Notes: This story was written for the livejournal community comment_fic. It's also my second ever RENT story (and the first one was written nine years ago!), so I'd love to know what people think of it!
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It is their first valentines day together, and a very small voice in the back of Collins' head tells him it might be their last. He refuses to dwell on it, and he doesn't know if Angel hears it at all. If she does, she actively rebels against it, for she is pure energy from morning to night.
Collins is a romantic. His meeting with Angel has proven that. A year ago, he might have greeted the overwhelming commercialism of this holiday with derision - called it a circus of pink, red, hearts, teddy bears, chocolates, and flowers which ultimately reduced love to nothing more than an assortment of novelty items which would be marked fifty percent off on store shelves the very next day. He might have pointed out how the holiday changed sentiment into so ritualized an act that it became devoid of meaning. Most of all, he would have mourned that the thousands of young lovers filling New York's restaurants and movie theatres were blind to the problems seething beneath the city's surface (his body's surface), refusing to acknowledge an illness borne out of love, the very thing they were blithely celebrating.
This year holds nothing of that. He buys Angel a single red rose at the florist early that morning for the joy of being able to do so, and feels a certain kinship with the other men and women in the shop. They are in love, he is in love. There's no need for bitterness, and great social demonstrations can be saved for another day. He hopes they are as happy as he is, and smiles at the florist as he hands her the money.
Angel has a much better gift for him. Breakfast is ready for him when he gets home. As she admires the rose, she teasingly scolds him for getting out of bed early that morning to bring her a flower. It's a cold February day, no sense in braving the wind and the snow, and she fully intends to keep him warm an in bed all day.
It had not yet been two months since they had promised each other one thousand sweet kisses. Their bed is technically not meant to fit two grown men, but they have always made it work. As the tumble into it, it seems to Collins that Angel means to see if she can accomplish all one thousand of her kisses in a single day; he has no objections whatsoever, and does he best to help her towards that goal. If they fall short by a kiss or two, it is only because there is so much as to be done - so much touching, so many endearments to be whispered when their mouths are free for a moment, so much of every kind of loving.
The next day they find that Maureen and Joanne's relationship hasn't survived the holiday, and Roger and Mimi still don't know from one moment from the next if they are together or not. Collins grasps Angel's hand, knowing that whether they had one day or a thousand left to them, one last kiss or ten thousand more, they would not allow a single moment to be wasted.