A/N: Cangel fluff briefly took over my brain and spat this out onto a piece of paper so I thought I would share it with all of you… because it's, well, Cangel and probably the only canon couple that most of us can ship. :L
Disclaimer: Tom and Angel are definitely too cute and fluffy to be my own creations. Donotown.
Format
"I love you," Angel whispers, voice soft and husky as she twists around to press her lips right up to her lover's ear. The motel room is quiet and dim in the late afternoon, the view out the window nothing but sunlit gray brick with graffiti scribbled all over it in a rainbow of vulgar expressions and drawings. Collins doesn't mind too much, though, because he has Angel wrapped up in his arms, their bodies fitting perfectly together as they snuggle on the less-than-comfortable mattress.
"Mmm… I think I might just love you, too, if you can believe it," he chuckles, the sound of it rumbling in his chest. Angel's laughter is musical, the violin to his bass and he sighs as they fall back into a comfortable silence.
It's times like these that Collins wonders if, in a year, two years, ten if he makes it that long, he'll remember any of this. Oh, sure, the basics will be there. He'll remember countless days with only the sensation of smooth cotton and cappuccino skin against him, this heady, warm lightness in his head and in his chest that makes him feel like he could float right up off the bed and into heaven with Angel to where he's hoping to end up anyways. But will he remember the details? Will the finest points of the day linger in his hippocampus, sticking valiantly like burrs so that someday, somewhere a weary and impossibly aged version of himself can take the moment to sit back and just recall?
Just thinking about it makes him subconsciously tighten his arms around his lover, swallowing down the fear that maybe it won't. Because he wants to remember every little bit of this moment, of all of them. The way the light hits the side of Angel's face, making her glow caramel for the moment. The muffled noises on the street below, horns blaring and shouts cutting through the muted buzz four floors below on the ground level where people are undoubtedly living their lives, dragging their feet on the way to or from work, toughing it out. The shadows in the corner of the room, the cobwebs stretched across them like wispy strands of cotton candy, the musty smell of a room unused for probably years because the building looks ready to topple over at any moment and no one in their right mind with a decent amount of cash would ever sleep there.
He wants to remember Angel's slow, steady breaths, her chest rising and falling beneath his hand, because God only knows how many of them she has left to breathe now.
Logically, of course, the human memory can only fade, but Collins wonders if perhaps he can embellish this particular memory enough that it stands out as he takes his own last breath, weeks or months or years later.
Every word that Angel says he closes his eyes and imagines, black and stark against a light background, italicized. Every breath he takes, every twitch of his pinky finger, every bit of body language underlined so that later reading through this manuscript of memory he'll pause and linger on it, remembering. And finally, each time he looks into his eyes and says, "I love you," he'll bold it, holding it close to his heart where he can save it forever.
"I love you," Angel repeats, twisting around to look into his eyes with a dimpled smile, looking so painfully young that Collins heart squeezes. "Even if you're a smartass."
The Spanish lilt to her words, the way she tips her head and runs a hand through the short, dark hair that is so often hidden beneath a long wig, the chocolaty quality of her eyes as they flash playfully across his face.
Was there anything about Angel that he didn't find endearing? That he wasn't going to miss?
"No," he sighs to himself, resigning himself to the fact and earning a quizzical smile from Angel whose smooth hands were gliding over his chest, tracing every crease in the fabric of his shirt. He rubbed their noses together, heart soaring once more. "Talking to myself," he explains quietly.
"Penny for your thoughts, honey?" she asked, amused, but he shook his head.
"Nothing," he lied, smiling weakly. Shrugging, Angel cast him one more curious look before lying back in his arms, pulling herself closer to her lover's chest and burrowing her face into his shoulder. Collins rested his chin on her head, closing his eyes.
Nobody knew how much time they had left in this life, least of all Angel, and Collins was going to need a headstart if he wanted to get all of that formatting done in time.
Taking a deep breath, he dove back into the pool of his memories and began.