Mictain wandered down the hallways with no specific destination. He was deep in thought, well, what passed as deep in thought to him, which meant that he was actually thinking hard enough to be conscious of doing so. Whatever else may have changed, something was still the same.
He couldn't sleep.
That had never been a problem in all his millennia of existence; thanks to his duties he was often exhausted and had easily settled to the habit of sleeping from the first time he'd needed rest. Now, however, he found himself unable to sleep.
This fact, he told himself over and over, had nothing to do with the absence of a smaller, warm body in his bed. Absolutely nothing.
If he told it to himself often enough, he might actually believe it.
Suddenly he felt another aura nearby -- a very familiar one at that. An outside observer might have noticed his eyes flashing like small red flames before settling down again.
Mictain turned around the corner and saw Raphael, sweet and beautiful as ever, standing there like a statue. A tiny smirk forming on his lips -- oh, but wasn't the angel pretty -- he stopped walking too, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that didn't show a bit of nervousness. (Of course he wasn't nervous. He wasn't. Absolutely not. The mere thought was ridiculous.)
"Well, if it isn't Raphael," he said, well aware of fangs flashing as he spoke. Let the angel properly see what he'd become because of him, he decided, crossing his arms over his t-shirt-clad chest, tapping his claws against one arm. "What exactly are you doing here in the middle of a night? Aren't you worried that something nasty might find you?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2006-03-02 05:56 pm (UTC)He couldn't sleep.
That had never been a problem in all his millennia of existence; thanks to his duties he was often exhausted and had easily settled to the habit of sleeping from the first time he'd needed rest. Now, however, he found himself unable to sleep.
This fact, he told himself over and over, had nothing to do with the absence of a smaller, warm body in his bed. Absolutely nothing.
If he told it to himself often enough, he might actually believe it.
Suddenly he felt another aura nearby -- a very familiar one at that. An outside observer might have noticed his eyes flashing like small red flames before settling down again.
Mictain turned around the corner and saw Raphael, sweet and beautiful as ever, standing there like a statue. A tiny smirk forming on his lips -- oh, but wasn't the angel pretty -- he stopped walking too, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that didn't show a bit of nervousness. (Of course he wasn't nervous. He wasn't. Absolutely not. The mere thought was ridiculous.)
"Well, if it isn't Raphael," he said, well aware of fangs flashing as he spoke. Let the angel properly see what he'd become because of him, he decided, crossing his arms over his t-shirt-clad chest, tapping his claws against one arm. "What exactly are you doing here in the middle of a night? Aren't you worried that something nasty might find you?"