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Chapter 3: Angel's Eyes

The local YMCA. Once upon a time, it was very successful as a fitness facility. One of the most popular in Fortuna. But as comerce boomed and more "exclusive" gyms opened up, the Y fell into a state of federal neglect. Now it was more like an inner-city community center; a relatively safe place in a part of town that wasn't so nice anymore.

Angel could always come here to get away from his troubles. They never followed them here, and he could always find something distracting to occupy his wayward thoughts, even though the neighborhood around it went to pot (and crack, and meth), this place still seemed soothing. Until now.

Now the ache in his chest had a new flavor. It wasn't an over-full feeling of rage... Or not JUST that, anyways. It felt more like a longing. A want. A need... An absence... Angel thought. He smiled to himself, happy with the chosen word. It kinda fit. It felt good in his head.

Angel stood inside of the gate, haunting the playground, feeling things he had no words for at the moment. He pushed on a spring-horse and remembered playing on it when he was a knee's height and the world made a lot more sense.

"Angel!" A voice barked. It was Othello! God... On the other side of the fence, he looked unreachable... But reaching Othello was the only thing Angel knew he had to do. He ran right up to the chainlink. He gripped it and breathed through gritted teeth. "'Thello... It... hurts!" He growled so as to try to retain some semblance of toughness.

Othello gave him a grimace, but there was a glint in his eye. "What hurts?" Angel pounded on his chest, trying to show Othello the wound that HAD to be there (after all, 'Thello had seen it before, right?) "This hurts..." Angel growled. "It always hurt. I can't remember it NOT hurting... I forgot that it hurt for a long time."

Othello shifted, putting his hands in his jacket pockets. He took a long time to answer and Angel could see a dozen thoughts twist up in Othello's brain. He could almost hear the hum of good wiring at work. He watched his own breath curl in the night air before responding. "Tell me... What reminded you...?"

"You..." Angel's grip relaxed a bit. The answer came almost unbidden. Othello's questions always unlocked answers from his mouth, even before he knew them in his own dim brain. "You reminded me that my life sucks. You made me think that maybe... There could be more for me... Than just being... this?" The more he spoke, the more need he felt to justify his answers to his... friend...? No... Person he needs... What is that word...? 'Thello will know. If I can make him understand what I need him to be, he'll have a word for it... "Othello, it stopped hurting when I'm with you. I don't want it to hurt again..." Then he saw his house, in a flash, in his head. "...I don't want to go home."

The last made Othello look up. "It hurts at home?"

"No..." Angel pushed his forhead against the fence while he thought. The cold metal felt good... "... Home is WHY it hurts..."

"Your dad..." Othello muttered.

Angel's mind flashed to his father... shook his head to banish the image. His brain hurt dully. "I can't talk anymore... Can I just chill with you...?"

Othello's eyes widened as more thoughts were added to his presumably overcrowded brain. He thought for awhile, not looking particularly comfortable with the idea. Angel watched, and started to notice how tired he looked... One of his eyes was still swollen, but not swollen shut. His lip was fat on one side... Fuller than usual... Even a little dented up, 'Thello would still be dark and handsome... Leather clothed him against the chill, but conformed around his lean frame, yeilding where his body would not. Does he have any idea how hot he is...? Angel felt his face heat, but if Othello noticed him blushing, he said nothing.

"Fine..." Othello said. The slow way he said it made Angel question if he was really talking to Angel, or himself... But then Othello started walking away. Angel hesitated, but then took a dozen tentative steps after Othello, keeping his distance in case the other's short response was misheard. Othello glanced over his shoulder, and Angel froze. "Well?" He said with a touch of annoyance, "I can't walk slow like this the whole way. Keep up." Then started using his long shapely legs to full effect, taking long, swaggering strides.

Angel kept at his heels, heart fluttering. It was comforting being with 'Thello again... Maybe they could be the way they were earlier... with the kissing... The image, despite being pierced with shame, put a small bounce in Angel's step. He watched Othello, admiring how the leather of his coat sheathed a shapely form. He remembered holding that body, pressing against it, and felt the earlier longing spike. He felt warm under his own coat; sweating.

As Othello stopped walking and sat on a bus stop bench, splaying his arms over the back, Angel looked into the thoughtful, cool eyes as they stared at something he couldn't see. God... He's so cool... Angel thought. How does he seem... just so much bigger than me? Why did I never notice before? Othello glanced up and met Angel's eyes. His fat lip quirked into an awkward smirk, and Angel looked away from nerves and guilt ... I'm such a moron...

"Come. Sit." 'Thello suggested. "I have a few rules for visiting my house with my family home..."

* * *

Angel was back at the Montague house. The light in the windows looked warm. This is where his friend lived. This is where "hurt" simply was not.

"Rule number one?" Othello demanded, stopping at the door.

"No going crazy. If I'm not sure what crazy is, ask you." Angel recited.

"Two?"

"No mentioning spirits, demons, or the Bible..." Omitting the Good Book made Angel scratch his head. "Why?"

"Because you take it too literally. See 'going crazy'."

The old Angel surfaced, offended. "Oh, screw you!" Then he clenched his teeth in an effort to behave himself. "I freaked. Ya blame me?"

