FicWad

Someone to Live For
Miracle Worker

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In which a former professor of Mark's provides a solution to that housing dilemma. Approximately two months after the previous bit.

DISCLAIMER: Not mine; just borrowing. Will return when finished.
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Angel's sure the ceiling would be fascinating, if he weren't feeling so completely trapped by this damned campus. It's more interesting than trying to deal with homework, though, and besides, even if he could quite bring himself to care, nothing really needs doing right this second.

There's a knock on the door. "Angel?"

It's Mark, and that's a massive relief. "It's open. Come on in."

So he does, and sits down on Angel's bed as Angel sits up. "How're you doing?"

"Holding up. Barely, but I'm holding up. Waiting for the end of the semester. What brings you over here?"

"Might've found somewhere for us to live. Remember my nutty philosophy prof?"

"From last spring? Yeah."

"He's got a loft on Eleventh and B, and he's looking for roommates. He wanted us to come over for dinner tonight, if you're not busy."

"I don't have to be."

"No, don't skip anything if you have to be somewhere, we can reschedule--"

Angel shrugs. "I won't be missed. Besides, at this point I need the break more. What should I wear, do you think?"

"A skirt?"

"Well, obviously." Angel stands and heads for his closet. "Which one?"

Mark follows, wrapping his arms around Angel from behind. "I've always liked that one with the red flowers."

"Okay, I think I can work with that." Angel smiles a little, turns around in order to kiss Mark properly, and adds, "Pardon the pun, but I'll be out in a few minutes." With that, he closes the closet door most of the way and starts rounding up the rest of the outfit and getting dressed.

"Good to know you haven't lost your sense of humor entirely."

"Just the thought of getting out of here for a night is a real mood-lifter."

"Good. I wish I could do more to help you out."

"You've already done so much, honey, don't worry about it. The semester's gotta end sometime, after all."

"True. But I can't help worrying. I'm the one who's supposed to fall apart here."

"One of us at a time." Angel opens the door, sits down on the bed, and puts on his shoes.

"You look amazing, as usual."

"Well, I figure if I can't clean up well when I'm in distress, there's really no point in trying. Shall we?"

Mark grins. "Of course."

*

Three-inch heels were perhaps a bad choice for visiting a loft, especially since the Lower East Side isn't exactly known for its elevators. But Angel's been getting used to walking places in the things anyway, and it's not like he can't take them off when they get to the top.

Seven flights of stairs later, they finally make it, and Collins lets them in through a massive sliding door. "Dinner's almost ready. You two have a look around, I've got things under control."

And so they do. It's not very much, really, just one huge room with a makeshift kitchenette to one side and some smaller rooms to the other. The smaller rooms turn out to be a bathroom and two bedrooms, one of which is unoccupied. The huge windows along the main room's front wall win Angel over pretty quickly, for all he suspects they leave the place bloody freezing in the winter.

Dinner is pasta, and some of the best Angel can remember having; he says so, and Collins grins. "Thanks. What do you two think of the loft?"

"Like the windows. And hell, it's not Juilliard. Anything that can make that claim has a definite advantage at this point."

"So is that what the problem is? I mean, if memory serves, you were far more bubbly when you sat in on my class last spring, and that was an early morning class you didn't even have to be up for."

"College sucks and I need to get out of there before it saps my creative drive entirely. If school's not going to have the decency to be fun, it should just leave me the hell alone."

Mark takes Angel's hand and adds, "It's been doing this to her the whole semester."

"I see," Collins says, and changes the subject.

An hour or so after they finish eating and get the dishes squared away, the conversation works its way back around to the loft. Angel's half paying attention and half watching what's going on in the street below when Collins casually says, "It's not soundproofed, you know."

"Wait, what?"

"The loft. The walls aren't soundproofed. You'd think they would be, in a building that used to be part of the music industry, but no such luck."

It's a moment before either of them picks up on the implicit acceptance in that statement; when they do, Mark turns red, and Angel bursts out laughing for the first time in far too long. It's a nice feeling.

When he finally calms down, Collins is trying to pull off an innocent face and mostly failing, and Mark is beaming, if still a bit pink. Angel grins at Mark and says, "Well, I think I'm in, if you are."