Angel snickered lightly, rolling his eyes. "Well, so long as you follow your own rules, I think we'll be just fine." He could make other friends if he didn't want to be Angel's friend. He was used to those that were standoffish, shy, more in tune with their own way of life to take a chance with someone that lived so differently from them. He quickly finished the other bookshelf and stood it up with its sibling, smiling at the way they stood beautifully against the beige background of the wall. So very nice, sitting in the corner by his closet door. ... Glancing over his shoulder, Angel saw his roommate busy himself with his computer. A laptop. the opening screen had his name on it. William. Well, at least he had a name to put with the face. If he weren't so angry, William, maybe he'd have a much sweeter face. Angel just shrugged, puling in his desk and desk chair to begin assembling them as well. They would be pushed up against the wall at the foot of his bed, and then the bedside table and its lamp and phone would be set up afterward. Then his clothing. It would all go in the closet, and his underclothes and accents would go into the drawers inside the closet.

He loved to work. Work on his things. Play his music. Paint. Draw. Cook. Anything with his hands, sculpting something into existence from raw material, was some type of magic he loved to see, loved to enact, create, build. It was the essence of his very life. It was what made him smile. Made him happy. Most would have snapped at William by now, but he wasn't that kind of person. He didn't like to yell unless he was playing a game outside and it was necessary for communication. Maybe someday he'd break through William's cold exterior.