Angel remained sitting where he was, the hand that Dallieh had touched curling into a loose fist, as though to preserve the tingle of his skin where cool fingers had made contact.  It took a few minutes for his heart to stop pounding.  What... was that?  What had just happened?  The image of Dallieh’s movement, the easy, unconscious fluidity, had been burned into his mind.  A splash of ink that he couldn’t quite see entirely, but couldn’t shake.  The way his features had softened, smoothed over just enough to be perceptible, when he’d looked up from the book to see Angel watching him...

Sighing softly in the very empty apartment, Angel got to his feet, carefully closing his own book over a bookmark of delicate, but faded, braided red silk ribbon.  He traced the cover with a fingertip as gently as one might stroke a small, beloved pet, then placed it on top of the bookshelf.  He shut the light, and started back towards the bed, but paused by the window.  He leaned out, letting the dawning sun fall on his face, and a gentle breeze teased dark strands of hair across him.  His eyes closed.  How fast did ravens fly?  Was Dallieh miles away already?  It didn’t seem like it, it didn’t feel like he was far at all... but when Angel opened his eyes, he was still alone.  The apartment behind him was still empty.  Another heavy sigh, and he ducked back inside, raising his hand to the window to close it, but then paused.  Dallieh had used the window after all.  Angel wasn’t sure he would but... He did.  A slight smile curved his lips and the green of his eyes brightened for a moment, before he left the window alone.

With a loud oomph, Angel flopped down on the bed and folded his arms behind his head.  His eyes absently scanned the ceiling, the discolorations in the old paint that he knew so well from so many dawns spent just like this.  He let his mind settle, drift, sort through the memories of the night, absorb what he wanted, bury what he didn’t, best as he could.  

Dallieh had been here.  He’d returned.  But he hadn’t invaded; he’d simply made himself a quiet piece of the room until Angel had spoken to him.  The thought brought another faint smile to his lips.  He... hadn’t demanded attention, or made himself a pest.  He was simply... there.  Unobtrusive, as if he’d expected to be told to leave if he’d been distracting.  Angel’s eyes began to drift shut to thoughts of his unusual guest, so he rearranged himself in the bed to pull the blankets over himself.  The thought intruded into his mind that Dallieh had an otherworldly beauty to him, and he wished he could’ve seen that little tattoo on his hip more clearly.  It looked so enticing.  All of him had captured Angel’s attention; his grace, the smoothness of his movement, the silence of his footsteps, and the elegance of his hands.  If only he’d been able to commit more of him to memory before he had changed into that big black raven.

Angel sat up in bed with a start.  He’d been staring at Dallieh!  The exact same way that he’d been expecting to be stared at, he’d instead done.  His eyes had traced the curves and lines of his body, and his heart had beat just a little faster.  Just what had happened?  His features screwed into a puzzled grimace.  He found Dallieh... attractive.  Just what was he supposed to do with that information, though?

Nothing.  Angel opted to do nothing about it.  He laid back down and pulled the blanket up to his nose.  There was nothing he could do.  For all he knew, Dallieh wouldn’t even return.  He hadn’t even said goodbye.  His eyes closed just as their color stopped swirling through the spectrum, and settled into a shade of blue, the unexpected disappointment carrying him into vague dreams of chasing black wings in a crimson sky.

It felt like he’d only been asleep for a second. He opened his eyes and saw the wall come into focus, dull and colorless. He had slept through the entire day. It felt like he hadn’t moved at all and he uncurled his hands and stretched, rolling over and taking in a cursory inventory of the room. It must have been the very last moment of dusk. Everything about him was stained with gloom, nearly black. He sighed, sitting up, rubbing his eyes. He hated it when he slept that long. He always felt more tired when he woke up. He stood, stretching again and yawning before making his way into the bathroom. He’d feel more awake after coffee... tea. Maybe just water. He didn’t remember when he had gotten coffee last but he did remember what the bottom of the canister had looked like.

Moments later he emerged. What had he been dreaming about? He felt like he’d been running races in his sleep. A little smile touched his lips as his eyes fell on the window. He’d been dreaming about flying. He’d been dreaming about racing the wind... No that wasn’t quite right.  He was the wind... and he’d been racing big black wings. He walked across the room and straightened out the blankets and pillows on the daybed, then leaned over and turned on the lamp.

There was a book on the table. Angel scowled. He thought he’d put that away. He picked it up with the intention of putting it back on the shelf where he’d kept it... but his book was already there with the bookmark barely visible sticking out both sides like a tongue. His scowl deepened and he looked at the book in his hands. It was... the next one. It had been worn nearly in an identical way to his: cared for but used. Now he was finding it difficult to put it down. He looked at the open window with a quizzical expression. It had to have been him. Angel knew he would have heard anyone else. Did he just come in to deliver a book, and then leave?

Angel scanned the room again. Now with the light on his eyes were drawn to little bits of paper that were stuck to the freezer and refrigerator. With the book still in hand, he walked over to snatch the one off of the freezer door. It was a rough drawing that looked like the poison symbols you used to find on chemicals. He opened the freezer door to discover that every single box had a rough skull and crossbones drawn on it. Okay, alternatives then?

