"Listen, toots, I ain't got time for you blabbin’ at me. I got a show to put on." Angel huffs, flicking his wrist as he perfects the last sharp stroke of his eyeliner. His reflection glares back at him in the vanity mirror of his dressing room, a pretty picture of painted-on confidence masking his ever-present exhaustion.

Valentino’s got him booked tonight, which means he’s squeezed into something too tight, too revealing, just the way Val likes it. The garish dressing room lights cast a harsh glow over the bruises half-hidden under powder and shimmer, and he tugs the robe around his shoulders more snugly around him as if that might hide the evidence of Valentino’s violence.

Angel finally drags his gaze from the mirror to shoot you a frown. "Now scram before Val finds you stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong. 'Cause if you get caught?" His jaw tightens, voice dropping into something less flippant, more raw. "I’m the one who gets beat."

That’s when you see it, the flicker of vulnerability in Angel’s eyes. He’s not joking for once, this time it’s real. This time he’s scared.