I dunno why I keep feel like writing about Blake. He's not particularly beloved to me yet, but maybe it's because I finally have more substance to him after almost 4 years of creation. Gives me a little hope that my other unused characters will somehow be important to me sometime. (a little rushed, but content nonetheless)

Blake has a hard time believing that he can adapt to such a cushy lifestyle.

He switches out his gloves and boots and light silver armour for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, his wings sticking out from the two jagged slashes in back. When Lily casts aside her robe and pulls him into bed, her long legs fitting back against his and her back against his chest, he doesn't fall into some cot of woven leaves or mossy bed. These are cotton sheets, and they make a quiet ssh ssh every time he shifts.

He curls an arm around her, pressing his face into her shoulder. She is warm and smells like cinnamon. That's a new flavour to him, for she has given him some mundane snacks to try, although he doesn't think they particularly have the same taste in foods. He is used to the faerie drinks, desserts, and animals of the Unseelie lands. They're sweeter and purer than the mundane dishes and sometimes he wants to make her try them, but he knows they are not fit for non-fae to eat. It can drive them to absurd madness, and he does not want to encourage such irrationality.

It is difficult to stay still for such a long time, but he finds sleep does not take him easily. His surroundings do not yet lull him, even if the prospect of being relatively safe at night is now a reality. Instead, he stars over her shoulder, watching as the shadows in the room change as the moon travels across the sky.

"I can tell you're awake, dipshit," Lily groans, sounding tired before shifting away slightly. "You get all frozen and stiff."

Blake almost apologizes, but he just pulls her back against him, his hand settled against her hip.

"I don't want to move and wake you." Annoyance in his tone is clear but he tries to push it away.

"Adorable." She mutters the word, but twists around to face him anyway, her face shrouded in the shadows of the room. "Why can't you sleep?"

He tries to shake his head, but he can't while laying down. "Don't worry about it."

Rolling her eyes, she reaches forward to trail a sharp nail down his cheek. He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't think he needs to. She's keeping him under scrutiny, and he'll gladly stay still if it means that he doesn't need to speak. He's not that good at talking nicely, or affectionately, and sometimes she shows him up with an even sharper tongue. But she doesn't keep her silence, and instead twists her fingers in his hair indelicately.

"Is your family missing you?" She asks, and pulls on his hair a little. "Do they know I've tempted you away?"

"It's more complicated than that," he protests, and doesn't move. She's hit a bit of a sensitive subject. "Faeries are usually tied greatly the blood, but...there are always exceptions. They weren't particularly concerned with me. Family isn't my strong suit."

"Do you want kids?"

That question surprises him, though he's heard of Shadowhunters moving through things quickly. Nevertheless, it brings a bit of shock to his thoughts.

"Not particularly," is all he manages, but he doesn't know why she's asking. He's never thought about any future, and she doesn't seem like she's particularly forward thinking either. He doesn't even know if they'll last, or if they'll kill each other in the process.

"Oh, good. I hate kids."

She tangles her bare legs with his and he can feel her warmth through his clothes. It's a little uncomfortable, for he's used to the cold air of the Unseelie and sleeping alone, but he doesn't shift. It's started to feel right breath hits his neck as she curves into him, and his cheek is pressed into the cool pillow. Fingers curl around his wrist and her nails bite into his skin, but he endures the sting anyway. It's nothing he can't take. If he pulls away, he is sure she'll tease him and then dig her nails in more, so he holds his breath and doesn't say a word.

He's not really able to talk to her in the day like they do at night. It's like the sun heightens her spite, and being around other people makes her treat him as more of a novelty instead of an equal. Perhaps that's what he deserves, though, seeking refuge in such a place. He's a Downworlder, after all, and her blood reigns supreme. That is a strange thought for him to have. He does not think he has thought about his blood in such a way before.

"Has there been anyone before me?" Lily inquires and shifts up to a semi-sitting position to watch him.

"What?" He knows what she means, but he needs a moment to stall and get over himself. No one asks these sort of things in the Unseelie.

She hisses quietly, playfully, and flicks a curl of hair from his face. "Don't play coy."

"...The answer to that is rather obvious, in my opinion," he answers instead and almost sounds haughty as an overcorrection to how he actually feels. "...I'm young compared to the others, anyway."

"Old enough for me."

He hasn't really grasped the idea of age and time yet.

Lily sinks back into the covers, pondering his face in deep concentration. Sometimes she makes that face when she's studying, and Blake doesn't have anything better to do but watch her. He likes it when he can observe without being observed back, but those moments are few and far between. Now, under the realization that he is being kept under examination, he feels mildly uncomfortable.

"Don't you have to get up early tomorrow?" He asks. She mentioned a meeting at dinner.

"Don't rush me." Her tone has grown sharp though her words are whispered, and Blake senses that she realizes sleep might be important for both of them to partake in.

She kisses him for a long moment, unceremoniously, and he uses her leniency to run a hand down her side until he can coax her to hook a leg over his hip. She's partly slung over him, and he settles against her carefully. This is when they're good. They fit well together, and even he gets that, finding the different ways he can draw her tighter to him as if she's his only purchase in this world of Shadowhunters and mundanes and mortality. Perhaps part of him - the part of Unseelie him that remains - is stiffening and recoiling at her closeness, but outwardly he melts entirely.

This new world with her is confusing and sloppy but he likes when they're messy together.

"G'night." Lily murmurs this and he's so lost in his thoughts, he forgets to answer.

His annoyance is long gone. He doesn't think he was really annoyed anyway, but sometimes that's easier to default in a place that still cannot welcome him entirely. A thought that he is not meant for the mortal world permeates his thoughts, and he does not push it away. It is right, but he can pretend he can wait it out for another year, or two, or five, until the mundane world eventually starts to wear at him like all other mortals. His blood makes him resilient, but not resistant.

He wonders if Lily knows how temporary she is. How small she is against the timeline of the world.

Through the night, he does not think he sleeps even though he gets close, and his eyes flutter shut for a few minutes every so often. His eyes trace the runes against her skin, and angels come to mind. They are timeless, and all-seeing, and all-powerful and he knows not why Shadowhunters are not granted longevity. Instead, they are fleeting. A puff of smoke carried away by a wicked breeze. A plucked flower, dying once it is harvested.

He doesn't believe he's had this thought before, but now he cannot help but think that life is unfairly and extraordinarily short.