Don't Ask(6)

“If that's what you thought, then I don't understand why you normally end up in the loft with me,” Travis pointed out, which was a low blow, frankly, for which Angel didn't have any adequate or amusing response. Travis was right, after all. Angel did like sleeping up in Travis’ bed, in the warm little space between the mattress and the eaves. He liked it all the more, in some ways, when Travis was asleep there too. There was nothing at all sexual about it; Angel's relationship with Travis had never been anything but platonic. It was just that, lately, stability and comfort of the sort represented by Travis’ bed hadn't been too easy to come by in Angel's life. He liked curling up in that little warm space, at first with Travis on the other side of the mattress, and then later, invariably, to find Travis had gravitated toward Angel in their sleep. Travis had a tendency to throw an arm and a leg over whoever was with him, and Angel knew it was probably nothing special about him, but it made him feel needed all the same— not that he was about to share that with Travis, especially right now.

"Whatever," Angel muttered, shifting around onto his side on the couch— which was, indeed, pretty comfy. Much as Angel liked the loft, he could see himself dozing here too, if only for a little while.

“You better not fall asleep,” Travis warned, as if anticipating Angel's thoughts.

“Just a little nap,” Angel yawned as he pulled his knees up closer to his chest.

“Posadas,” Travis whined.

“I'm tired,” Angel mumbled in protest.

“You’re narcoleptic, more like."

“That’s a serious medical condition." Angel attempted to throw Travis a stern look, but he could already feel the softness of impending sleep tugging at his face. He didn't imagine there was much threat implicit in his expression. Still, it was the principle of the thing.

“Maybe I’m worried you have it,” Travis said. "You could be passing out at the wheel, falling down on the sidewalk…"

“Oh, whatever, man." Angel wriggled around a little in search of a more comfortable position for his arms. The worst part about sleeping was always trying to figure out where your goddamn arms were supposed to go. "I don’t have a condition. I just like sleep.”

“Fine, I’m setting the alarm on your phone for five. You better wake up when it goes off and you better be at my show on time, or so help you God, I will kill you.”

Angel made a noncommittal noise and quickly fell into a light sleep. He heard Travis leave shortly afterward, the sound of the door slamming cutting through the mist of his doze. He knew he should get up and maybe do something productive, but there really wasn't anything he could have done productively at Travis’, and going anywhere else would just be a waste of time when he had the show to get to later. So Angel let himself loll back into the comfort of the couch until, at five, the alarm went off, blaring obnoxiously. Angel thought cynically that Travis must have selected that particular sound on purpose— whenever Angel had been here in the past, the sound of the alarm, though never welcome, had always been slightly less offensive. He groaned as he rolled off the couch and began patting around on the carpet for his button down shirt. His leather jacket, he located over the back of the chair; he skimmed over the pockets for his cell phone after he'd shrugged into it and adjusted it to his liking. The phone, thankfully, was there in the front pocket where Angel had left it, and he withdrew it and quickly dialed his sister's number.

“Hello?” Sara answered on the first ring.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“It's fine,” Sara assured him, and then, "Don't worry."

Angel bit his lip on what he'd been about to say. “He’s being good for you, I hope?”

Sara made a dismissive noise. “Angel, he’s always a darling.”

“That’s good. Can I talk to him?”

“Of course,” she responded, and he could hear her calling Finn, although the sound was muffled as if her hand were covering the mouthpiece.

There was a rattling sound, and then, “Daddy?” Finn said hesitantly into the phone. Angel brightened immediately.

“Hey, kid, how’s it going?”

“Good," Finn said, sounding like he meant it. "Auntie Sara and I made cookies. They’re really yummy.”

“Did she let you eat them for dinner?”

“Uh...” Angel could practically see the look on Finn's little face as he considered his answer, the way his brow would be furrowed and his lower lip pushed out in concentration. “Well, she let me have one before dinner, but she made me eat all my veggies before I could have another.”