{Where the birds Hide} [Slash] (Oneshot)

He shrugged, watching as the first sprinkles of water dropped on the window. Angel decided, "The kind that don't mind me burning through their money, I guess. They never really said anything about it before. I've figured out by now that they don't particularly enjoy confrontation. The way I see it is, as long as I'm not getting into any conflicting trouble, it doesn't really bother them, right?"

"Whatever you say, kid."

It was sprinkling out when he finally arrived at Dylan's house; Angel shoved the ten in Louie's hand and saluted him before jumping out and yelling that he should stop calling him 'kid' as the man drove off. He then proceeded to run up to the front porch and knock on the door with purpose as the droplets quickly stained his clothes and the wind started to make his teeth clatter.

The teen heard a loud grunt of affirmation spark from the other side; no doubt Dylan's father was especially moody after coming back from an exhausting trip that involved seeing the family. Then again, there were very few times when he wasn't especially moody. As assumed, the man wrenched the door back and gave Angel a pointed look before gesturing for him to get inside. He's always been a gruff man, for as long as the teen could remember, he'd never given any indication to giving a rat's ass about any of his son's friends—Angel especially. Most people just chalked it up as absolute old people syndrome, doomed to yell at kids to get off his lawn as his age increased, most always agreed he'd only get more bitter with time.

His wife, however, was the complete opposite. "Angel! So nice to have you over! I'm sure Dylan will be happy to see you, he wasn't exactly getting along with his cousins over the holiday." Mrs. Stark was a sweet woman, very homely and welcoming, such a contrast to the man she married—it's hard to believe she married him at all. But Dylan was always grateful to have her presence around; having two cold stone figures around growing up would've killed him. His mom always balanced the atmosphere perfectly.

"Oh, that's too bad to hear, Mrs. Stark, I do remember meeting Danny and Phil a few years back, and I don't recall them getting along back then, either."

"I know," she sighed, "Well, anyways, Dyl hopped in the shower the second we got home, he should be done soon, though. Why don't you go wait up in his room? He stuck his suitcase in the closet and I don't believe he unpacked it yet, there should be a little trinket in there for you."

Angel smiled, nodding his head with half lidded eyes before making his way up stairs. The rain could be heard outside, picking up from a drizzle to something a bit rougher, causing the droplets to pitter-patter against the roof. He vaguely recalled that saying about April showers bringing May flowers and hoped that stupid April would end soon—the gloomy skies were really killing his mood.

He made his way into Dylan's room, softly closing the door behind him. His walls were painted a light blue, his best friend's favorite color, lined with various pictures and posters. Glow in the dark stars were scattered across the ceiling, always giving Angel something to stare at when he slept over. Green eyes made their way over to Dylan's closet, which was cracked only slightly with a dark blue suitcase peeking from the shadows.

He realized then, at that weird moment in time, that he couldn't remember the last time Dylan's closet was open—he couldn't even remember the last time he had seen inside it.

He recalled, briefly, times when they were younger, running around the house finding games to play. Their unspoken favorite was hide and seek, even if the game became a bit dull with only two people, and he did remember flashes of hiding in his best friend's closet. But...that was a long time ago. Before sex became interesting and girls started noticing him. Now—now he wasn't sure why it was always closed, probably because it was messy—his mom was always anal about Dylan keeping his room clean.