2:17 am. angel dust. when you wipe your tears do you wipe them just for me?
you hadn’t really been keeping up with what time it might be, it sort of felt like hours, sort of felt like minutes. you couldn’t really determine the way time felt, but it never really mattered here. here was timeless, and you’d forget about it too. until the next time you could do this.
it was always pink in his room. pink and purpley. and music was always going - soft music. the kind he really only liked to listen to with his closest of friends- “sad girl pop!” you smiled to him, eyes softly wrinkled as you looked up. “sad girl pop? what the fuck are you talkin’ about?” he crosses his second set of arms, the ones closest to his waist, and the other are set firmly at his hips. “this genre… it’s kinda… sad? nostalgic? but it has a sweet beat. it just… reminds me of being a girl.” you shrug. to you it was easy. his brow softly furrows, but he has nothing else to say. you were just you. he wouldn’t understand it but he’d always like you.
“-wipe them just for me.” you sing softly, back pressed to his plushy mattress and blankets. gently your eyes close. the scent of nail polish has been in the air for about 15 minutes as he coats his nails for the second time. when you roll to your side, eyes opening and focusing on his hunched frame, his gaze focused keenly on his task at hand, you smile gingerly. “need some help? you have a lot of ground to cover.” you motion with your head to his second set of hands, his thumb swipes into his cuticle where he’s overpainted.
he doesn’t lift his gaze, and takes a second to respond. “i can do them on my own just fine, babes! don’t you worry.” he says matter of factly, always so determined - brow furrowed and corners of his mouth set with pride.
you chuckle, pushing your weight up to scoot closer to him. “silly, let me help you.” you grab the red shade from his bag of polishes, shaking and tapping it against your palms to ensure it’s thoroughly mixed before starting. he rolls his eyes and smacks his lips quietly before dramatically shoving his hand to you, wrists bent and fingers splayed. you guide his palm to rest on your knee before unscrewing the cap and hunching over to focus deeply on your work.
“val wanted red right?” you ask once more, head snapping up to meet his gaze before truly starting. angel nods, gently dabbing his cuticle with his opposite ring finger to ensure his linework was nice, “yeah, he wanted black and red. has a thing for that whole dominatrix thing right now?” he rolls his eyes and shrugs, defeated. “isn’t this your like…” you swipe your first streak of blood red only his thumb, a soft uncomfort already growing in your back from your position. “third dominatrix phase with him? or something?” the song changes and you softly hum to it’s intro.
“try more like twenty-third, sugar. it’s old but-” he sighs, lifting both hands out wide to admire his handy work, his nails a glossy rich black. “it is kinda fun!” his voice has a oscillating playfulness to it - swinging and dancing tone, as angel’s typical. “i gotta say, i get the appeal of being a sexy powerful woman.” he smirks, leaning back into his palms as his other stays diligently on your knee. you chuckle quietly, moving onto his middle finger.
“speaking of val, how’s it been with him lately?” you ponder, your fingers pushing a stray hair past your ear to keep it out of the polish painted daintily on your friend’s fingertips.
angel’s head lulls back, face to the ceiling as he sighs in thought. “you know how it typically is. he’s a pain in my fuckin’ ass. something new every day, he’s never pleased, and he won’t leave me the fuck alone when i’m here.” he softly blows on his nails, checking to make sure no errors have disrupted his pant job. “needy fuckin bastard.” he scowls, eyes rolling.
“let’s just kill him.” it was hard not to fight the smile daring to stretch across your face. when you finish with his hand he lifts his palm from your knee and sets the other on your other knee, lifting his eyes to look over the new wash of red. his eyes don’t change, his gaze doesn’t falter. he just looks over them like… they’re there.
“oh yeah, sure. let’s just waltz in and kill my boss. perfect. easy.” he grins, leaning back into his palms. you gently flick his wrist with your forefinger before continuing your task at hand.
it’s quiet now. just the soft sound of similar soft pop tunes playing from his stereo across the room, a few open cd cases open on the floor, the next cd resting on the top of his pink speaker. when the silence truly takes over, he’ll waltz over and pop it in. a few snacks lay open on his bed, you eye the gummy worms and make an executive decision to take a few when you’re done. a purple ashtray sits on the ledge of the cracked window. it’s a chilly night, his curtains sway a bit with every breeze. fat nuggets snuggled on one of your cardigans you pulled from your overnight bag, little hooves sprawled as he dozes.
for a moment, in your focus, you almost forget he’s there. the silence isn’t awkward - it feels really good. safe.
your lips part before you speak, thinking for a second about what you’re about to say but you decide to say it without thinking a moment more.
“you make me feel happy to be a girl.” you finish his pinky, raising your posture to stretch your back before turning to his first hand that has returned to your knee. “like… safe.” you explain further.
and of course, you’re full of these sappy sentimental phrases he never knows what to say back to. you’ve been this way your entire friendship. you always keep him on his toes, saying this type of shit. and you know he’ll never know what to say but you also know he understands.
“there you go saying that sentimental shit- you know i never know what to say back!” he points an accusatory finger at you, all worked up because he can’t think of anything to say back, he never does. and you’re the one person that can keep him on his toes. the last person that deserved to be here, and full of so much genuinity he doesn’t know what to do with it.
you chuckle, all wrinkly smiled and cute crescent eyes as you begin with his second coat on his first hand. sometimes you wondered if he felt the same way with you, safe. you assumed so, and for a second you think it silly to doubt your friendship like that. but you can’t help but wonder. you always tried to be a good friend, a safe space, for nights like these and drunken nights at bars and gossip-filled text messages and phonecalls spent crying in the shower while the phone rested on the sink. if it just meant to have someone there.
“you don’t have to say anything, silly. i just like to keep you on edge.” it’s followed by a short maniacal chuckle, you’re now on his middle finger again.
“well,” he sounds frustrated. like he’s trying to work out his own emotions in his head but can’t quite get them out to match how fast he wanted to speak and vomit them out. you deserved something genuine, but he couldn’t quite decide if that’s who he was anymore. “i’m glad you feel safe with me.” he finishes, kind of prissy and stunted. his first set of arms crossed over his chest.
you smile gently. of course he sees it.
when you’re finished with his nails, leaving him to be patient as they dry, the cd ends and he rises from the bed, adjusting his cropped tank top with newly painted nails. the new album is from the same artist, your head bops along to her soft voice. you steal the gummy worms.
when you both grow tired, and not many more words are being shared between you. you lay across from him in his bed and bring your knees closer up to you, face buried in your phone until you yawn. fat nuggets has settled on the pillows above your heads, softly breathing. music still played quietly from the speakers, you’d both wake up to the silence of the end of the album.
“what color would you paint them if you had the choice?” you asked softly, plugging in your phone and leaving it under your pillow.
he looks to you from the side, laying on his back. he rolls over, his phone plopped in his arms as he curls them under his head, eyes focused and brow pointed in thought.
“pink.” his tired voice rings. tired eyes getting droopy.
he felt safe. you weren’t sure why you doubted that before.
