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“I think I love you, Blitzy.”
The words left Stolas’ beak before he could even process their meaning; he blamed both the absinthe and Blitzo’s warm body pressed against his.
No response, save for an abrupt snore. Blitzo had already fallen asleep, nestled in Stolas’ down feathers.
His eyes moistened.
His confession was pointless.
But that was fine. Stolas could tell him some other time. He was a Goetia, of course he could work up the courage.
When he wakes up, I can tell him. I will tell him.
He believed it, even though he knew it was a lie.