He glanced up at the sound of the familiar name, the tones hardly full of warmth, to see the man who waited down the hall. Liam studied him for a long moment before his attention was drawn back to Trystan, the finger on his lips, the demand to wait. There was no thought given as to whether he would or not, instead simply nodding once before he watched him move back to owner of the voice and whatever was requested of him there.
Keys were retrieved then, looped through his index finger, and Liam slipped into the room that he had claimed as his own - at least temporarily. He could still feel the pressure of that finger against his lips, and for a moment, he simply leaned back against the locked door to process. Remembering the details was still nigh on impossible, but the familiarity in the touch, in the name, that was something he couldn't deny.
Wait for me.
And he did. There was a shower taken, the room smelling of generic soap and shampoo, damp hair clinging to the nape of his neck as he sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped only in a towel knotted at narrow hips. White wings dripped with moisture, beading on the feathered surfaces. There were no real thoughts going through his head then, not the complicated thing he had with Seven, not the people in this town that were responsible for this, not the witch whom he had promised to meet but then fled in fear.