You are all Angels, 23k reads on wattpad, I am absolutely bowled over at that fact. I can't wrap my head around it. Thank you always and forever. And thank you for your patience. Sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy the chapter. You inspire me to write and bring me so much joy.

All my love x

Song: One, X, Ed Sheeran

Angel's POV

"Would you like me to start?" I offer softly, hoping to ease some of the tension weighing heavy in the air.

He nods his head, situating himself a bit more comfortably against the headboard of his bed. I'm sat a bit in front of him, legs crossed and my hands bracing the bed in front of me.

"Alright then. Yeah, that's alright." I smile, stalling a bit as I pick an appropriate place to begin. "Well, going back to the beginning, I didn't really grow up with my parents. Will practically raised me from when I was a child. It's not that anything bad ever happened with my mum and dad, they just always had, well have work. More times than not it calls them away from home, so that's been that."

The dark-haired boy sat in front of me now has wider eyes to before. "E-erm, I-" He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

"It's alright if you're going to apologize don't feel the need to. I promise. I'm not, it's not something that really hurts me much. It used to, I think, a lot more when I was a child. But. As I've grown older I've sort of moved on from it. I don't want to let their actions hold me back from living my life how I deserve to. It's not fair of me to spend all my time at home wishing they were there when I could be out doing things for myself." I explain, partially meaning the words that fall from my mouth, partially not.

"Plus, I've got William. He's the most outstanding brother-the most outstanding person-I could ever dream of having in my life. I'm thankful for what have." I add on.

"Wow." Slips from Zanthus's lips.

"Was that too much? I'm sorry, I know I said we'd start simple, I didn't mean to overwhelm you or anything of the sort." I can only hope I didn't just bucket this whole night already.

Zanthus just shakes his head, seemingly waving me off as he sits up straighter. His eyes don't leave mine once as he takes a breath, opening and closing his mouth as if he's got something to say but doesn't know how to.

"You don't have to know what to say to that. You don't have to say anything at all." I offer in hopes that it'll make him feel less under pressure.

He shakes his head again, causing me to raise my own eyebrows a bit. I can't quite figure out what he's trying to say, though I'm afraid asking would be even worse in this situation. He doesn't seem to do well when people push him.

"I ca-can't t-talk." He blurts finally, making me all the more confused.

I don't say anything as I watch Zanthus's face flush and his fingers fidget amongst each other nervously. I reposition myself quietly until I'm sat half beside him and half in front of him. Reaching my hand out, I grab his shaking hands in my own, adding a bit of pressure in hopes to help subside their trembling.

His eyes lock with mine again, as they'd previously been focused on his hands in his lap. I don't go to say a word, not only having nothing in particular to say but also because it's his turn to talk and I don't wish to take that away from him. He can take as long as he needs.

"Th-that came ou-out w-wrong." He shakes his head side to side, letting out a less than humorless laugh as he does though.

I just squeeze his hands a bit tighter in response and smile up at him. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and one more.

"I-I do-don't l-like to t-talk." He corrects his previous statement.

I feel my eyebrows furrow a bit in confusion. He's told me this before, that first day we had lunch together I believe. Not that he can't tell me again, of course, but more so I can't tell why he's repeating it back to me. Apart of me thinks it's him indirectly telling me he doesn't want talk to be but with the way he's gripping my hands I feel that can't be true.

"I-I, it's, the-theres a r-reason." He continues, chewing at his bottom lip as the room goes quiet.

"There's a reason." I reiterate, not knowing what else to say but also wanting to make sure Zanthus knows I'm present and actively listening to him. He nods his head in confirmation, looking back up so his eyes meet mine.

"You pr-probably al-already know," He closes his eyes and his face twists up into one looking of distaste. "I s-s-stutter, w-when I t-talk." It almost comes out below a whisper, but I'm able to catch it.

The grip of his hands in mine is almost cutting off circulation at this point, but I don't mind a bit.

"Do you mean when you nervous?" I ask, and he shakes his head so I try again. "All the time then?" It's still for a minute, but I see him slowly begin to nod, answering my question.

"Yeah." He breathes out smoothly, his voice barely detectable, but just there.

"What's wrong with that?" I propose shortly after he's spoken.

"W-what?" He asks incredulously, and my frown deepens.

"Stuttering. You said that's why you don't like to talk. But I don't understand. I'm truly not meaning to come off as insensitive, I just want to know from your perspective why it holds you back from talking." I clarify, and I truly hope that I'm not appearing as disrespectful in his eyes with my response.

