...WHAT? Jenna's back in the RENT fandom? :D Hey, everyone! I've missed it here. There needs to be more Angel/Collins appreciation on the interwebz. Just wanted to let you all know RENT is still in my heart. I saw it five times onstage, and I've seen the film countless times. Angel and Collins will always be my favorite pairing! Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: Rent belongs to the late, great Jonathan Larson.

"Here, honey, lean on my arm."

Angel Dumott Schunard glanced, amused, at her new boyfriend Collins as he stumbled into the apartment they now shared, his arm linked with hers for support.

He was completely and utterly drunk on the crisp morning of New Years Day. And it was quite the sight to see.

From what Angel had learned about Thomas Collins so far, she'd gathered he was an anarchist, but one who made his success by slipping under the radar. He was a quiet rebel.

But now, Collins was anything but quiet as he shuffled into the living room, sinking into the old couch with an obnoxious sigh.

"Man. Last night was funnn," he sing-sang, and Angel chuckled.

"Yeah, it was. But I think someone got a little too involved with the beer. I think you were paying more attention to it than me," she teased, flipping back a strand of fake blonde hair from in front of her face. Granted, she wasn't exactly Sally Sober at the moment herself, but out of the two of them, she was certainly the least tipsy.

Collins almost looked hurt as he turned to face her, his eyes widened. "What?" he slurred, "Impossible, Angel. I like you so much more than beer."

Angel rolled her eyes and smirked. "Do you, now?"

"Mmhm. 'Cause you're my Angel." He giggled, prompting Angel to do so herself.

"Collins. You're adorable when you're drunk, do you know that?"

He ducked his head, a wide grin spread across his face. "Naw." They sat side-by-side for a while, Collins absently leaning his head on Angel's shoulder.

"I think I'm gonna make us some tea," Angel mused, standing up once more, "I'm not tired at all. Are you?"

He shook his head. "Benny pissed me off too much. You knowww, Angel," He sniffed, removing the sunglasses from his James Bond costume and absently throwing them on the floor, "before the high-and-mighty life went an' corrupted him, he was a pretty decent---" Hiccup. "---guy."

"I'm sure he was," Angel said. Benny had caused a bit of a ruckus amongst Angel, Collins and their group of friends back at Mark and Roger's loft.

But Angel didn't want to think about any of that just then. She was much more focused on Collins' goofy grin that simply would not fade.

Yeah. He really was adorable when drunk. Which was yet another reason why she loved him.

Love. It was something Angel was always willing to give, but when it came to her own relationships, she was always afraid it wouldn't be well-received.

Saying "I love you" was a big step in a relationship. Angel didn't treat it lightly. Everyday with Collins so far, she'd thought it. Multiple times. But she'd never said it. There was always that fear in the back of her mind that maybe he didn't love her back.

She went off to heat up the water for the tea in the tiny kitchen. The huge pink high heels she'd been wearing for hours were starting to take a bit of a toll on her, but Angel chose to ignore it. There was a price to pay to look hot, after all.

"Watcha doin'?"

She jumped and whirled around to find Collins standing there (a bit lopsidedly), still grinning. "Collins," she said, placing two dainty hands on his shoulders as an attempt to steady him, "I think the question is what are you doing?"

"I missed you all the way over there," he sighed heavily, and she couldn't help but smile at that.

"You did?"

"Yeah. I realized that in the last few days, we haven't really been apart all that much." He was thinking out loud at this point, and Angel was intrigued. She let him go on:

"I like it. Being with you. No, I don't like it . . . " His words were running together, and she watched his effort to separate them one by one. "I . . . I love . . . "

Angel raised her eyebrows, her heartbeat quickening in spite of herself.

"I love you."

Her eyes widened. A few days ago, shy, adorable Thomas Collins came along, and she couldn't help but fall in love with him within moments of meeting him.

It had never crossed her mind that the feeling was mutual. If there was anything Angel had learned over the years, it was that she took a lot of getting used to.

She thought those three words, in their complexity and simplicity all at once, were all Collins had to say. And that would have been more than enough. Yet, he went on:

"Not . . . not just you." He shuffled forward to wrap his arms around her small waist. He was concentrating, his brows furrowed, his stare placed firmly in her eyes. "Every part of you. The way you move, the way you talk . . . "

Angel could do nothing but gaze up at him incredulously. Drunk Collins was very much a more open Collins. Angel knew from experience that a lot of the time, truths came out when alcohol stepped in. But she'd always assumed that Collins was just that sweet, quiet spirit: nothing more, nothing less. Alcohol or no alcohol.

Nonetheless, he stood there in her kitchen, completely confident in what he was saying. And she believed each one of his words.

"I love the way you're not afraid of what people think, how you're confident in who you are," he continued, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. "I knew it when I met you. And I don't know why the hell I hadn't told you yet." He hiccuped again, which Angel found nothing short of adorable, and though he'd been losing his balance and slurring his speech beforehand, these finishing words were loud and clear: "I love everything about you. Hell, I wish I were more like you."

Angel shook her head, smiling. "No, sweetie. You shouldn't wish that, at all." She playfully tapped his nose with a nail-painted finger. "You're gentle and sweet and one of the most loving people I've ever met. The fact that you're not like me; the fact that you're a person of your own is probably the reason why . . . " she trailed off, biting her lip nervously.

Collins tilted his head to the side. "The reason why what, Angel?"

"The reason why I love you, too," she finished, and she certainly did not expect his abrupt reaction.

He brought his lips to hers with confidence practically oozing from every pore of him. He brought her tighter against him, and she slinked her arms around his neck.

"Promise me," he muttered, "you won't let me forget any of this. Hangover's gonna be a bitch---" He smirked and she giggled, nodding in agreement, "---But you can't let me forget. I wanna treasure this. I love you." His brown eyes glistened with pride. "See? I said it again. I love you."

Angel buried her face against his chest. "I promise," she said, her voice muffled. "I love you, Collins. So much."

Angel could not remember a time she'd ever been more content in the arms of a man.

"Happy New Year", she couldn't help but think as Collins gently kissed her neck, was certainly an understatement.