Vintage Memories

Chapter Three "Some Things We Just Can't Speak About"

Angel stood abruptly, leaving the baggie in the tray. His posture was stiff, dreading to look back at the looming form behind him. He needn't guess, he knew just who that static-filtered timbre belonged to.

"A-Alastor!" Angel could only muster a stuttering squeak, peeking back at the demon who caught him in his moment of indignity.

Alastor stood poised a couple feet behind him, dressed in the wonted, red ensemble he always wore. Every crease laid perfectly folded from his lapel to his pressed, wrinkle-free slacks. There wasn't a disarranged string or a wayward piece of lint to be seen, for Alastor was exceedingly punctilious in how he chose to present himself.

His black gloved hands clasped each other behind his back in a bid to keep his composure amongst his rising excitement, holding his staff in the crook of his arm. Dark wine hair framed the sides of his gracile, grey features, fading into a neat, jet black, with his bangs neatly styled to rest above his imperiously arched eyebrows. Tufts of hair plumed upwards in the shapes of cervus ears, standing at attention atop his head with vim for the engaging situation he came upon, neighboring a small set of antlers that nested between them.

From their first encounter—Angel's bold offer to suck him off—they had established their discrepancies painfully clear to each other, and from that, birthed a rather contentious nature. Alastor wasn't afraid to tell Angel exactly what he thought of him and his behavior. In fact, he seemed to revel in it, following it with an onslaught of vacillating derision and censure. His crooked grin grew mischievously upon his approach. Concentration shifted to the vending machine, and, ushering Angel aside with the authoritative eject of his arm, he picked up the baggie himself, examining it with his piercing, crimson eyes.

"Hm~ I could have sworn you told our dear Charlie that you've been clean all this time..." His statical tone was laced with malicious jest, watching the spider demon turned away from him look down at his shoes. "What a shame...she was so proud of the progress that you were making."

With rue in his heart, Angel clenched his fists, cursing himself for his momentary lapse in prudence. All of the meticulous moves and planned secrecy he had upheld for the last few months washed away in an instant upon his exposure. It had been a long, splendid intermission since he had last been caught with drugs on his person. Charlie had indeed voiced her delight in the progress she thought he was making. Little did she know, in her innocently sanguine nature, that it was nothing but phony achievements, a lie—an act. Not even a modicum of effort was offered yet again, despite her own efforts for him.

What Charlie doesn't know, won't hurt her.

That little aphorism had assuaged him as he carried on with his high-chasing vagaries. Now that the masquerade was ripped away, that pestilential sense of chagrin spread throughout his body, and weighed his shoulders down, causing them to fall in disgrace. Much like that evening of the turf war all those months ago, he'd have to witness Charlie's face fall in despondency, her altruistic generosity once again besmirched by his weak resolve. He hated himself for it, but still, it only worsened the desperation for that sweet escape held in the overlord's grasp. Angel finally turned to face him, peeking up as Alastor grinned smugly at him. Angel's discomfort was obvious in the uneasy shift of his weight from one leg to the other.

"She'll be absolutely devastated to know you've been pulling the wool over everyone's eyes—using her and her kindness. All for this piteous little escape from this joke you call your existence." With a jingle of his wrist, he gestured with the bag.

"A-are ya' gonna tell her?" Angel asked flatly, dreading the answer he'd get. Instead, he was shocked to see Alastor casually toss the bag back to him, leaving him scrambling to catch it. After a few fumbled mishaps, he managed to take a sturdy hold, the bag embosomed as if he had just caught a falling child.