Disclaimer: RENT is Jonathan Larson's.

After Christmas, when the family had left and Collins returned to work, Angel felt the house breathe a sigh of relief and slump its shoulders. She patted the walls gently. "I know," she told them. "I know. But you love it as much as I do. It's just tiring," she muttered to herself. And Angel wandered into the kitchen and broke her ban on meat, as she did every end-of-the-year, with the bacon and egg sandwich no one would ever know about.

As she bit into it, leaning against the counter, she wondered how she went a year without this. Somehow Angel's principles flew out the window when she tasted bacon. She wondered if Collins would think less of her for it. Or would he think she was just losing her idealism with age? There was a frightening thought. Angel didn't like to be considered old, and she certainly didn't consider herself old and didn't like the idea that anyone else would. Not that this particularly mattered, though, because all of this hinged on anyone discovering that she ate meat, and Angel did not plan on anyone discovering that.

The upstairs toilet flushed.

Shit! How long had he been awake? Angel finished her sandwich quickly, sucked on her fingertips, then washed up the dishes. She smiled to herself, pleased to have committed the perfect crime.

Crouched on the stairs, Roger looked at his grumbling tummy and sighed. So much for breakfast. Be patient, he reminded himself. He always got food eventually, especially in this house. He liked this placement. Roger intended to do everything he could to stay with Collins and Angel. He watched as Angel washed the dishes. When she headed for the stairs he fled, as quietly as he could, to his bedroom. He left the door open a crack to be sure Angel didn't hear the click.

It wasn't too late, the sun not fully risen yet, but late enough that the streets were bright. Roger snuck a book out from under his pillow and cracked it open. He squinted to read in the dim light.

When the shower went on in the bathroom, Roger reached one pale arm out of bed and let the lamp click on. The words on the page jumped up at him. Roger smiled, snuggled deeper under the blankets and read. When he emerged from the book, the shower was off. Roger shook his head. He looked at the clock.

Oh.

Almost an hour had passed.

Roger slipped the bookmark into the book. He tucked the book under his pillow again, then slipped out of bed. He lowered his feet carefully, only causing the tiniest thump when they touched the ground. He padded over to the door to shut it gently before taking off his pajamas. Angel was nice, but Roger didn't want her to see his body. He didn't want anyone to see his body. That was the point, it was his, and it was all that would ever be undeniably, unrevokably his.

He also didn't want Angel seeing his scars. Roger hadn't been out of his pajamas in a few days. He had changed for he party because Collins said he had to, but other than that Roger hadn't taken off his pajamas since what happened with Mark. Now, as he crouched by his drawers wearing nothing but his underwear, Roger was all too aware of what he didn't want Angel seeing. Already she winced seeing his hand. Originally she had been polite, glancing away from the odd splash of flesh. Now she knew what it was, and every time she saw it she looked like she might cry.

The drawers, practically empty two weeks ago, now contained the clothes he had been given as Christmas presents. He pulled out a pair of jeans. The waist sagged when he buttoned them up, but they would do. Some of the shirts were new, from the store. Roger let his fingers trail across the fabric. His stomach sloshed around emptily. The new shirts mostly had collars, which Roger liked. The ones that didn't come from the store came from Angel's workshop. He recognized the fabrics. One of his favorites was a white background with dark blue comets and stars and galaxies.

When his hand returned a third time to pet the universe on the shirt, Roger picked it up and buttoned it. He smoothed his clothes and then, satisfied that as few scars as possible shower, he went downstairs.

Angel sat on the couch with two thin kniting needles in her hands. Five or so inches of cherry red fabric sprouted from her needles. "H-hey," Roger stammered.

Angel looked up at him and smiled. "Hey, honey," she said. "You wanna come sit down?" Roger answered by crossing the room to sit beside her on the couch. He twisted his fingers together in his lap and watched the way Angel's needles poked through the yarn loops and pulled out new ones, and somehow this made the crinkled fabric growing from the purple-coated steel needles. The fabric fascinated Roger. How did Angel make it? How did it crinkle up like that? Could he do it?

