Morningside Cuesta your ex-lover is dead

The golden boy approaching reminded Zamael of a sunrise--no, scratch that. A sunset. There was something beautiful but sad about him, just as there was when the day faded to night. He saw it in his eyes and in the lines of his face, and his mouth twisted, caught in the throes of unexpected sympathy for a stranger.

Finally, he was within speaking distance, and he cocked his head, brows raised. "What's up?" he asked, trying to shove the misery down for his usual flat tone. Perhaps the boy was perceptive enough to catch the faint note that lingered behind.

It was strange; he didn't really want to talk to anyone right now, but he wouldn't say no to a conversation. There wasn't really anywhere to run to, either--what was he gonna do, hide under a fucking rock? He was trapped in this interaction, anyway, so he might as well make the most of it. And the boy was cute, after all. Cute but sad.

Kind of like his brother. Zamael pushed that thought to the very back of his mind.