Othello looked Angel over, and, not for the first time, Angel felt like an interesting bug under a magnifying glass. Then Othello smiled. "Just the same, better safe than sorry."

Soothed, Angel nodded compliance.

"And three?"

"If I feel angry... Or, uh, hurt... I should excuse myself to your room, or the backyard."

Othello took in a deep breath and opened the door. "Ma? Pop? I'm home!" Angel was expecting to smell chicken frying or hear pop or hip-hop going. But no, it was chili dogs and real loud Disney music with high voices singing along. Angel had forgotten that Othello came from a big family... The chili and weenies were being made by what looked like an older, cheerier verision of Othello. He looked at Othello and grinned. "Well, look at that!" He looked into Othello's beat-up face appreciatively. "You were out late getting your hands dirty? YOUR HANDS?" The bigger guy snickered until Othello reached up and gripped his nose.

Angel tried to remember Othello's place in the roster... Was he second eldest, or third? "Shaddap!" Othello grumbled. "This is Angel. Be nice, or I'm kicking your ass..." Well, older than this one, at least? The other guy pulled his nose free and twisted Othello's arm.

_ M-maybe not,_ Angel thought, smiling at the display. "Hi, Angel. I'm Othello's younger brother. Rio." Ah...

Angel wasn't surprised Lothario didn't recognize him. They hadn't seen each other in about ten years.

"Lothario." Othello grunted. "You will let me go..."

"Why would I do something foolish like that?" Rio snorted. These two never fought each other like this. Angel remembered Rio being like a little shadow, afraid to be out of arm's reach of his older brother.

_ I guess it makes sense... 'Thello did go away to a private school for awhile..._

"Because I smell your chili burning." Othello smirked. Rio let him go promptly to stir the pot, grumbling about timing or luck.

'Thello brushed passed Angel, quirking his head down the hall so Angel would follow. Midway down the hall way, Rio called after them: "The 'rents are downstairs."

"And?" Othello called back.

"Go say hi, dick!"

"Later." Othello said. Now that he was home, 'Thello really did look exhausted. He shrugged out of his coat and let it flop on the floor... Angel looked around. He's so messy... Angel saw the floor littered with clothes, the desk heavy with papers, books, and trinkets. His bed wasn't even made! Angel stooped and started to pick up, trying to clear a space on the floor to sit...

...And the first thing he came up with was a pair of boxer-briefs... Angel's mind faultered, but he glanced at Othello. Thankfully, the other had his face in his pillow. Angel could feel his face going redder and redder. H-h-h-holy shit! Othello Montague's UNDERWEAR!!! He held the teal garment in both hands and wondered if they were clean. And if they weren't... Angel sat next to the bed and examined them in shakey hands... No stains... But... He found his hands moving slowly toward his face...

"You there, Angel....?" Angel almost died on the spot. He hastily stuffed the underoos into his pocket, just as Othello barely raised his head enough to not muffle his words.

"I'm here..." His throat was suddenly dry, making his voice was soft, husky. Oh shit... did he catch me? I'm a pervert and now he knows?! What's he gonna say!? DO?!!?

Angel felt Othello's lips and nose on the back of his head, breathing him in. He was doing to Angel what Angel wanted to do to his unmentionables! The thought made Angel's belly clench, somewhere deep, deep down... When othello let the breath out, washing his messy hair with it, Angel felt it as a shiver that tickled every tender area he had. "'Thello..." Angel whined. Do it again... please....?

"Angel...? Will you do something for me?"

"Yeah... Anything..." Angel muttered, almost in a trance.

Othello leaned into Angel's ear, licked his lips, and purred: "Find me some Jell-o...?" Angel jumped up at looked at Othello as if he wasn't sure if he was kidding or not. Othello gave him that bug-under-glass look again, just waiting to see that he'd do next.

Angel looked at that stare and decided that even if Othello was joking, jello wouldn't hurt anything. He stopped at the door, though, and remembered he hadn't been home so he hadn't eaten. "Can I have some?"

Othello put his head down again, and for a moment, Angel thought he was being blown off. "Knock yourself out," was Othello's response.

Angel went through the hall, into the kitchen where Lothario had made an impressive mess of serving chilli into bowls, leaving spatters and rings of spilt sauce.

_ He's at least as messy as 'Thello..._ Angel smiled and reached for the paper towels. He began sopping up the shili spatters as Rio reached up for more wipes himself.

"You don't need to do that..." Lothario said. And Angel wondered why he WAS helping. 'Thello asked him to do something. He went to the fridge, and peeked inside. He saw a large bowl of jello. He held the cool bowl in his hands, and set it on a counter. Then he started looking through the drawers for a spoon. When he failed to find one, he looked up to ask. He found Lothario looking at him like a bug.

Unlike Othello, however, who watched him like something interesting, Lothario looked at him like something to be squashed. A pest. Angel knew how to react to that look... but remembered Othello's rules. So he swallowed his anger, silencing the voice in his heart before it could utter a thing.

"What?" He said, defiantly. "Angel, huh...?" Lothario squared off, drawing himself up to his full height. He was taller than his older brother. Taller than Angel... Kinda hot, actually... But no... in his eyes... This was not Othello. Not the brother he wanted. Lothario continued: "I know you, don't I..?"