He snatched the second note off of the refrigerator door. It was an exaggerated smiley face with two little pointed teeth that stuck out like a vampire’s fangs. When he pulled the door open there was a brown bag. He knew what was in it. There were also grapes... and orange juice... and bagels? Angel shook his head and smiled. Apparently hungry man dinners were not an acceptable food source anymore. He had to admit that he was getting very fond of the alternatives. Now he was holding a book and a container of grapes, one of which he put down on the counter. Did this mean he was coming back? That was a stupid question, he had come back, Angel still had his hoodie after all. He popped a grape in his mouth before he walked over to his closet and pulled the door open.

Angel scowled. He didn’t want to do this right now but he didn’t have a choice. He needed the money. He always acted as though it might have mattered what he wore, or didn’t... but the truth was that, though the package being enticing helped... he was never fond of the way it was unwrapped. He took a deep breath. Reality came crashing down around him as he stood there looking at his clothes. He had no alternative lifestyle choice... and the food, well that wasn’t anything he had expected. He traced the worn corner of the book, holding onto the last glimpse of something that might be better. All he had to do was put on some clothes and get his ass out the door. After that it was easy. One foot in front of the other. He stepped away from the closet and tentatively put his new book down on top of the one he was reading, allowing his fingers to linger on the worn spine. Once he had left it there, he ran on automatic, occasionally shoving a grape in his mouth on the way past. He put them in the fridge and did one last scan of the room before he walked to the door to leave.

He almost missed it. He was looking at the knob and not the door, but when he went to open it, the paper fell and brushed past his hand on its way to the floor. He picked it up and flipped it over. This was the only one that had words, in graceful swooping old fashioned letters. He couldn’t help but laugh. So he had a sense of humor after all. The note read: I can write too. See you later -D. 

He was coming back.

He couldn’t seem to get through the night fast enough. At first it was all the same. The same walk, the same dry lines... the same faces, all met with the same practiced smile. Then he became aware of that feeling, that familiar feeling of the right set of eyes, and he simply couldn’t help himself. His hips swung just a little bit more loose. The lines of his body accentuated just that much more when he stretched, his fingers teasing his own easy curves, languidly waiting for someone to approach. Whatever it was, he did that much better for his efforts, even if the fire in his eyes wasn’t for anyone who actually walked up to him. He knew... the one he was working for wouldn’t be as bold as to step to him in the street. Not like this. Somehow he knew that Angel liked him to watch the show but... also wanted him to turn away, not to see the parts he wanted to remain hidden.

Before long, those smooth, even strides carried him across the broken surface of the pavement back through streets he found to be both a comfort and his greatest pain. Another night. He had made it through one more night and now he could shed his costume for his own comfortable skin. He hoped... He hoped that somewhere out there Dallieh still watched, though if he did it was distant. The wind blew up around him sending his hair across his face.

It was just a touch. So slight. Like the wind brushed his arm and his cheek, a meager extension of the night. Angel turned to see if something was there. It felt like it had been a ghost, that feeling, all at once so strong around him. Angel took another step, slowly slinking forward into the darkness. Up ahead, it was just a break in the clean line of the building. Maybe a knee. He was sure. Then it shifted and his silhouette broke free from the building entirely. It was him. Angel’s pace quickened. His heart was in his throat before he even realized his pulse had jumped. Angel was almost to him when he stepped around the corner, giving him the faintest of lost smiles before disappearing out of sight.

Angel rounded the corner to the place where he had been. Gone. He was a ghost again. Where had he gone? Angel stepped forward, now uncertain that he’d seen him at all. Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but that feeling was driving him onward and made a smile curve his lips. He was there, he could feel the line of his eyes trace over his body. He could feel each step as though it was his own instead of mirroring his on the rooftops high above. He could feel the wind upon his face and Angel closed his eyes as he stepped across the curb. He was almost home. He had been led to his own door. Would he be there? Angel stopped a few steps away in the lamplight. He turned and sent that silent invitation out into the night. Somewhere he was there, but tonight it felt like he surrounded him and Angel couldn’t fight the light in his eyes.

He turned back toward the door and almost missed it. A little piece of paper that almost fell into his hand with a scrawl in old fashioned swoopy letters. It told him to turn around. When he did, he was there, his face not even inches from Angel’s. His hair blew forward and tickled Angel’s nose. He was so still. It took Angel a moment to focus past the closeness, the proximity, to see the note upon his chest. So gently he reached forward so the pale flesh beneath his fingers wouldn’t flinch, allowing them to linger upon that cool skin for a moment longer than he needed to. A smile crossed Dallieh’s lips, this time not so faint and so much more inviting. His eyes followed smooth lines that were just visible beneath soft nutmeg that was caught in the wind. It read: May I?

That was a very loaded question. When Angel’s expression changed and his eyes traced the lines of his chest before returning to his mouth, Dallieh’s smile broadened even more and Angel felt weak in the knees. Angel grabbed his hand, those pale fingers, and led him through the door.