Author's Note: This is my first RENT fic… I only saw the movie yesterday, actually, after a half-hour struggle with the internet. I just couldn't NOT write something about Angel. I haven't written fanfiction in a while because of school, but I need reviews and inspiration struck. Tell me what you think!

I stood at the foot of the grave, struggling to think of it as Angel's grave. Angel, so alive, so energetic, so… dead. The rose I was holding was thornless, but I could swear it tore me apart as I let it drop. Bright red--flowers, coats, windbreakers, jackets, had I ever seen Angel without something red? It was refreshing, so much color surrounded by the dulled tones of the rest of our friends. Dear God, I would miss her.

I ran a finger over one of Angel's drumsticks, remembering the first time we had met. I was slumped against the brick wall, mildly annoyed at the persistent pounding in my head. I was grateful when it stopped, and then suddenly there was somebody there with me. Someone who took me home and took care of me until I could move properly.

We had switched roles quickly. I protected her, and everything just fell into place. Seamlessly, perfectly, until…

I should have noticed. Angel was tired more often, shivering. He stopped dressing in drag, talked a little bit less. I didn't mind--he was as pretty as a boy as he was a girl, and the silence wasn't uncomfortable, just companionable. Then he started feeling sick all the time, quaking uncontrollably, and suddenly I just knew. I didn't stop hoping, but I couldn't shake the fear.

Angel knew, too. He wanted me to be within reach at all times, close enough to soothe him when he woke in the middle of the night, like he knew these were our last days and he wanted to spend every second of them together. He never told me what was wrong, whenever he woke up gasping for breath, but maybe that was for the best. I already knew he was suffering, knew that my Angel was dying. How much else could I take?

New York fell silent, for once, but I could swear there was shouting… Dazed, I turned my head and saw that the others had left me standing there (alone, so alone). They were standing near an old tree, everybody yelling at somebody. Harping on the same old arguments, fighting on the day that I had to bury my castle, my shelter, my queen. Before this, I would have been furious. Now I just felt exhausted.

Mark was the only one who thought of me. He saw me coming, begged for them to be silent. Mimi and Roger were shouting at each other as if they had forgotten that they weren't a couple, and Maureen and Joanne were displaying their bedroom fights for all the world to see. Why couldn't they all just love each other for who they were and what they were doing? Hadn't Angel taught them anything?

I watched, helpless, unbelieving, as I walked closer, not knowing what I was going to say or do. Until:

"I'd be happy to die for a taste of what Angel had--someone to live for, unafraid to say 'I love you.'"

They had no idea what they were saying. How could they bring up dying lightly? How could they think that what Angel and I had was something to die for? It wasn't, that was the point. We were never about sacrifices, it was about gifts and small kindnesses and… thousands of sweet kisses.

Besos de mil dulces para ti, mi amante.

Oh, Angel.

Roger was so angry. I walked right to him and put my hand on his shoulder, shutting them up. "You all said you'd be cool today, so please, for my sake…" I let the sentence dangle, hopeless. They looked at the ground and at each other, ashamed. Good. I looked at them, voicing what I knew we were all thinking. "I can't believe he's gone."

Angel could never be supplanted, and we all felt the space. We were ripped apart, and now Roger was going to tear a new wound. "I can't believe you're going. I can't believe this family must die."

I swallowed thickly, feeling lost. "Angel helped us believe in love; I can't believe you disagree."

Shaking my head at them, I walked away. Went home to my apartment, wearing Angel's jacket, my heart and mind filled with her clothes, his laugh, her face, his music. Stroked a pair of drumsticks in one hand and a neat black wig in the other. It was all I had left of my Angel.

A thousand sweet kisses for you, my lover.