He nods his head hesitantly and takes one of his hands from mine to bring it up and ruffle his hair, a nervous habit of his I now presume. "It's ju-just, it's s-st-stupid." He mutters, slumping back further against the headboard and slightly into the pillows.

"Hey, none of that then. I didn't mean it like, I'm sorry I'm horrible at wording things. I didn't mean to make it seem like you're invalid for not wanting to talk because you stutter. That wasn't my intention at all, and I truly don't think that either. I just, I'm curious, if that's alright with you. Like, did something happen that makes you feel that way? Or is it..." I trail off, leaving room for him to answer himself.

"N-nothing hap-happened." He whispers immediately, "It's n-not like th-that. It's j-just em-emb-em-" My heart aches a bit as he groans and takes his remaining hand in mine and moves to bury his face in both of his own.

I don't quite know how to deal with the situation at hand. I'm certainly telling him he's alright won't do anything, likely either make him more upset or have no effect. Though at the same time, I feel I need to say something, deciding what to say is the tougher part of this all.

It's silent. Until it's not.

"One time Will convinced me to do all of his chores for him. He told me that if I finished fast enough there would be a unicorn waiting in the backyard for me. Which I so obviously believed, considering I was nine at the time." I start hesitantly, though become more confident seeing Zanthus's form relax a bit at the deflection of attention on his end. "Of course. There was indeed no unicorn waiting for me in the backyard. Only eight-year-old tears and Will groaning on the floor from me kicking him where it hurts." I continue, feeling quite chuffed at the reaction I've pulled from the pretty boy in front of me.

"Oi! Don't laugh, it was tragic. I proper made his room up and all of that. A diligent worker I was. A diligent worker expecting a unicorn." I can't fake an upset expression at the moment for the life of me."WIll proper deserved what he got, you know it's true." The beaming smile on my face contradicts the grumble of my tone.

The air between us settles again, feeling much lighter to what it did at the beginning of this just some time ago. I watch as Zanthus takes a breath, and then one more, me following in suit just for good measure. It's silent again.

Until it's not.

"It's em-embarrassing." The soft voice I've grown so fond of in a short amount of time cuts through the air. "I-I just, do-don't..." He doesn't finish his sentence, and I'm sure with the look he's sending he figures I can draw my own conclusion. I do.

"Okay." I nod my head, taking a few beats to gather my thoughts. "I think your stutter does make you different, and I recognize it and how it makes you feel, though I don't think it makes you any lesser compared to me. Surely I don't think there's anything wrong with it." I start carefully, choosing my words carefully.

Zanthus stays quiet, fidgeting with the duvet in front of him now. I take this as a sign to continue.

"I'm not going to say it doesn't affect anything. It makes you sound different, yeah, your voice and mine aren't the same, but I will say that it's not an issue. Our differences, they make us individual, they're beautiful. Society does a terrible job of accepting them, and I can understand to an extent why it may be so hard for you to talk. You're the one who has to deal with the bad end of things firsthand, and you are entirely valid in how you feel." I can't make out how the boy sat in front of me is feeling at the moment.

I'm the one taking a deep breath this time. And another one. One more.

"I want you to know I'm not society. I'm apart of it, as are you and everyone else around us, but I'm still myself. And like myself, I'm telling you I find nothing laughable or anything of the sort when it comes to you talking. I won't ever judge you for it, and I mean that with everything in me. I hate that you even feel like it's something that shouldn't be accepted because it should be without question." Zanthus is still silent where he sits, a bit more still now, hands barely moving.

"The way you talk isn't what determines your worth. I like you. Your personality, the environment you bring, the way you make me feel around you. I wasn't drawn in by how you talked. I won't be bothered to push myself away from you because of it either. How you talk, it's just a small part of you. Miniscule in comparison to the entirety of your character. It doesn't alter my view on you at all." I truly hope he believes the words falling from my mouth. I truly, truly do.

He's quiet. Doesn't move to have his eyes meet mine. Doesn't move to clasp my hands in his own. Doesn't move to intertwine our fingers, to say a word. He's completely and utterly still. He's completely and utterly still, and I'm completely and utterly afraid.

"I think you're beautiful when you stutter and when you don't. I think you're beautiful and don't need to change anything or hide anything when you're around me because my thoughts on you won't waver if you do or if you don't" I offer softly.

I don't miss the way his hands twitch and go to grip the white duvet tightly between his fists. I wait a few seconds and work up some courage, then reach out slowly and place my hands atop his. I allow him to pull back, though he doesn't do so, which leads me to continue my original plan and untangle his hold on the fabric.

