Ambriel called out the name of his husband, though he knew that if Davian were asleep, no amount of shouting would actually help him.
This was the third place he was checking. This is where the drama students kept all the costumes and props they did not use for their current production. The room was large, messy and filled with plenty of tiny and dark nooks and corners one could hide in, preferably with a large piece of soft fabric.
Besides, this place appealed to Davian's preference for cross-dressing.
Ambriel rummaged around and it did not take long for the angel to strike gold: he found Davian behind a small replica of the Notre Dame, snuggled in clothes and blankets. Ambriel gently but insistently prodded Davian awake, the way he did every morning. "Davian?" he said, and there was something plaintive and almost brittle in his voice. "We need to talk?"