Custom-Made Fantasy #3 (a "Love-Starved" drabble)

Angel closed the door and leaned against it heavily, shoulders slumping with relief. His keys clattered as they slipped out of his hand and to the floor, but he made no move to pick them up, suddenly too exhausted for that much effort. It was his fifth working night in a row, and a bad one at that.

He hated it when the clients tried to force him to stay longer than the agreed time, or worse still, overnight. It didn’t happen often, and every time so far, a firm tone and a warning that his “guardian” would come looking for him had worked well enough, but it was a scare nonetheless. Angel couldn’t help wondering what would happen if someone didn’t listen one day. It wasn’t as if anyone would really come. No one knew where he was when he went out on the job.

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