I replace the duvet with my hands, tangling our fingers together delicately. I don't mind that he hasn't looked up at me yet.

"I think you're quite beautiful just the way you are." You could hear a pin drop if someone were to do so at the moment.

I don't know what I expected to come from my ramble to the dark-haired, unsure boy with pretty hair and pretty eyes and pretty everything sat in front of me. I don't know if what I said was offensive, or if it helped, or if he even believed a word that came out of my mouth, let alone cared. I don't know what I expected from the hesitant boy who admitted he stuttered when he talked to me just a bit ago.

I don't know what I expected, though I surely didn't expect to feel tears dripping down onto my hands.

My heart stutters-ironically-when I feel the fourth drop. It lands on my thumb, the salty pocket of water sliding down my finger the short distance to Zanthus's. I can't pinpoint why he's crying, if he's upset if he's relieved, the possibilities are endless. All I know is that I feel the urge to wrap my arms around him and hold him close to me-despite him being the larger of the two of us and to keep that way until his tears subside.

So I do just that.

I release our jumbled hands as I readjust myself to be closer to him. I have to prop myself up a bit on my knees to reach his height, though I pay no mind to my odd positioning and immediately work to pulling him into me.

It's awkward, that's the first thought that comes to my mind while I hover the bed slightly with his warm body slotted against my own. His trembling body, quiet sobs now racking through him. I hesitate to hold him tighter, still not sure if this is something he's up for or not, but when his arms come up to gently wrap around my waist I let out a relieved breath.

I don't open my mouth to say everything is alright because to be quite honest I don't know if everything is alright. I don't open my mouth to tell him he'll be okay, because I'm sure the platonic condolences aren't something he wants to hear at the moment.

I settle for staying silent and holding him closer in exchange for whispering that things will be alright to him. I can only hope at this moment that me just being here is enough. At least, enough to hold him over for now.

So I hold him quietly while he cries. His tone fluctuates, from his cries being near-silent to heavier sobs cutting through the air. I just continue to hold him, allowing him to hold back as tight as he pleases, no complaints on my end, even if my breathing is a bit shallower with how heavily he's wrapped around me.

Then again, my breathing is also a bit shallower because I'm doing my best to contain my own tears. It's incredibly hard, considering how Zanthus is essentially falling apart-temporarily-in my arms. I feel a few stray tears slip, and a few more, though my tears aren't the ones that are important at the moment.

It feels as if it's been ten or so minutes when the dark-haired boy's sobs turn into quiet cries, then into soft whimpers, and then they cease to exist. Silent hiccups are all that are left. I don't make a move to let go of him, and he doesn't either, so we stay as we are.

I feel his arms tremble a bit around me, but they grow firmer as time goes by and his grip loosens in follow with this. His right arm is the first one to slowly retract from around my waist, his left following until they both droop down by his sides. His face is pointed down, though I can see the remnants of tears shining in the light on the roses of his cheeks.

I lean back, letting my form relax on my heals and dropping my hands to rest in my lap. Zanthus's sniffles are the only sound in the room, making an appearance every now and then, but other than that there's nothing. It's silent, entirely still.

Until it's not.

"M-my mum le-left." His tone wavers, raw and uncut.

"Yeah?" I urge him to continue if he's up for it of course.

He nods his head cautiously, "Y-yeah." He pauses, "When I-I was s-se-seven." His tone gets quieter and quieter by the second, but it's nothing to pay much mind to since it's still audible.

"That's young," I comment softly, being careful not to say anything that may trigger something within him.

He hums in a noncommittal manner, his downcast eyes slowly turning up to peer around the room. They start on the right side, tracing along the walls until they get to just about me. He hesitates for a second, and then his eyes lock with my own and my breathing gets a bit tighter while my stomach flips.

"I-It wasto-tough." Zanthus mumbles and I reach out to tangle one of his fidgeting hands with my own in response. "She h-has..." He trails off, and I feel the distinct squeeze of his fingers against my own. "A b-bit of a pr-problem. Problems." The meaning of his words could be endless.

I don't pry any further though, Zanthus can expand when he feels comfortable. At his own pace.

"M-my dad, w-we get along re-really well." And that's the end of the topic of his mum.

"Yeah?" I let out which he nods to in response, a shy smile growing on his face. "Tell me more about him?" I propose.

So he does.