Angel just looked at him and nodded.

"Angel? What happened to Tell?" Rio said. His voice was polite, but the bug-squashing-look intensified. "Who did he fight?" Angel set his jaw.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "It's done. Won't happen again."

"Let me make this clear, Angel..." Rio said. "I won't let anyone hurt my brother. And I know you did just that."

Angel winced. Can Lothario read his mind like Othello?"I'm sorry." He muttered through gritted teeth.

"Honesty. Good." Lothario's hand flew up and Angel felt his fist connect with his forehead. Angel stumbled back, and his rage flared. The pain could be ignored, but the attack was as plain as day. NO one attacks Angel Calihan. Angel raised his own fists and caught another mind-wiping punch in the exact same place. Angel threw a punch, that missed, and took another blow in the forehead. Angel was starting to white out. Why can't I hit him?! Angel roared inside his battered head. Othello went down after ONE!

Angel never felt the final punch. He was just suddenly aware that he couldn't stand up straight anymore. He sat down hard and the Earth moved beneath him. Two Lotharios stood over him, until they merged to become one person again.

"Pathetic..." Lothario said, crouching down. "I'll let you in on something. See, my brother, despite what you see of him, doesn't take anything in this world seriously. It's all a game to him... You are a game to him. I'm a game to him. Even his.... condition... is a game to him." Angel couldn't connect the dots, no matter how hard he listened. What did that mean? Condition? "Angel. Stay with me." Lothario continued, trying to hold Angel's dazed attention. "Othello doesn't know your rules yet. When he learns them, and he will, you'll be his plaything forever. Or until he gets bored with you." Lothario stood and spooned three helpings of jello out, and took one of them for himself. "One last thing:" He paused at the door, just as Angel regained his faculties. "He didn't know the 'rules' of a brawl before. Now he does. You'll never beat him again." With that, he left.

Angel sat there, stunned... And the voice of rage seemed to be dumbfounded as well. He stood and stared at the two bowls of Jello, almost hoping they could tell him what was supposed to happen next. When they didn't, he took them in shakey hands and very carefully plodded down the hall way. He understood one thing clearly: The Montague House is a den of monsters. He'd met two after all these years, and had been able to beat neither of them. He was in no hurry to attract the attentions of anyone else in the house.

He crept into Othello's room and sat back down next to the bed. "'Thello. I have your Jello..." He trailed off as heard Othello snore. He was asleep! So he hadn't heard him get his ass handed to him? Angel felt a rush of relief, and relaxed an achy brow.

Othello turned, shifting in his sleep. When he settled again, he was facing Angel. Angel let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, and watched Othello sleep. Othello's face was mooshed against the pillow in a way that took a fistful of years off of him. The bruise on his nose added to the effect. Angel looked at the swollen eye and lip with regret. He really was sorry. He lay his head on the pillow and simply savored Othello's breath on his face. I'm only a game to him... Does that mean I'm not valuable to him, after all....? The thought hurt. Othello meant a chance for something better to him; he was the most valuable thing in Angel's world! He needed to be something to Othello... Fir the first time, he was convinced that he actually COULD be something, as long as it was something to Othello.

Othello had a beard, one he'd grown and tended and trimmed until he could braid it. It normally ended at his throat in two plaits, but now it rested on the pillow. Angel leaned forward and tentatively kissed each section. Then Othello's chin. Then Othello's lips. Then he opted not to push his luck.

He remembered the jello he was still holding and at his in silence. It was good. Lime was his favorite flavor. It was a treat he rarely got to enjoy. When he'd finished, he put Othello's share away and, thinking of his swollen features, grabs an ice-pack for his friend.

Angel spotted the stove's clock and checked the time. It was 9:00. He returned to his spot, but turned out the light. As he sat in the dark, he heard the ruckus of a slew of children preparing for bedtime. Angel stayed quiet, and listened. "Did Tell go to bed already?" A girl's voice said.

"Yeah. He got into a fight today at school." Lothario's voice answered.

"Did he win?"

"If he didn't he'll get the other guy back." Lothario paused. "He's just worn out, is all... Now go to bed, before mom comes to tuck you in."

"Right... G'night Rio."

"G'night, Vee."

Angel kept listening as Mrs. Montague tucked in and said grace in three rooms. She wished Lothario a goodnight, and did the same for Othello through a crack in the door. She said nothing to or about Angel.

_ Oh no... Did anyone tell her I was here? Shit... Should I stay?_ Angel weighed his options, and decided he really had nowhere else to go. He hunkered down and curled up right on the floor, He's slept well enough with less. He tucked what felt like dirty clothes under his head and dozed off, mixed feelings guiding him to mixed dreams.

* * *

... Angel wasn't sure when the dream became real. One moment, he's hiding under a tarp so the aliens can hopefully stop on or over him, and not discover him so they can eat his face... the next, one of them is kicking him in the ribs! Complaining grumpily and calling him names no less!

"Get up you big stupid...." The kicks pause as the familiar voice ponders what name to use. But a sharp one catches him off guard as that same voice barks: "Behemoth!"

