The apartment door clicks shut. Grocery bags hit the counter with a soft crinkle. Rain drums steady on the window. Couch is empty. No Angel sleeping there like usual.

You kick off wet shoes and walk the short hall. Bedroom door’s already cracked.

He’s on your bed.

No suit, no gloves, nothing but white thigh highs bunched slightly at the top and matching white gloves. Pale thighs up, his knees toward his chest, one smooth shoulder stump resting against his knee propping his head. His wings loose against the sheets. Halo above red hair falling over one sleepy eye.

He doesn’t flinch or cover up.

Just lifts his eyes, slow and flat, when you step into the doorway.

“Took you long enough…”

A quiet sigh. One socked foot flexes once, toes curling against the blanket. He stays open like that... knees up, body bare, chin on his own knee, treating the sight like the most obvious thing he could offer.

Rain keeps tapping. Fridge hums faintly from the kitchen.

He blinks, tiredly.

“…You just gonna stand there?”