He tells me all about his dad, and all about the fond memories the two of them made throughout his childhood. How even though his father was out a lot for work, he always made sure to make time for Zanthus, Zanthus and Xander at many times as well. Tells me about their relationship and how it got stronger when his mother left, despite the despair at the time.

So I tell him about the select memories that I've got with my own parents, them being few and far between. For the majority of the times I talk, it's more of my relationship with Will, the growth of it, my own personal growth, and some. About how even though it was hard not having parents to wake me up on my birthday, that William did an excellent job at making it more than special each year.

I'm not surprised by how Zanthus minimizes the number of words he uses to explain things and to tell stories. He trails off a lot, leading me to finish the rest of his sentences on my own, though it's pretty easy in the instances which he does this and I don't mind it at all. I didn't expect him to just up and hurdle his insecurity because of some lousy words, it'll take more than that. It'll take time.

But. Time is all we have. Tons of it. So there's no bothering to be done about the current.

"I'd really like to continue this conversation with you another time," I say as I stand at the top of the foyer, door open with Zanthus mirroring my position on the welcome mat outside.

His smile, like sunshine, lights up the dark sky that's swallowing him and a pink tint sweeps his cheeks. "I-I'd like th-that."

"Alright then." I nod my head in confirmation. "Monday? Before sixth-form starts? Seven-thirty?" I offer, wanting to say tomorrow but also not wanting to seem too needy.

"Yeah." He runs a hand through his dark hair before letting it down to rest in his front pocket, mirroring his other hand.

"Yeah," I repeat back, my smile growing by the second.

"I'll see on Monday then. Seven-thirty." I let out softly.

"P-p M?" His joke isn't the funniest, but it's Zanthus and his smile is so endearing and he looks so proud of it so I can't stop the laugh tumbling past my lips.

"PM, of course." I tag along, earning a quieter laugh from his end, but still a laugh nonetheless.

We both stand still in quiet of the night, me not moving to close the door and Zanthus not moving to walk towards his car parked just up the drive. I'm about to open my mouth again to speak, but am stunned silent when I feel a pair of lips press against my cheek.

They're a bit chapped, albeit being out in the cold air for some time, but it's not a bother because the touch of them is so soft and that makes them feel all the softer. It's not light quick, though it's not dragged along. Zanthus's lips simply meeting my cheek and politely parting at just the right pace.

My cheeks are burning, there's no question of it. A sheepish smile is spread across the culprit's lips, a bit of fringe falling across the front of his forehead, only to be swept away as his nervous habit returns and he runs a hand through his hair.

"Monday," I mumble back, smile shy and face flushed, not really sure what else to say.

"M-Monday." Zanthus repeats, tone just as soft as my own. "Th-thank you." His hand reaches out and squeezing my own, just for a few seconds before he releases it and turns, slowly heading back towards his car.

I fall asleep with a smile brighter than any star on my face, and come Monday I wake up with that same smile.

So we talk on Monday morning. Text Monday evening.

Talk Tuesday morning. Text Tuesday evening.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, pass. The same cycle repeats. Talk, text. Talk, text. Talk, text.

He walks me to my classes all the days, sitting next to me when we have the same ones and saving a spot for me to his right at lunch each day. It's nice, so incredibly nice, and so informative in one.

I learn about how he and Xander meant. Babies, so they don't remember, only knowing they've been inseparable ever since. I learn that Xander's got six siblings. All sisters, who Zanthus is tremendously fond of, though they don't live in London, rather in a town somewhere in South Yorkshire. They visit sometimes, and sometimes Zanthus and Xander go up.

I learn that his dad makes time every month to come home for a week, sometimes even and some. About how this month-October-he hadn't been able to get a whole week, instead of staying the first four days, but reasoning that he would be home three of the four weeks in November.

I learned his favourite sport was football, and how he despised playing goalie. About how he preferred tea over coffee, water first, then the milk, then the tea, no sugar. I learned about how his mum calls sometimes, but she still has her problems-still unidentified-so it normally doesn't end well.

I learned about Zanthus. Who he was, who he is, what he likes, what he doesn't, and some. I learned as much as he allowed me to, and gave back just the same to him, hoping he was just as interested as I was through each interaction over this week.

So I'm sat on my bed, lying across actually, waiting for a message that may not come. Because the weeks come to an end and I'm not sure whether or not we're meant to pause and continue our routine Monday or keep it on through the weekend.

Williams away at work, as he has been the past week, we've talked a bit but not too much. Things aren't completely well off between us, but in time that'll come, as that apology to Zanthus is still up in the works. My phone lets out a soft ring, and I feel a bit of anxiety rushes through my veins at the possibility of it being Zanthus.

