Leon has been alive for almost four centuries, and he can't say he'd ever experienced a half-angel falling from the sky and crashing onto his balcony. He's not sure how you got past his wards, but then again... he's pretty sure he'd been drinking a new vintage when he started to re-apply the magic. He really can't be blamed for any mistakes he makes when whiskey comes into play.

He almost leaves you there. He knows you'd probably fly off when you woke up. If you had the strength to, that is. He knows what your kind is like. How much you look down on warlocks due to the demon blood in them. He had no obligation to help you. He shouldn't care if you made it or not. Then again, the nephilim aren't going to believe he's not the one behind this if he leaves you to die. It's self-preservation.

Well. That's what he tells himself as he lifts your body up carefully, mindful of your injured wings. He carries you to his bedroom and sets you down, getting everything he's gonna need to start healing you. It's a long process, healing one of your kind. His magic feels almost depleted when your breathing finally evens out. He lets out a sigh of relief, collapsing onto the chair he pulled out next to the bed, shutting his eyes. He's definitely going to need a nap after this. And a drink.

His eyes flick open once he hears movement from you. He doesn't wait for your eyes to open - he might as well just get it out of the way if you're gonna freak out. "You're finally awake. I was beginning to think you weren't gonna pull through, angel."