beglitteredpirate
The morning sun might've come and gone without Raphael ever knowing. No windows in that room, and there was only a false one in the office, enchanted to reflect the actual weather outside. Wallas was up early (after a hard seven hours), no hangover to hold him to the pile of blankets on the floor next to the bed. And he waited, patiently, stupidly happy, in his office (again, much less an office, more like a tiny kitchenette and seating area), hot cup of tea warming his hands. On the tiny table between his chair and the other was Witch's Weekly, page open to an interesting article on muggle fascination with vampire romance. Not that his mind was really soaking in the topic. Even after tea and biscuits… Wallas could still taste him.