It is.

"Oh christ." I breathe out to my empty room, repositioning myself so I'm sat upright in my bed, leaning against the sleek yet comfortable headboard. I fumble with my phone, flipping it upright so it's the right way, before hovering my thing over the green answer button. "Right, right. I've got this." I mumble to myself before touching my thumb down to the screen.

I miss the button, of course, huffing at my slip of the thumb and going for it again, freezing a bit when I realize it's connected.

"Er-Hello?" I cringe at the squeaky nature of my tone, praying silently that Zanthus won't notice it.

"Hi." A deep gravelly voice responds, and I feel my insides flutter a bit, per usual.

"Hi, yeah. Hi." I breathe out, smoothing my hair down in seek of solace to my flushed state.

"Y-you already s-s-said that, A-angel." There's an obvious teasing undertone to his voice, and I can't stop the heat that rises to my cheeks at his comment.

Thank everything this isn't a facetime call. That would be terrible and entirely tragic. Nothing short of it. It's just a phone call, which I can handle. I can. Absolutely.

"Oh hush." I snap back, my laugh contradicting to my comment. The line settles as both of us do. It's quiet.

Until it's not.

"Zanthus." I draw out his name a bit, and I hear him take a deep breath on the other line.

"R-right." He speaks low, tone quiet but loud enough for me to hear, per usual.

"Right," I repeat.

"I-I was wo-won-wo-" His side of the line goes quiet. I imagine him tugging a hand roughly through his hair in frustration, causing a frown to fall upon my lips.

I stay quiet. Something I had learned to do through our many conversations over the week. It's better this way. I've found it eases him more than encouraging him to speak. Just being patient, giving him time to pull his words together without feeling rushed or some of that.

"I was w-wondering if yo-you'd like to g-go out to-tonight?" His words are rushed but slow and carefully spoken in the same.

It's me who's quiet this time. Zanthus isn't.

"A-Angel?" He calls out softly.

"Zanthus." I breathe lightly.

"Angel." I can hear the nervous edge to his voice so decide to leave the teasing behind.

"Zanthus." I repeat back, though this time, "Are you asking me to go out with you tonight?" I propose. My own tone sounds nervous when it cuts through the air, but they're no surprise there as I am truly nervous.

"Yes." He affirms.

"Are you asking me to go out with you tonight, on a date?" I propose, words careful and the better half of me hanging off the edge of everything as I wait for his response.

If it's no.

"Y-yes." He confirms cautiously.

My heart skips a beat. And another. And possibly one more for good measure.

"I-" I begin, but am soon cut off.

"I-If that's al-alright with you, of c-co-course." Zanthus stumbles over his words, and it's nothing short of endearing. Then it's quiet.

Until it's not.

"Of course it's alright with me, you idiot," I respond after a beat, heart pounding in my ears and stomach feeling like it does when you drop from the top of a roller coaster.

I hear a breath-which I'm assuming is of relief-pass from Zanthus.

"R-right." His tone isn't too steady, and I can't tell if that's due to excitement or prolonging nerves.

"Right," I repeat back to him.

"Right." His voice sounds lighter now, a bit more relaxed than it was seconds ago.

"Zanthus." I laugh and beam even wider when I hear his own laugh cut through over the line.

"R-right." He chokes out, then he's quiet. Taking a second to reel it back in I assume. "I-I'll pick y-you up at s-s-six then?" I can barely hear him over the line, though since I've learned to listen intently to him when he speaks I just catch his proposition.

"That'll work, yeah," I reply back, tone soft. The lines quiet.

Until it's not.

"Y-you look be-beautiful." Zanthus's voice breaks through the quiet air.

Air. I need air.

"You can't even see me." I point out, and it's almost like I can feel his smile through the phone.

"I d-don't ne-need to." He starts, "You al-always look pr-pretty." I don't think I could flush any redder than I am in this moment.

"I-I-" I cut myself off, not even sure what to respond. Zanthus has me at a total loss.

A total, flustered, pink-tinted loss.

"S-s-six?" He deflects the topic to something new, to both my aid and displeasure.

"Six," I confirm, still shocked but not too much so to not be present in the conversation.

"AM?" His tone is the same teasing it was that Friday night that seems so long ago but was really just last week.

"AM, of course." I play along, smile wide as ever. "That'll be it then." I continue, "Six AM." My cheeks ache from smiling, though I can't complain in the slightest.

"S-six AM."