He sighs, but doesn't say anything else. Alastor had known long ago that this would take time. In fact he knew it would take time even to build his bond to this family, let alone his favorite out of all of them. He's got time, and patience. But that doesn't mean he enjoys it, every time they end like this. All he does is roll onto his back, gazing at the shadows on the high, sculpted ceiling.
Angelo manages to remain on his side like that for most of the night, but as the sunrise starts to poke through his curtains he rolls over, finds Alastor and drapes over him, using him as his own personal hot water bottle. When he wakes up properly a few hours later he has his cheek mushed firmly against Alastor's chest and he rolls his tongue blearily around his mouth, stretching out a little. He watches Alastor in pointed silence for a minute and then mumbles, "I know you're awake."
It's far from the first time he's spent the night in Angelo's bed, but after thousands of years of nocturnal hauntings, Alastor never settles easily. He'd stayed there for a little while, then left the bed just to move, lingering by the window, letting his fingers drift across the odd decoration in Angelo's ostentatious bedroom. Eventually, he'd wound down enough to return to the bed and stay there; it's always easiest to sleep through the dawn, as much as he ever actually sleeps. The slightest stirring of the mortal body next to his brings him back to swift awareness. But he still keeps his eyes closed when he answers in a mumble, "So what if I am."
"The day I got married," Angelo says, attempting another little stretch and sliding himself more completely over Alastor, "my mama told me never to go to bed on an argument."
"What's that," Alastor says, not expecting much but pleasantly curious nonetheless, as he lifts a hand to slip his fingers into Angelo's hair. The only part of him that's soft.
Interesting. Alastor keeps up the slow and steady pull of his fingers through the dark strands, once again holding a neutral expression. "Good," he says. "You're damn right you are."
There it is. Alastor's hand goes still, but doesn't draw away. His eyes narrow slightly, making it plain that he wants to disagree, but instead of admitting that, he just asks, "So why bother telling me, then?"
"I don't need it," Angelo says, dipping his head down to press his mouth to Alastor's neck, following the line of his throat with open-mouthed kisses. "But I want you around. I like you being around. Can't you be happy with that, huh? I could tell you to fuck off and never come back, I could say that real easy. But I don't want to."
Those kisses are very nice, and the way that Angelo is talking to him, without irritation or anger, that's nice too. But Alastor can barely wrap his mind around what the man is suggesting. For the sake of his affection, he tries; he does his best to imagine taking what he's given, enjoying the company, and not asking for anything else, not wondering what else could be done and what more Angelo deserves. But he can't. It's simply unfathomable to him. What a waste of them both that would be.
Unfortunately, Alastor knows that Angelo may never be able to appreciate the way his basic nature drives him, and he's not about to get himself kicked out of bed right now over a pointless ultimatum. This family belongs to him. Even if Angelo never wanted to see him again, he wouldn't be gone. "I'm not going anywhere."
"No you're not," Angelo says agreeably. Absolutely nothing has been solved by this conversation, but he's not going to draw it out, not when it's a brand new day. His mother hadn't been envisaging this when she gave him that advice, but that doesn't mean he can't take it. "I am though," he says as he scoops himself out of bed (god it's fucking cold in here) and aims for the door. "Is that cannoli still gonna be good if I eat it now? I don't wanna eat stale cannoli."
"It'll be fine," Alastor replies, sitting up in bed without sliding out of it, idly scratching the back of his head through his sleep-mussed hair. He feels unsettled, and irritable on a very instinctive level because of it; he doesn't want to argue, even a little bit, but there's a distinct sense that he's lost a fair bit of ground in the past ten minutes and he doesn't like it at all. Hard to be patient under a feeling like that.
Angelo's back in a minute with the cannoli and his leftover brandy, as well as his shirt from last night. He drops into a squishy velvet armchair by the window to empty the glass and then unwraps the cannoli carefully. "I can't even imagine you when I'm not around. Can't picture what you get up to."
Maybe he'll just lie back against the pillows and not think about it. "For all you know I was lying about all of it," he says with a raised eyebrow and a little smile. "The truth is, I just cease to exist whenever we aren't in the same room."
It makes him laugh despite himself, which in turn makes him feel better; Alastor stretches his arms up and folds them behind his head. "As long as it's enough to keep you from getting sick of me."
"Oh, mio caro, I'd never get sick of you." Saying that makes him think about all the words they call each other. He doesn't think he'd ever think to call Alastor my dear, but mio caro is fine. Enough degrees of separation, maybe. He chews thoughtfully on his cannoli, watching Alastor all the while. He can't imagine his life without Alastor in it, not now, but Alastor must have had so long without him. This is the blink of an eye to someone like him. "How old are you?" he asks quite suddenly. It feels like a very childish question, but he can't remember ever asking before.
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Unfortunately, Alastor knows that Angelo may never be able to appreciate the way his basic nature drives him, and he's not about to get himself kicked out of bed right now over a pointless ultimatum. This family belongs to him. Even if Angelo never wanted to see him again, he wouldn't be gone. "I'm not going anywhere."
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