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[prinzzofhell]

There's a note left in the Mansion's kitchen, folded-over cardstock with the Metatron's name written in Beelzebub's tight scrawl. Without pleasantries, it's concise and to the point-- there's a room number, a time, and a signature. Once, it had almost had an I love you, but for the sake of public appearances (and there being more intimate

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[godsayshi]

Of course he'll have found it and of course he'll arrive, with the soft click of the room's door swinging open and the tread of cautious footsteps. The Metatron almost calls out, maybe with "What is it?" or even something more apologetic ("I'm sorry, is this the right room?"), before deciding against it.

Instead, he follows the trail of candlelight. It's cold out still, though spring is supposed to be around the corner, and his coat is pulled tightly around him. He steps into the bedroom and -- smiles, mingling relief and the happiness he always shows upon seeing Beelzebub. "There you are."

[prinzzofhell]

There's a pause before Beelzebub looks up, but it's careful, it's timed. When he smiles, though, it's real, expectant.

Perfectly casual, though by then there's something of mischief in his grin. "Thou'rt late, angel." He holds out a hand to draw Meta closer.

[godsayshi]

Meta's own smile widens as Beelzebub looks at him, an involuntary response for the most part. And he's willing pulled forward, although his mouth turns down at the corners just a little, in worry. "Am I? I'm sorry."

[prinzzofhell]

"Yezzz." He stands, then, somehow making it effortless. "But I forgive thee." A wink.