Angel grumbled and started shuffling for something the Othello couldn't see. He raised a warm ice pack and sighed. "I didn't wanna wake you up... But I fell alsleep too and now this is all melted..."

"I sent you for jello..." Othello said grumpily.

"And I brought it!" Angel pleaded. "But I put it back... Since you were asleep... You want me to go get it again...?"

"...No," Othello decided after a moment. Angel could feel the weight of Othello's gaze in the dark. "But you don't need to sleep on the floor, you know."

"If you want, I'll go sleep on the couch..." And pray that no one calls the cops on me in the morning...

Othello smiled in the dark. He touched the barely grown stubble on Angel's cheek. Angel gave a small startled gasp at the gentle contact. "Just come up here, Angel..."

Angel's heart skipped. In Othello's bed? Silently, Angel obeyed, gingerly climbing into the bed laying on his belly, arms under the pillow offered to him. His heart pounded as he lay with Othello, feeling the bed warmed by the other's body!

Othello combed fingers through Angel's curls again. He kept petting and Angel found the sensations relaxing... He was sinking back into sleep. His descent was almost halted by a single whispered word from Othello: "Mine..."

* * *

Othello's alarm shrieked, rousing him from a deep, restful sleep. He awoke in the same position in which he'd fallen asleep: using angel as a pillow. Othello grumpily hit the alarm's switch. "You awake, 'Thello...?" Angel whispered.

"Mhm..." Othello pet Angel's head again. "How long you been up...?"

"Forty-five minutes?" Angel guessed.

"Why are you just sitting here, then?"

"I didn't wanna wake you!" He answered feeling silly, and sounding frustrated.

"Mm? Why the attitude...?" Othello asked, voice darkening with something other than early morning grumps.

"Because I..." Angel blushed, grumbled, then blurted, "... I've had to piss since I woke up, dammit!"

Othello chuckled then got off of Angel, who rolled out of bed, fully clothed, and clambered for the bathroom. Once there, Angel unzipped his pants and drew out the real issue causing his sleeplessness: His cock was hard the whole night!

He fished in his pocket and drew out the pair of undies from Othello's floor. He almost felt ashamed about wat he was about to do... He smelled them first. Yes. He'd worn these! He could smell Othello's must on them.... He touched himself as he took another whiff, gripping his chubby cock in one hand. He started to stroke as he took another hit off the underoos. Soon, precum was leaking from his tip. He tried cumming like that, imagining that he was fucking othello's mouth and smelling his balls... but it wasn't enough... You know where you like being touched... his inner voice sneered. Angel released his cock and carefully, as if thinking he might e caught, slipped his hand down the back of his jeans. He worked his fingers into his crack until they found his hole. He blushed in shame as he found that, as usual, he was already 'wet' down there. He didn't know men COULD get 'wet' until a few years ago!

_ Because you're not a man!_ Angel hated that voice... or did he hate the touch-my-ass part more? He wasn't sure, and righ then it didn't matter. He slipped two fingers in and dug into his own chute, reaching for that tender spot inside him. When he found it, he rubbed it, stroking it gently. His cock bounced and surrendered a thick dollop of pre. Angel kept smelling the briefs as he started to speed up the stroking in his ass. His mind conjured images of Othello taking him. He imagined Othello telling him he was treasured, valued.

Angel's orgasm nearly buckled his knees. When he recovered, he saw that he came all over the bathroom sink. He cleaned up all he could see with toilet paper before looking at his plundered undies. He stripped out of his own and slipped on Othello's dirty ones. He did it without thinking. They were tight. Too tight if he were honest, but that was okay. It gave him a perverse thrill. Like we was being groped all over with rough hands. He flexed and felt the fabric constrict around his thighs in protest. He put his jeans back on and pocketed his own boxers.

Angel felt giddy as he came back in and sat on the bed, in the curl of Othello's prone body. The two just stayed that way, holding each other, until Angel spoke.

"I need you, Othello..." The confession came unbidden, but it felt like a relief as the words came out.

"I... Know you do, Angel..." Othello didn't push him away...

Angel pressed forward. "I think I love you, Othello..." Knots twisted in Angel's belly.

"I know you do..." 'Thello repeated.

"I want to be useful... worth something... to you, Othello..." His voice quavered. He stopped talking before it broke entirely.

Othello sighed. "You are valuable to me. Very much so, Angel..."

Angel rounded on Othello with a stare of pure disbelief. Wide-eyed, he searched for any sign at all that Othello was joking, teasing, cruelly toying. Othello's face was as impassive; not the bug-look at all, but the look in his eyes was soft. He sat up an kissed angel, who was almost undone from sheer joy, seasoned with relief.

Angel fell on him, pinning him under warm girth. He parted their lips and fed at Othello's mouth, remembering how Othello kissed him yesterday. Thick legs straddled Othello's hips, enveloping him further under a full-bodied embrace. Angel ground his ass against Othello through their clothes. He wanted Othello, badly. Take me, man... Angel begged in his head.

