said a word when he had brought him food. He’d just left it. Surely Angel must be wondering, why now? That was a question he struggled with himself, glancing up only occasionally at him where he read across the room.

Angel’s eyes had skimmed the same sentence on the page over and over since the big raven had flown in through his window, and changed into a man.  He had so many questions to ask; what was he, where did he come from, how did he do that... But now was not the time for it.  Slowly, he lowered the book face-down on his leg, which was half curled beneath him.  Then he separated a section of still-wet hair and began to plait it absently, still watching his guest sit quietly on the floor, leaning against a cabinet.  His head tilted, then he chanced speaking, softly enough that he thought it wouldn’t disturb him, if he hadn’t wanted to hear.

“Hey.”

Dallieh’s eyes flicked up towards him instantly, and Angel’s brows raised at the hunted look there.  He had already tensed as though expecting to need to spring to his feet and make for the window.  As if he was already bracing to be told to leave.  Angel wrinkled his nose just a bit, but the expression must have been misread, because Dallieh flinched, brows furrowing, and started to move, started to get to his feet.  Angel shook his head quickly.

“Relax, D.  You don’t gotta go nowhere.  I was just gonna ask if ya wanted to help yourself to a book.”

The uncomprehending look on Dallieh’s face was almost comical, enough so that Angel actually let a soft, breathy laugh escape, as he jerked his head towards the shelf housing his collection of movies and books.

“A book.  You do know how to read, doncha?”  The humor was nearly tangible, and his eyes sparkled like sunstruck emeralds.  His smirk curved one side of his mouth just a bit higher than the other, and only grew at the change in Dallieh’s expression.  He looked almost as though he was offended for a moment.  As though it was positively asinine for Angel to even suggest that he couldn’t.  It was too much to resist, and Angel drew his knees to his chest in order to rest his chin on one, a devilish smile on his face, as he decided to test him.  Just a little, only a little bit, to see how he would respond to a bit of ribbing.  “So, can ya?”

Now it was Dallieh that wrinkled his nose, eyes narrowing just enough for him to squint at Angel.  That sounded like a joke.  It sounded like Angel was joking, it felt like he was joking.  He was smiling at him, but the smile was wicked and not quite right.  He took a soft breath, and nodded his head.

“Yes... I can read.”

There was another laugh from Angel, and he shifted in the bed again, sprawling sideways.  Shirtless and barefoot, long damp hair pooling against his neck, and trailing over his shoulder and side, Angel’s body language was deliberately calculated to seem casual, but he knew exactly what he looked like.  He watched where Dallieh’s eyes fell, studied his movements, each tiny twitch of muscle.  Much to his surprise, there was no real indication of base desire.  There was no bob in his throat as he swallowed thickly, his eyes didn’t linger on the lithe curves of bone, or planes of muscle.  There wasn’t any hitch of breath, or sudden flush to his cheeks.  Those green blue eyes that looked so much like the ocean only met Angel’s own, fell to the stark blackness of ink, the pale lines of long-healed scars, even though Angel knew he’d seen it all already, then moved away again, to the indicated books.

His hand grazed the tops of the worn spines as if he were making his choice by the feel of them.  When it stopped and flipped the one it rested upon out of the shelf into his fingers, the movement was both careful and fluid, something Angel imagined he must have done a hundred times before. It was more of an answer to his question about Dallieh’s ability to read than all the words in the world could have been. He turned as he opened the pages and sank to the floor in an elegant pirouette, sitting with his legs crossed, and his back straight. The book rested in his hands as surely many books had rested before. His eyes flicked across the pages as Angel watched.

He had devoured nearly a quarter of the book before Angel realized that once more, Dallieh had listened to him, done what he’d said. This time he had done it despite that he had a bad taste in his mouth. Then Angel realized... he was the one who was staring while he absentmindedly smoothed his hair out from its third time being braided.

Dallieh closed the book and looked up slowly, tracing the line of the bed frame to where Angel lay. The emotion in his eyes froze Angel’s hands in place. What book had he chosen that made him look like that? His brow had started furrowed but then softened once their gaze met. His lips parted, just slightly, and his fingers rose to cover them, as though he was about to whisper something secret and he didn’t want Angel to read him. He stood slowly, closing his eyes as he did so.

Angel was trapped, entranced, the line of his jaw and the flexion of his neck into his shoulder, the liquid grace and ease with which he moved made so painfully apparent when more of his body came into his line of sight as Dallieh got to his feet. Angel forgot to crane to see which book he was reading so he could figure out what had made him look that way. Instead he followed the pale round of his hip where his shirt had come up while he’d been sitting. The line of bone as it rose and fell. The glow of his flesh and the light stains of green and blue that were punctuated by the delicate twirls of a tattoo, which was still partially concealed, until he was standing right beside him, even with Angel's eyes, next to the daybed. His fingers had grazed Angel’s arm on the way past and rested relaxed, an accidental touch, against Angel’s fingers. Angel realized... he had been holding his breath. He looked up to his face just in time to see him take a shaky breath, not more than enough air to speak.

“I have to go.”

Then in an explosion of feathers and cool air, he was gone.