Tempestuous

9.

He lay on his bed, staring at the brown ceiling. He watched the blades of the fan whirl around, forming a pattern.

He knew the brown of his walls wasn't the same as it had always been.

Lately, it was dull. Dead.

He didn't know how long he sat on his bed, staring at the dull ceiling, but at some point in the middle of the night, he grabbed his keys and left the house.

When he got back, he smelled like sweat and alcohol. He knew Angel was awake. He didn't care. Angel was just...there. Sure, he could be great help. But when he put his mind to it, he couldn't really fathom the words to begin to describe how he felt about Angel. Because, it wasn't bad, and it wasn't good. It was just...there.

There. Like everything else in his life.
Just. There.

He tried to sleep, and about two hours later with no avail, he left again. And when he left, he didn't come back until the sun was in the middle of the sky and Angel was out, working. He'd left a bowl of food. That was normal.

Next to the bowl, there was a note. This caught his attention, so he went over to read it.

Leo, I hope you made it back safe to read this note. I left a stew and some rice already cooked, please eat. I will be back before dinner. I hate writing notes because I never know what to say so please either call me or just take it easy until I get home. Thank you.
~ Angel

He took the note and crumpled it into his pocket. Surprisingly, he actually ate. And it was pretty good. Then he slept for the rest of the day, without having to stare at the not-so-brown ceiling.

When he woke up, he could hardly see. It was dark, and he tried to look around his room. He could barely make out the dark blue of his bedsheets.

Shakily, he stood. He searched for a light. When he hit the switch, he felt momentarily blinded by the bright lights. When his eyes blinked back into focus, he took a look around his room.

All he saw was bleeding colors. Everything he saw, was slowly losing its hues. He could see it, he could feel it.

There was a glass of water on his nightstand. Shakily, he took it in his hands and chugged it down.

A door swung open, then closed. Keys clinking against something. Footsteps. A cough. More footsteps. In the direction of his room.

.

Angel knew Leo hadn't bothered to leave the house today. He knew today was just, one of those days. Those days that he was dead and dull and absolutely unmotivated.

And God, it worried him so much. Angel looked in the direction of the counter, where a bouquet sat. Orchids and lavender. The woman who sold them to him told them they were a brilliant purple, and quite enchanting. He felt the color just begging to paint itself onto the frail petals of the plant.

So he took them in his thin hands, and walked to Leo's room.

Two, empty knocks on the wooden door.

And slowly, it opened.