Were he any less exhausted, the odd formation of Angel's smile would ping the ever-present paranoia in Gaeta's head. Not human. (Which, of course, Angel isn't, and he knows as much, but -- like so many other instances in Gaeta's life -- it's easy to pretend otherwise.)

Instead, he nods tiredly, a pathetic sort of gratefulness in his eyes, and leans against him. Like dead weight, ironically enough. He even draws both legs onto the couch to make himself more comfortable.