Angel Dust

The absence hadn't gone unnoticed by Anthony. He figures the guy skipped town to try and get ahead of the news. He can't admit to himself he's a little hurt he wasn't extended even a curtesy invitation. They weren't some tragic love story or nothing, but it would've been nice.

Anthony doesn't quite meet Valentino's eye, cheeks pink. He was shy enough around the man before being caught, the man seems to ooze sex appeal without even trying.

His face splits into a grateful smile, and he pushes back that pale hair from his face.

"I don'...I don' do that kinda thing regularly or nothin'," he tries to reassure, fetching out a suitcase from under his bed. Fuck he likes that accent. His own feels so...gritty compared to Valentino's.

There's a bit of powder left on that dresser, familiar enough as the stuff they're meant to be moving, and clearly Anthony's been helping himself to some here and there. He's itching for more at the moment, but he tries not to be obvious.