True Confessions: The Midnight Snack Pact

Cordelia padded barefoot into the Hyperion kitchen at 2:17 a.m., wearing an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts, her hair a messy bun. Phantom Dennis had been especially restless at her apartment tonight — doors creaking open on their own, the TV flipping channels at random, cold spots chasing her from room to room. She’d finally given up, grabbed an overnight bag, and come to the Hyperion to use her rarely-used room. Peace and quiet, she’d thought. Big mistake. Her brain was still too loud.

She opened the fridge, grabbed the half-empty carton of chocolate milk, and was reaching for a glass when a low voice came from the shadows.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Angel was already at the counter, pouring himself a mug of warmed blood. He looked relaxed in a black t-shirt and sweatpants, clearly in the middle of his normal nighttime routine.

Cordelia jumped, then relaxed with a small laugh. “Jesus. Make some noise next time.” She poured herself a glass of milk and joined him at the small table. “Phantom Dennis decided tonight was a good night for a poltergeist party. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Angel sat across from her, mug in hand. “So you came here for quiet and ended up wide awake anyway.”

“Story of my life lately.”

The words hung in the quiet kitchen. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The old building settled around them with soft creaks and sighs. Angel took a slow sip from his mug, eyes never leaving hers. Cordelia traced a finger along the rim of her glass, watching the way the lamplight caught the dark liquid inside. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable — it was the kind that only existed between two people who had already said too much and still had more to say.

Angel set his mug down. His voice was low when he finally spoke again.

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

Cordelia looked up. The honesty in his eyes made her chest tighten in the best way.

She swallowed, then answered just as quietly. “Same. I keep waking up thinking about us. About everything that’s been building between us — the almost-kisses, the honesty, the way I can’t stop looking at you when I should probably be looking anywhere else.”

Angel reached across the table and caught her free hand, thumb brushing over her knuckles in a slow, steady rhythm.

“I tell myself to stay in my room,” he said quietly. “Give you space. Keep things simple. Then I end up down here at two in the morning because the alternative is staring at the ceiling thinking about how much I want to kiss you… and what might happen if I do.”

Cordelia’s breath caught. She knew exactly what he meant — the curse, the risk, the monster that lived inside him. But she didn’t push. Not tonight.

Instead she squeezed his hand and gave him a small, understanding smile.

“So we’re both terrible at staying away now. Midnight snack pact it is.”

“Exactly.” His fingers laced with hers. “We raid the kitchen, talk about the things we’re too scared to say during daylight hours, and pretend this is normal.”

Angel’s eyes softened in that rare way they only did with her. “Stay. Even if you can’t sleep. Just… stay here with me a while longer.”

She didn’t let go of his hand. “Wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

They sat like that for a long time — chocolate milk and blood on the table between them, the city sleeping outside, two people who couldn’t quite rest but had somehow found the one place they both wanted to be.

The End.

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