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It was weird how quiet everything felt after Angel left.
I'd been sitting at the kitchen table for a while now, half a cup of cold coffee beside me and my sketchpad open, but my pencil hadn't moved in at least fifteen minutes. I wasn't stuck no, the idea was there, the inspiration buzzing but my head was too full. Not with fabric designs or show layouts. With him.
Angel.
He'd called earlier and told me about the conversation he had with his dad. The way his voice had dipped a little lower when he said "they wanna meet you." I could tell it shook him up, even if he was trying to play it cool.
And honestly? It shook me up too.
This was different. Angel was different. There was something raw and real about him, and when he looked at me, it felt like he saw past the surface, past the designer, the clothes, the confidence.
It was off putting.
And now his parents were involved. And I was older. Twenty two isn't ancient or anything, but I wasn't naive. I knew how that could look from the outside. How that could feel from their point of view. The moment Angel told me, my first instinct was to brace myself.
But I didn't want to back off.
He was worth it.
I sighed and finally scribbled a few loose lines on the paper. The rough outline of a long coat with layered panels and asymmetrical buttons. Inspired by him, by the way Angel always stood out in a room without trying. How his energy was soft, but bright.
My phone buzzed on the table, snapping me out of it. A text from my homie Polo about an upcoming event. I replied with a quick "I'll let you know," then opened my gallery. My thumb paused over the picture of Angel in his Sukuna costume.
God, he looked good. Almost too good.
And then there was the other photo, the one of him and that girl from the party. Mya. Both of them smiling, posing for the camera like it was nothing.
I didn't want to be that guy. Jealous, insecure but I'd be lying if I said it didn't spark something uncomfortable in me. Not because I didn't trust him. But because I realized I still didn't know where we stood.
Two months of flirting, hanging out, quiet touches and louder silences. But no titles. No you're mine or this is official. I could feel the weight of that in my chest now.
Still, I couldn't bring it up yet. Not like this. He was already dealing with his family, with all the tension around his brother and whatever else was going on behind the scenes. I had to be patient. Let things play out.
But that didn't mean I was gonna just stand still.
Then I leaned back in my chair and looked out the window. The sun was setting over the quiet suburb street. The same street Angel had walked down this morning, barefoot in my oversized sweats and t-shirt, rubbing his eyes and grinning at me like we hadn't just kissed hours before.