Each lick, or kiss stirred Othello to full arousal, making him hungry even as Angel was stoked. So Othello started taking back, kissing back. He reached up and twisted fingers in that luxuriously curly hair, locking Angel into the kiss. He sighed into Angel's mouth and Angel moaned back, whimpering at the sting in his scalp. He clutched at Othello's shirt, inadvertently scratching at his chest, and dragging a growl from Othello. This mutually abusive cycle continued and intensified to the point dizzying senselessness. As far as the two were concerned, there was nothing else in the universe but each other. Knowing every corner and crevice of the other's mouth was akin to knowing only the important secrets of the cosmos.

A shriek pierced the ecstasy, shattering it.

Angel rolled off of Othello and fell to the floor in a panic, granting Othello an uninhibited view of his mother's horrified face. Lothario was on her heels, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. When he looked into his elder brother's bedroom, his face split into a grin and he started laughing. "NICE!"

"Rio! Get out of here!" Their mother snapped.

"Oh, come ON! This is great!" He grinned at her, but scurried away when she began swatting at him in panic. Once he was gone, Othello's mother took a deep breath and reclaimed her composure.

She spoke in an unsettling monotone, "Get dressed. You should go."

Angel pulled his shirt back on-- When did he take it off...? --and dashed out with a beetred face. Othello watched him go.

* * *

Angel loped home, shivering with a cold that came from somewhere inside his chest. Was this what it was like? Leaving your heart with someone...? He felt alive with longing. He smiled to himself, finally he could feel more than just angry all the time.

He had come home before he realized where he was. He stepped through the front door before he realized he should be cautious. And he caught the back of his father's hand before he knew the man was there.

"And where the hell you been, boy?" Angel's father stood over him, despite the fact that Angel had managed to keep his feet. "Huh? You out, jerkin' off your fag friends?"

God, he was already drunk... or, still drunk...the booze on his breath mixed with his deadbeat B.O. Angel hated that smell. And his home reeked of this man.

Now, to the reasonable, the heartless, or the brave, these conditions were unacceptable. Angel, despite several claims to the contrary, was short on all of these virtues. He hated his father. But respected him. Angel only wanted to make his father happy. But whenever Angel failed, tripped, made a mistake, he was always met with ridicule, judgements and mockery of the cruelest sorts.

It wasn't until Angel started having growth-spurts that his father began hitting him. But it wasn't Angel's fault he was gaining his mother's height! He never wanted to surpass his father! He stayed hunched just for that reason. But his father kept hitting him, mostly gut-shots, or slaps that left little obvious bruising.

But none of that stopped the man from being his father, feeding him, clothing him, sheltering him... Really, it was all he knew; his father's house, his father's rules.

His father stepped forward, sizing himself up to Angel. If Angel weren't so busy staring at his feet, he might notice that he was half ahead taller than his old man.

But the old man noticed, and whenever he did, angel tasted his own blood. The next slap sent Angel stumbling backwards. "Well? WELL?!" his father sneered. "Runty-ass queer! Where you been?"

"I stayed with a friend..." Angel grit his teeth, in simple frustration. "What?" His dad asked, lighting a cigarette. "Why...?" The word was accompanied by acrid smoke that stung Angel's eyes.

Angel shrugged. It was the only answer he could give, but of course, it wasn't good enough.

"Emma!" His father called, and Angel's heart sunk. His mother, tall, whispy, and formerly beautiful, entered. Her icy blue eyes bore deep circles. She hadn't slept again. But she wasn't limping, she had no bandages... she kept him sated.

"Yes, hun?" she piped. "Where did you say YOUR son was?" His father asked slowly.

"Studying."

"STUDYING!" His father laughed. "Now, where did you say you were, boy?"

Angel balled his fist against the prickling in his nose. No way would he let his father see him cry! His answer came out softly. "... Stayed with a friend..."

"Which means..." His father said with a glint in his eye, "That someone is lying to me."

"No one's lying, dear! He can study with friends, can't you, Angel?" His mother drew herself up, to her full willowy height. Angel nodded energetically.

"Well, then," his father frowned. "What did you study?"

Angel's mind locked down. It scrabbled for anything smart-sounding.

"Angel?" His dad asked. "Did you study? Anything? At all?"

Angel gave a weaker nod. He opened his mouth and prayed for words to come out. But it was nothing but a stammer: "I.... I-I...."

"Emma..." His father shook his head, "you know I can't stand being lied to..." He slapped her face and she wilted with a yelp, holding her cheek. "... And I hate to see you suffer like this for that runt. He's a fucking waste of skin, and NOT something you should lie for!"

"I'm sorry." She whimpered, "But he seemed--"

"What, you ungrateful skank?" Mr. Callihan growled.

"Nothing. I'm sorry dear... I should have told you I didn't--" Another slap cut her off. Angel watched it all shaking. She was being punished again, and it was his fault. Again!

"Go get MY children's breakfast ready! Now!" Mr. Callihan gave his wife a hard shove towards the kitchen. She scurried the rest of the way on her own, stifling sobs.

"You." Mr. Callihan rounded on Angel. "You are very lucky you have school today. Now go wake up my little ones..."

Angel climbed the stairs quietly, but reached the top just in time to see a pair of bare feet round the corner. Angel continued on to the twins' bedroom, where the two pretended to sleep.

