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worries

ωαяиιиg: ¢σитαιиѕ α∂υℓт ¢σитєит!! νιєωєя ∂ιѕ¢яєтισи α∂νιѕє∂!!

Alastor 

Yes, I kissed him. What was I thinking? I meant what I said, of course, I do still want him despite Valentino, but now I'm endangering myself. And him. I'm endangering both of us.

He won't tell him... Not voluntarily, anyways. What's not to say Valentino won't just drug him and force it out? 

What happened to take care of number one? Why did I breach that? I am such a fool! Why would I do such a thing?! How could I be so stupid?!

I need to do something to distract myself. Making sure my smile is locked tightly in place, I decide to go fix up more of the hotel. 

I find Charlie and Vaggie in the lounge, relaxing on the one couch that isn't stained with mildew and other abhorrently colored splotches. I look around. 

Curling wallpaper, moldy furniture, and frame pictures with rusty frames fill the room. 

"And what kind of theme do you want this room to have?" I ask brightly. Charlie looks confused, then her face brightens. "Oh! Could you do something that would appeal to both males and females? And every gender inbetween?" she asks hopefully. 

I nod. "Leather or fabric?" 

"Whatever you think is best." She states firmly. "You're the design whiz." She gives me a thumbs up and an encouraging smile. 

I nod again. 

I lay a hand on the wall and spread my fingers wide. Instantly, the wallpaper is stripped, the walls re-papered with a calming pattern, the furniture removed and replaced with newer, cleaner, better versions of their predecessors. 

Charlie gasps in happiness. "Oh my God, it looks so good!!!" She squeals. I put my hand on her arm. "Of course, my dear," I laugh. "No one will come if it looks this atrocious!"

She giggles. "I guess not," she admits, flopping back down with Vaggie. "Isn't it great?" She beams. Vaggie looks up from her phone. "I guess," she says disdainfully. 

Hm. Still have to win her over, I suppose. 

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

I continue to avoid Angel for days. I even go full mechanical mode, but not even that gives me sanctuary from the constant barrage of thoughts, whispers, wonderings, imaginings. But the worst of all is the desire for more of him. I want to get to know him, I want to learn more about his tattered past and broken life. I want to hold him close. I don't want sex from him; I've never wanted sex from anyone. Never have, never will. But I want more than I have with him right now. 

I want to kiss his forehead, I want to hold and comfort him after his flashbacks and nightmares and panic attacks and after his PTSD makes him see monsters in every corner and shadow. I want to be what he never had. I want to save him from Valentino. I want to rip apart anyone who hurts him. 

The thoughts make me gnaw my cheeks until I taste blood, the whispers make me rip at my hair until fistfuls litter the floor. The imaginings bring dreams, dreams that I want to stay in so badly that I lay there after waking, trying desperately to fall back asleep and rejoin them. The wonderings drive me half-mad. 

After a week in this state of insanity and longing and ducking into rooms every time I hear his heels clacking down the halls, I have a dream. Not one of the euphoric fantasylands where me and him are happy, together, and out, but a bad dream.