Not moping.
“Well…fuck,” he grumbled, snapping back to the sanctity of his bedroom. If he had been hoping to find a touch of solace in the comfort of familiarity, he was wrong. It seemed the memory of Samuel refused to stop plaguing him, dogging his every waking minute. He heard the laughter of his lover, the way it made him feel something more than a lowly creature slinking around in the darkness. Samuel had a way of doing that, making him more than a demon. It was one of the many things he loved about the angel. “Oh, let me count the ways…”
He turned back to the window, the expanse of the city, and knew, somewhere out there, Samuel was doing his thing; whatever the hell that entailed. He didn’t fight; it wasn’t part of his nature. He was a lover, tasting the dark little bits of a human soul that was why he existed.