Things you don't want to hear

Angelo knew the conversation wasn't going to go well. He knew it, and he was sure Broen knew it.

Technically speaking, Angelo was simply lounging around on the couch, watching the TV and waiting for Broen to show up. But it was hard not to feel anxious. Hard not to freak the hell out.

It wasn't going to go well. He had Fairy Gone already queued up, but he felt like he was kidding himself by pretending they were ever going to watch it.

Truthfully? Angelo was kind of surprised Broen had knocked. He's sort of expected him to yell 'I'm coming in' and then appear inside, because Broen wasn't great with personal spaces and shit like that.

Plus, realistically speaking? He'd be allowed in nine times out of ten anyway, and he already knew Angelo was home.

Basilio wasn't. He was at work, which was a conscious, active choice by Angelo. Broen was probably going to yell. He was going to be angry. And he felt like Basilio judged his choice in friends enough without him seeing Broen at his worst.

He pulled the door open in one swift movement, waving him in.

"I already have Fairy Gone ready, if you want it." If he wanted to drag it out.

He'd tried to think it through. To think about what Broen would want. What he'd need.

"I have leftovers in the fridge from work," Angelo said, making no secrets about the fact that the majority of his meals were from there, "or there's some ingredients in the fridge if you want to cook. I'm certainly not going to turn down your cooking." No, he'd like it, even if he just wanted to give Broen the option. The way he saw it, the more options Broen had, the more at ease he'd be. Reminding him he was the master of his own destiny, and all that. Making his own decisions.

He flipped on the show, letting Broen choose what he wanted to do as he curled up on the couch, his legs tucked up under him. The TV was fully visible from the kitchen, so it wasn't as if that was a concern.

Even if Angelo had put up the pretense--even if he'd gotten the show ready to go and set the whole thing up--he knew it wasn't going to last. Broen hated beating around the bush. He hated pretending. So he'd given him the option, but the moment he took the sandwich--setting it to the side for a moment without eating at all--Angelo knew how things were going to go.

"Manta Carlos only has a small prison," he said after a moment. "They don't lock people up and throw away the key. He got six months, and then he'll have months of probation and probably house arrest after that. He'll be out in three weeks."

Three weeks.

"The seventh."

It seemed too soon.

He'd expected the anger, but there was only so much you could brace for it. only so much you could prepare for it. Angelo jerked back when Broen yelled, both to give him space and to get out of the blast zone. Should he have texted his dad? Should he have warned him something might have been smashed? He hadn't wanted to, in case he was wrong. But as Broen lunged toward the TV, he imagined explaining it to Basilio, imagined the look, the thought of him judging Angelo's choices in friends again, and then-

And then Broen was gone. The TV was intact, and Angelo felt a surge of panic. This was what he hadn't wanted. He'd wanted Broen in private so he could yell it out and punch pillows or whatever the hell, but not being out there. Not doing something stupid. He was on his feet, frantically looking around, and he'd managed to call Broen's name once--not very loud, afraid of bothering the neighbors more than he already had--before Broen was suddenly there, back on the couch, looking like he'd just lost a fight with a wall.

"Broen!" Angelo said again, taking a step forward before stoping himself. Don't crowd him. Let him be angry. He had every right to be.

"You're right. You're right and it's wrong, but he's never going to touch you again, never going to bother you again. There - there'd be a restriction on his release. That he can't go near you. So he's gone. He's out of your life."