Fakes! He hated their innocent act! "No trouble for me today, guys. Get UP!" He barked. The two sat up.

Laramie looked just like his sister Cammie. Each was a cute, blonde little cherub. Laramie had curls, a lot like Angel's but his eyes were sharp. He was a spelling bee champ, and a rising soccer star. His eyes were bad, so he wore glasses that made him look clever.

Cammie wore her hair long, in little ringlets that flowed to her waist. She was a pageant runner-up, and was ready to take the sash next year.

These were the little darlings of the callihan family, adored by all; Mother, Father, and Brother.

Laramie put his glasses on, and looked Angel over. "Were you out with a girl last night, Angel?"

"Dad thinks you were." Cammie added.

Angel smiled. "Fuck Dad. Ain't my old man anyways." His father had never once called Angel his, despite the proof of three separate paternity tests. Angel couldn't fathom why, but he was convinced that he'd timed his birth poorly. Maybe if he could have waited to be conceived, Mr. Callihan might've accepted him. What was so important in the man's life that a child had disrupted it anyways? Angel hadn't pondered these questions for years. He no longer saw the point. He did, however, wonder if the twins believed it or not.

The twins looked at each other, giggling. "You're such a bad ass, Angel!" They said."Was she hot?" Twelve-year-old Laramie probed. He was getting to be that age...

"All Blacks are hot, kiddo." Angel smirked.

The twins laughed again. "Ooh!" The twins gaped in awe of their tough older brother, who could even do IT with out of control brown folks! It wasn't that the little ones were racist, they were just sheltered. Even Mr. Callihan held his hateful tongue around his children. But they're clever, and their father wasn't exacxtly known for his tact. It's a running joke among the three that "Daddy's" hate had basis.

"She gotta gun?" Larmie pressed.

"Not anymore. Cops took it."

"What's her name?" Cammie asked.

"Oth-.... Othe..qua..." Angel said, very proud of that oh, so buyable fib. "Othequa!"

The twins laughed really hard at the name. "It's so ghetto!" Laramie said between fits.

"Yeah... It is, huh?" Angel said, basking in his siblings' mirth. Then he smelled bacon. "Come on. Wash up for breakfast... After I get done that is!"

Then he proceeded to race the younger, less physically adept children to the one bathroom, locking himself in, and farting loudly to end the battering of dismayed fists at the door. Just gotta show 'em their place...

* * *

Angel managed to duck Mr. Callihan until it was time to walk his siblings to school. He was always quiet, and demanded the same from the other two. He hated leaving early just for them. In fact, since he had to be in class before they did, he couldn't see the point of walking them. His parents had made it very clear, however, that Angel was directly responsible for the well-being of his siblings: Laramie once got away from him and took on a bully. Despite Laramie's victory, Mr. Callihan still broke his nose.

Never again.

Currently, the twins held hands a few steps ahead of Angel. Really, the only redeeming aspect of this whole exercise was that the twins were lmost as miserable as Angel. Still, not a one wanted to cross their father.

"Why are we going the long way?" Cammie whined.

"School is over therrrrrrre!!!" Laramie kicked at the dirt on the sidewalk.

God... What would 'Thello call them...?

"Huh... They're kinda whiney twits, aren't they?" Angel snickered in the moment it took him to realize that it wasn't his reserves of cleverness that conjured Othello's voice. He spun around in a near-panic.

Othello laughed as Angel fell on his ass. Laramie and Cammie laughed, too. "These are Laramie and Cammie...?" Othello was sweating, despite the unusual chill in the air. He'd been running. His sleek workout clothes clung to him and angel could feel the heat of him in his nose.

Truthfully, Angel brought the twins the long way to glimpse Othello. He didn't want to run into the other guy.

"It's kinda creepy, the way they cling to each other like that..." Othello continued. All three Callihan children were silent. Othello crouched and held out his hand. "G'morning." He said brightly.

Angel's heart sunk... No... He wouldn't!! Othello was about to ruin everything! Angel saw it in slow motion: "MY.... NAME'S... OOOOOOOTH--"

Angel panicked. His fist launched at Othello, cutting him off. Angel was immediately sorry for attacking, but when he looked to see the damage... He saw that he'd missed, and Othello had cocked his head to the left, narrowly dodging the fist.

Othello gave Angel the bug-look again. "Angel?" He asked softly. "Are we fighting again?" The way Othello's lips quirked made Angel's blood run cold. He remembered Lothario's words: You'll never beat him again.

"No." Angel said.

"Can I finish introducing myself?"

"No." Angel answered quickly. "Please." He added in a whisper.

Othello frowned, but stood up. His shoulder shrugged off Angel's still out-stretched arm."Fine. See you at school. Later, Mi-Mi." With that, Othello took off, finishing what seemed to be a morning run.

Angel felt humiliated, which pissed him off. He looked at Laramie and Cammie, and saw the judgements in their eyes. "Well?" He snapped. "Walk, Mimi!" Angel took an instant liking to the nickname, while the twins took immediate dislike to the black guy who pisses Angel off.

