Angels can Play too

Dante

He watched as the other made his way to the mantle after breaking the cheap coffee table. He watched as he picked up the first one, but it wasn't until he had gotten to the Precious Moment angel figurine that he tensed immediately clenching his fists, digging into the skin. He didn't care about anything else in the apartment, the other could break it all if he so well pleased, but the figurine was important to him. It gave him some ridiculously dumb reassurance and blind hope that maybe one day he could be with the angel he had so hopelessly fallen in love with a long time ago. That's why he spent so much time on earth, thinking maybe he would see him again. He tightened his fists when nicknames started rolling out of the other's mouth. The very same nicknames that he himself used for his angel. Other than the man's voice, it was quiet and quiet could be, so he heard every name.

It wasn't until Michelangelo was said that he unclenched his hands and the urge to take the other in his arms and never let go wash over him although he resisted. He took more notice of his appearance, the blood, tail, horns, blackened wings, all of it. The blood was worrisome and he felt guilty for his corruption, although if he had known Michelangelo would fall. He would've been waiting at the gates for him, would've taken care of him, but he didn't know. No one told him and he didn't think he'd fall.

The answer to his question was and obvious, at least to Dante, if he could speak. He was suddenly tongue tied and his voice seemed to be lost. "Y-yes, I've missed you so, so much. I missed you every day you were out of my range " He finally said, finding a fragment of his shaky voice. He could feel slight tears well up, it was taken up all his willpower not to engulf him in his arms and hold him forever.

It didn't matter that Michelangelo was now corrupt or who he killed or how he had fallen. All that matter was that his beautiful baby angel was here with him and that they could finally start a life together.

He looked passed the blood and in that moment Michelangelo became his air again. At that moment they had forgotten how he coped without him, because now he was five hundred percent sure he could never live without him again, not that he ever wanted to in the first place.

There were so many things he wanted to say to him, but when he went to open his mouth again it all got lost and he shut it again. He was okay with that, nothing seemed right at the moment anyway. He didn't want to come off as foolish or dumb, he never did, even when they had first met he'd always wanted Michelangelo to think he was smart and cunning.