My muse has been hiding an injury from yours. Send 🤕 for your muse to confront mine about it!
He’s been sulking about the past few days, hiding his bruised face from his boyfriends, which is even harder than it sounds. It might have been easy to hide when Tahj was away and Angel could lock himself in his studio, come out in a few days and blame the discoloration on paint and fatigue from hard work. But it’s already been a day and a half, and he’s missing Tahj and Andre terribly. He only hopes they miss him.
Today, they’ve brought his lunch, though. He ordered it from the little Chinese down the street, but they must have swung by and decided to bring it themselves. So he’s rummaging through his wallet when he opens the door, and he knows he’s busted as soon as he looks up. His one good eye focuses on one face, then the other, and back again, and immediately he’s ashamed.
“I’m, I’m so-sorr-sorry,” he begins, putting away his wallet with shaking hands. “I, I wa-was go-going t-to, to cov-cover it-t up-p wi-with mak-makeup s-so, so y-you di-did, didn’t ha-have t-to se-see it-t.” One hand picks up, goes to push at his swollen eye. It’s caught in Andre’s grasp, though, firm and insistent. Lower lip trembles as he moves aside, providing space for the other two to enter.
There’s still no comment from either of the men. They’re quiet as they enter, quiet as Tahj sets the food down. Andre inspects Angel’s wounded face, turning it this way and that with a little tsk. And then he releases the other’s chin, moves further inside, shuts the door.
He follows the others around, sniffles, doesn’t say anything. He can’t. He needs to know they’re not mad at him, but they’re just... silent. It’s killing Angel.
“Pl-Please. Please ta-talk-k t-to me. Ple-please. I ne-need-d t-to, to, to,” Angel’s gotten to the point of hyperventilating, lips quivering nervously. “Pl-please.” It feels like he’s about to have a heart attack, like his head is too heavy and everything is wrong. He’s certain this is the last straw, that he’s upset them too much and they’re both going to leave him, despite the fact that they’re setting up lunch like normal. “Pl-Please. Pl-please.” Hands retreat into his sweater, pushing at his eyes again. Andre sighs, catches onto Angel’s wrists again. “You’re too rough. You’re going to hurt yourself more.” Tahj offers a tissue, and it’s pressed gentle to Angel’s face.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters after a moment, slowly calming. “Rea-really. I’m so-sorr-sorry I di-didn’t te-tell y-you. I di-did, didn’t wa-want-t y-you ma-mad at-t me. I ha-ha-hate-te when, when pe-people are, are ma-mad-d at-t me.” He moves a little closer, taking in the warmth the other two offer. “Pl-please d-don’t b-be ma-mad-d at-t me.”
“Darling, we’re not mad at you. Come sit down. We’ll talk about this after lunch.”