Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's.

He wakes to the sounds of a hushed conversation in Spanish, her voice slurred like sunshine (maybe because he's half asleep). It's not Mimi. That's the first thing he thinks, It's not Mimi, because that means there's no damage control to be done. It's early. He'd love to keep sleeping, especially if Angel came back to bed, and that didn't happen when Mimi and Roger were fighting again.

Damn Roger. Why was he still doing the attachment thing? You don't attach yourself to anything that shows you the slightest kindness. Every intelligent person knows that

"Hey, baby." (Angel has returned)

"Hey." She's bright and bubbly. Definitely not Mimi.

He shifts. It's no good. He's not going back to sleep—he has to get up. His mind screams at him. Postpone! Postpone! "How's your mom?"

Angel smiles. Good guess! "She's fine. Hey, how come your parents never call you?" Normally she wouldn't even start asking—normally she had more tact.

He sighs and gets out of bed. "I dunno, Ang." When he calls her that, she's not an angel. It's just a name her parents gave him. He doesn't know how much it hurts her.

"Well, why don't you call them?"

"Well..." He digs through a pile of clothes for his favorite shirt, sniffs it for cleanliness, then pulls it on.

"Would you introduce me to them?"

"Oh, Angel..." He puts his arms around her and kisses her neck. "I would if I could," he promises.

Angel smiles at the reassurance. She couldn't help but smile when she was in his arms. Then she asked, "Why can't you?"

to be continued!

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