S.P.A.R.K.L.E And S.H.I.N.E

Chapter 8-01

Chapter 8-01

As Ronan flicked his tongue out, catching the dribble of honeycomb ice cream that was snaking down the plastic casing of his iced frappe, he watched Angel out the corner of his eye. The big guy had sprawled in one of the coffee shop's comfy chairs, his long arms dangling over the sides. And although his eyes had slid shut, his face angled towards the window, drinking in the cold rays of the blossoming day, Ronan knew without a doubt that he was still focused on him.

And for as much as he was grateful for everything he'd done for him today, a sense of dread had embedded itself deep into his gut. He knew that a conversation was brewing. Could see it in Angel's eyes every time he'd steal a look at him when he thought he wasn't looking, or the way his lips would press thin, as though trying not to say what was on his mind.

"I'm not buying you hair dye," Angel said at last, his eyes springing open. They were so similar to Raven's, the exact same shade and the exact same shape, but then again, they were as different as could be. Raven's were magnetic tides that drew in the light of the world and recycled it into a pure source of energy that became him; Angel's converted into emotions, so many unspoken words living within, portraying all the things his stoic demeanour refused to reflect.

"I'll buy my own then." Bobbing his tongue out, Ronan cast a quick glance around. It was just after ten, and the mid-morning rush had finally dwindled down to stragglers. The traffic, which had been absolutely horrendous, had thinned out to a smooth-flowing drizzle, and the crowds that had taken the streets by force had depleted. Inside, there wasn't much in terms of customers, and he liked that just fine. It had meant no queue, and the lady behind the counter had humoured him and doused his drink with an extra scoop of ice cream and double syrup. It was sickly, and he almost regretted his choice, but she'd done it because he'd asked her sooo sweetly it had made her blush, so he considered that a win.

"I'll buy you hair chalks instead."

"Why?" he eventually asked, nose crinkling. What good were they? They'd only ruin if he were to load his hair up with glitter, sparkles, and a murdered-unicorn cocktail of whatever else he felt like doing to it. He needed resilience. He needed something he could work with!

Angel didn't answer right away. Took his sweet time with it. Put a show into bracing his hands on the armrest, pulling himself up out of his slouch and letting his eyes scan along the early November streets. "Because."

"Because?" he prompted.

"Clean your hands, Ro," Angel murmured, leaning across to the tiny, more decorative than useful, table that sat to the side of them. Snagging his coffee, he threw a napkin over. "And because I'm not convinced that you actually want to dye your hair. I think you're upset and hurting, and just looking for a way to piss Adam off."

Chewing on that theory, Ronan dabbed at his fingers with the paper towel. Yup. Asking for a double scoop had definitely been a bad idea. The stuff was leaking all down the sides, bypassing the flimsy lid. Abandoning it on the table, he glared at it, as though it were the drinks fault his yummy treat had turned into a fail.

"Adam wouldn't be happy," he agreed at last, "But it's my hair and it's what I want." He couldn't deny that it was the sort of petty ha-ha notion he'd pull, but the idea hadn't been one of spite; it'd been one of impulse. Probably. Possibly. Alright. Maybe there was a small slither of spite or stubbornness there, but that was sooo beside the point.

Falling quiet, Angel nursed his drink. It had to be like his fourth one this morning, and surely that couldn't be healthy? He found himself wondering if he'd been at work last night. Raven had said that Angel had finally pulled the stick from his ass and started helping out at their clubs again. That, or he was working up a serious caffeine addiction.

"If I don't like it," he reasoned, "I can cut my hair."

"You'd cry if you had to cut your hair that short," Angel shot back, but his face softened. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Nodding eagerly, springing to his feet, he nodded. "Yes! I'm thinking pink. I'd look so fabulous in pink. It really is my colour. But then again, so is orange, but I'm not feeling very sunsetty."

"Just promise me one thing."

Sobering up beneath his friend's tone, Ronan lowered himself back into the padded chair, giving a serious nod.

He wasn't sure if it was to do with how frightened he'd felt in Littlespace lately, or because when he did slip, he had to try and hide it or hide himself so Adam didn't know, but the timing was somewhat coincidental. Silly things, like now, had his heart spiralling off into a marathon of panic. Had him shrinking back, bracing himself for the worst.

They'd gotten so bad that the other week, he'd actually booked himself a doctor's appointment. And who knew, they sold happiness in a bottle; the doctor had tried to prescribe him antidepressants. He said he thought the sad-monster-disease was what was sitting on him, and that, in turn, was triggering his anxiety.

Okay, he hadn't exactly called it sad-monster-disease. He'd tried to be diplomatic and polite and all that marshmallow fluff, but Ronan hadn't wanted to hear it. He'd disagreed with the verdict. He felt as though it had just been a quick fob-off. The doc had misinterpreted what he'd been trying to relay, and seemed to twist his explanations of how he'd been feeling. He'd listened, but hadn't really heard what Ronan was saying, and tried to cover it with a quick solution. At least, that was how it had seemed. How it had felt.

He'd left feeling worse than when he'd went, and vowed he wouldn't touch the stupid damn pills. They were still at home, untouched, hidden in the back of his vanity table. He was Ronan Fricken Elmore. Happiness was his superpower, and he'd be damned if he couldn't create his own. He'd been doing everything in his power to find just one thing that made him happy a day. And so far, he was managing just fine.

"Ronan." Fingers clicked in his face. Angel was looking at him real funny. Didn't like the way his eyes had narrowed, burning into them.

"Sorry. Zoned out. Watcha' say?"

"I said promise me that you'll call if he acts up about it." There was no need to ask who 'he' was. It was spat with so much venom that a cobra would have nodded its head with respect.

"Adam will be fine with it." Those hard eyes drilled into him. Dug deeper and deeper beneath his skin until he swallowed hard, trying to loosen the knots in his stomach, and rolled his eyes. "Alright. I promise. Wanna pinky on it? Cuz you know that pinky never breaks."

Turned out that he did want to make a pinky promise on it, and despite himself, Ronan ended up grinning. For somebody who constantly looked as though he was ready to murder a bunch of innocent penguins just because he could, Angel was a real sweetie pie. And that hit him hard because before he'd hooked him up with Lucien, he'd never really seen that side to him. He wasn't so sure that anybody had.