* * *

Angel flopped into his seat, panting just as the final bell rang before homeroom. He had to run to school after dropping off the Mimi twins. He glanced at Othello's desk and saw him with his nose buried in a book. It was a nice change, considering the other usually spaced out, staring at nothing like a retard.

Angel started running through the things he knew about Othello, writing them out on his arm... And found the list surprisingly short:

1. He's the second eldest of... how many? Last time he counted there were five Montague children, but he wasn't sure anymore. Angel scritched in "2nd" in his wrist.

2. He's intensely quiet. He never talks to anyone in school, not since he transferred back from... from where? "Quiet..." He muttered as he scribbled the same on his forearm.

3. "Private school". That one was easy with his "quiet" thought as a jumping off point. But why? Othello was smart, sure, but never turned in any homework. Just enough to pass. He still aced his tests, though.

4. ....

Angel drew the dots on his arm, drawing a blank. He growled in frustration. Who are you...?

"What the fuck, man?" A voice snickered behind him. He turned and spotted Eli's brown eyes looking him over from under the bill of his cap. "'Second Quiet Private School'?" Eli gripped Angel's wrist. "What's up with this?" He stared at the ink blankly.

Angel pulled his arm back and grumbled. "Don't worry about it."

Eli shrugged broad shoulders in his JV jersey, and switched subjects. "So look, what happened to you yesterday?"

"Heh?" Angel asked. It took him a moment to remember what Eli was talking about:

"You were gonna kick the shit outta that Monty-freak, then we were gonna meet up. What happened?" Eli snorted. "... Freak hardly looks dinged."

"Forget it," Angel said.

"Seriously?! After he called you out in class? Dude, I expected him to leave on a stretcher. Or a bag!" Eli blustered. "Hell, it's what he gets. So what happened?"

"I said DROP it!" Angel snarled. Eli sat up, but then he grinned. "What's he got on you?"

Angel turned away, snorting."Nothing. God, what's WITH you?"

"Seriously, man, no worries!" Eli said, standing. "I'll take care of this..."

He walked across the room and whispered something to Othello. Othello didn't look up until Eli had stopped, and when he did, it was with an unreadable, almost spacey expression. When Othello shrugged and ignored him, Eli sat in the suddenly vacant desk behind Othello's. Angel watched, bewildered, trying to figure out what his friend was up to. He felt loyalty to Eli, but the thought that he might hurt Othello made him anxious.

Eli took out a pen and leaned forward to scribble something on the back of Othello's neck. At the first tickle, Othello's left hand hooked over his left shoulder and came back with the pen, snatched cleanly from Eli's. Othello looked at the pen, then turned to look at Eli. It was the bug-look, but different. Othello sighed, as if bored, disappointed, and went back to his book.Eli, Angel knew, will be ignored for only so long. He slapped the back of Othello's head while the teacher wasn't looking and Othello turned back, this time giving Eli the bug-squashing look. When he turned back, it was to write a note and pass it to Eli.

Eli, triumphant, stood and walked back to his own desk and showed Angel the note: "As you like. After school. Behind the bleachers."

_ 'Thello's gonna fight Eli?!_ Angel felt his stomach constrict. "What the hell, Eli!?" Angel hissed.

"That pansy freak has it comin'," Eli smirked. "You ain't gonna give it to him; I will."

* * *

Angel didn't have another class with Eli, but he and Othello shared Ames' class. He took the desk next to Othello's.

"Angel..." Othello said, with hardly a glance up from his book.

"'Thello, you don't need to do this..." Angel jumped right in. "Don't fight Eli."

"Is he better than you?" Othello asked, the picture of nonchalance, but with a tightening in his voice.

"Tch! No!" Angel said. "But--"

"Then there's nothing to worry about." Othello mumbled, going back to his book.

"No, dude, words won't stop him!"

"Oh, good..." Othello looked up, thoughtfully, "I worried it might."

Angel was astonished. "You actually want to take him on? What the hell?"

"I think I could." Othello explained, oh so reasonably! "I'm not totally helpless."

Angel couldn't believe his ears. "You were with ME!" He hissed, trying not to catch the teacher's attention.

Othello bug-looked Angel and Angel fell silent.

"I know what I'm doing now. I didn't before. Chill."

Angel was frustrated, and for once, without any anger at all. Othello's foot touched his and Angel looked up, to see the other staring at him. Chocolate eyes seethed with resolve. Angel fell in love again.

"I'll fight for you." The words came from nowhere.

Othello's eyes widened, brows rose. "Really now...?" Angel looked down. "Do you have any idea what doing that is going to change?" Othello asked.

"...Nothing?" Angel guessed. It would all be okay once Eli was put back in his place.

Othello shook his head. "Angel. Let me do this."

Angel had no way of deciphering the sudden pang as rejection. He slouched in his seat.

Othello's foot rubbed at Angel's before retreating. "But thanks. Really. I may need that offer later." Angel nodded, thoroughly confused by the statement.

* * *

The rest of the day dragged by. Angel avoided all of his friends and hangouts. He spent the quieter moments adding to his list:

1. "Weakling". Angel chewed his tongue, looking at the word. He was worried about Othello. He knew Eli was going to hurt him. And he knew that he couldn't do anything about it...