But Roger didn't like those needles. They looked sharp and mean. He shied back from them, though the cloth kept growing.

"Did you sleep okay?" It sounded stupid and Angel knew it sounded stupid, but she needed to say something to him.

"Fine," Roger whispered.

Angel asked him, "Do you want to do anything today?"

Roger shook his head. He didn't care. Breakfast would be nice.

Angel set her needles down. Roger suppressed a sigh: he wanted to see more of that cloth. That desire shriveled, unimportant suddenly when she turned to him. "Roger," Angel said. "Talk to me."

"C... can..." Can I have something to eat? But Roger knew if Angel was in a bad mood, and she didn't feel like giving him breakfast, that might lose him lunch, too. No. What was he thinking? That wasn't Angel, she wasn't like that. Right? "Can you... show me how to do that?" he asked, pointing to the knitting.

Angel grinned, and Roger felt tension leave his body. "Sure. Here. Oh." She realized that she had been working on Roger's birthday present. "You're serious about this, right?" she asked. "Come on. I'll buy you a skein."

--

Roger squealed at the many skeins stacked in bins along the walls. He touched thick, bright yarns and shimmer-laced partial alpaca blends. He giggled at painted eyelash yarns, the thousands of threads hanging like beards. Who came up with all these things? There were yarns with bubbly, tangly clumps intentionally spun in. There were lace yarns with big holes, like ladders. There were thick yarns and thin yarns, scratchy yarns made of cheap wool and good merino felting skeins. Roger rubbed mohair and baby yarns against his cheeks and smiled.

"I can really get one?" he asked.

Angel nodded. "Pick out any one you want," she said.

"What am I gonna make?" Roger asked.

A scarf had been the assumption, but if that wasn't what he wanted Angel certainly wasn't going to force him. "Whatever you want," she said.

"You'll help me?"

"Of course."

"What's easy to make?"

Angel considered. Scarves were the easiest, usually, but some methods made sweaters simple... "Scarves," she said. "Some sweaters--mostly not. Blankets. Ponchos."

"No," Roger said. "No, that's it. That's it, I wanna make a blanket, can I make a blanket, Mom?"

The word made them both pause for a moment, and Angel got that look, the one Roger hated, like she was about to cry. He blushed. "Y-yeah," she said. "Yeah, you can make a blanket! Come on. Let's find a nice yarn."

"Can I use this one?" Roger asked. He showed her the alpaca blend with shimmering threads.

Angel had to admit, the kid had good taste. For someone who hadn't known anything about knitting half an hour ago, he showed damn good instincts to pick out a decent yarn. He hadn't chosen one of the soft, cheap baby acrylics that were fun but fell apart after a wash or two. He had chosen an actual good, pretty yarn. "Yes," Angel said. "Come on. Grab a couple skeins and we'll pick out some needles." Roger chose all colors, knowing they would go well together.

It turned out there were as many types of needles as there were yarns. They ranged in size from the thickness of a Q-tip stick to the thickness of a quarter. Some were made of metal and others were made of plastic and some were even made of bamboo. Some of the plastic ones were painted dull grey so they looked metal. Some were translucent and colored in bright oranges and reds or dull blues and purples. There were some in packs of five with points on both ends, some connected by thin plastic wires. "What are these?" he asked.

"They're for knitting in the round. Um, tubes," Angel explained.

"Oh," Roger said. Those looked a bit scary. He looked at some needles with points that lit up for knitting in the dark. That might be handy, he thought, with his new bedtime and all... "These?" he asked, pointing to a pair of wooden needles with a big "11" on the plastic packaging.

Angel nodded. "All right."

When he saw how much everything would cost, Roger began to protest that it was too much. "Oh, hush. I'm buying it either way." She also impulse bought two pieces of chocolate and handed one to Roger on their way out. "Just promise you won't tell Collins."

Roger paused. He had unwrapped the chocolate eagerly, but now he took it away from his lips. "Why?" he asked.

"Because secrets are fun."

Roger wrapped the chocolate again.

to be continued...

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