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DeBlanc walked out of the bathroom, fresh out of the shower, and squinted at the dark room. Fiore was curled up under the covers and, seemingly, asleep already. "Always two beds", - DeBlanc thought to himself, disgruntled. After another moment of uncertainty, he crawled into the bed that Fiore was in, disregarding the other one. DeBlanc settled behind Fiore's back and wrapped his arm around him. Poor angel, in his exhausted human body. There was something different about him, indeed. "His skin", - DeBlanc realized. They didn't pay that much attention to it, as the change in DeBlanc's skin was far more notable. The rugged greenish-violet scales that used to cover most of his body were gone. The short, obtuse horns sticking out of his forehead weren't there either. His hands and face weren't grey. But Fiore changed, too. When they were in Heaven, Fiore's face and body were of a shy pink, white almost, color, evenly blended, perfectly monochromatic. The color of rose petals frozen in stone. But now there was a tint of tan on his face, upon his nose and cheeks. He had a mosquito bite on his forearm and several little spots here and there. Fiore used to feel hot, sizzling almost against DeBlanc, but now he felt warm and cozy.
DeBlanc's eyes slipped a bit higher traitorously. The domicile was there, on the nightstand. Empty. Very empty, it seemed. Not so long ago there was everything in there, and now - nothing at all. Painful memories emerged, of how DeBlanc would sing Genesis to sleep, reclined on the plain white bed, his open palm on the side of the can, the movement of Genesis inside tangible on his skin. He would sing a lullaby, and then, when Genesis fell asleep, would start humming quietly. Fiore would often come in and alight near him, and press his lips to DeBlanc's closed mouth, carefully not to interrupt the melody. The angel would then lay beside him, their fingers intertwined, Fiore's arms wrapped around DeBlanc's arm. And DeBlanc would watch Fiore slowly drift away into his light, delicate slumber.
Now Fiore was deep down in his leaden sleep. His mouth opened slightly, his lashes trembling in sync with his breathing. He looked so naked and vulnerable under those pricky motel covers, in that dim light of the night leaking through the tattered blinds, with all of his beautiful imperfections. DeBlanc couldn't help but press his lips against Fiore's skin eagerly, kissing the freckles on his sharp shoulder. Fiore didn't quite wake, but he made a soft sleepy sound and closed in the space between them, huddled up with his back to DeBlanc's chest. They fit together like a puzzle, not a single gap between them. They found comfort, even if for several hours only, within each other's warmth, and fell asleep, holding each other.