2. "Kind". Angel felt something warm in his belly. Othello was quiet, sure, but even after Angel kicked his guts out, he turned the other cheek, even shared his bed... Angel stopped on that memory, relishing it, holding it against his consciousness like a teddy bear before moving on.

3. "Cool". Not a whole lot shook him... Because Lothario's right? He can't take anything seriously? More than that; Othello's just so... cool... cooler than most people know. That thought made Angel smile. Othello's coolness felt like his personal secret.

* * *

When the final bell of the day rang, Angel didn't bother getting his stuff, just beelined for the bleachers, where there was already a small crowd gathering. Eli watched Angel's arrival.

Angel decided to try one last time. He gripped the front of Eli's shirt and hauled him close. "Walk away, Eli. Forget that faggot and WALK. NOW!"

Eli gasped and gripped Angel's wrists. But then he grinned. "Know what I think...?" He whispered hoarsely, "I think he got to you. I think you like him. Pussy-bitch queer!"

Angel dropped Eli as if the other bully was suddenly on fire. Hell, Angel might have wished he WAS just then, just so he could piss on him!

Eli laughed and said softly, so no one else could hear. "When I'm through with your little girlfriend, I'm coming for you, punta."

Before Angel could react, he felt a tap on his shoulder. As he pivoted, a hand lashed around him at Eli. Angel saw Othello attached to that hand but his eyes were cold and focused. Angel stepped out of the way and watched Othello yank hard on the bill of Eli's cap. Eli yelped and stumbled forward, and Othello tripped him, sending Eli sprawling face-first. Some from the crowd started laughing and Othello smiled, almost good-naturedly.

"Do I have your attention now?" Othello asked. "I'm still not sure how we st-"

He cut himself off, lifting one foot just as Eli kicked at the leg. Othello brought his foot back down on Eli's knee. Eli shrieked and scrabbled to his feet. He tried to charge, but the stomp had done its job and hobbled him. Othello danced backwards, until he found his back to the bleachers. Eli grinned and tried to punch the supposedly cornered Othello. But Othello kicked Eli in the knee again, throwing his aim and balance. Othello moved away from the bleachers while while Eli was reeling. Eli recovered less than a second later and reached for Othello. Othello stepped back two steps; falling out of reach, then forward once. Othello tossed his shoulder back before swinging his hand forward in a wide, but fast arc.

There was a fleshy crack as Othello followed through with a searing bitch-slap. The sound made Angel grit his teeth; it was a sound he knew too well.

Eli stood with dead eyes, for a second, going lax. Angel counted the seconds: One... Two... Three...

Three seconds. Angel knew it took just that long to recover from a slap like that, and Eli would have proved him right, but then Othello brought his back-swing into Eli's jaw.

Eli spun on his heel and sat down hard, facing away from Othello. All was quiet for three seconds (Angel had counted those, too) as Eli collected his faculties. He looked around, as if not remembering where he was. Othello put his boot between Eli's shoulder blades and push forward, doubling Eli over until his nose almost touched the ground and his head was between his knees. Eli couldn't find the leverage to straighten.

He was beaten. Badly. But Angel didn't see his 'Thello. He saw Mr. Calihan.

Othello looked at Eli with glee... a cruel glee that Angel had never seen before in anyone but his father. "Eli... Can you hear me Eli?" He panted through his cheshire grin.

"Yes! Lemme go! I can't breathe!"

"Shut up!" Othello barked. For a second, the grin became a snarl before righting itself. "Let's try again. Can you hear me?"

"YES!!!" Eli sobbed.

"Good." Othello smiled. "You will never stand in my presence again. You will either sit, or walk away quickly. Am I clear?!"

"Yes!" Eli sobbed again, his ears going red.

"Good..." Othello shivered and raised his foot. Eli sat up, face wet with tears, and eyes alight with hate. He tried to stand, but Othello kicked his knee again.

"What did we just say!?" He harped, his nostrils flaring. Angel had a hard time finding his voice. It was like trying to talk back to Mr. Calihan... But shit was going to far. "...'Thello..." Angel managed to whisper. He took a step towards Othello. Eli clutched his knee. Angel looked at him... Eli was a quarterback on the team! If Othello really messed up his knee...

"Answer me, bitch!" Othello raised his hand, his eyes steely. "'Thello, stop..." Angel pleaded, horrified.

Though they were soft, Othello looked up at the sound of the words. He looked at Angel. Then at Eli. Then at the masses. Then he backed off, no smile on his face at all. "Stay..." He growled at Eli. Then he glanced at Angel. "Angel? You coming?"

Angel sat next to Eli, shaking his head, still wide-eyed. Othello gave him the bug-look, seemingly back to normal, but turned on his heel and walked away. His exit was blocked from view by the crowds closing in to gawk at the loser. Angel managed to hold them off with a stare.

"You were right!" Eli hissed despair through his teeth, hugging his leg. "Oh, god, Angel! I should have listened! You were right!" Angel sat with Eli until his parents showed up to take him to the hospital.

One thought echoed in Angel's head: No... I was wrong. Very wrong about Othello Montague...

Angel licked his thumb and rubbed at the ink on his arm.

_ Not kind._

_ _

_ Not weak._