I knew the pathway like the back of my hand. {For Demetri}

Fabrice is exhausted when the witches' meeting finally breaks up. He sends his cats home ahead of him, wanting them to be able to rest and not having the energy to conjure up a glamour for them. His head feels sluggish from the wine and the volley of seemingly never ending arguments, especially between his cousin and Nerium. He loves Moira, but he worries that her stubbornness is going to get her in trouble one day, no matter how justified she feels in how she acts.

He lets out a sigh, wrapping his arms around himself as he makes his way through the park, much too consumed by his own thoughts to bother calling for a cab of any sort. Besides, he enjoys walking, even if his pace tonight is slowed by both his weariness from the meeting and lingering aspects of last night.

Last night. He finds himself smiling as thoughts and images of Demetri flicker through his mind, those blue eyes, that damned bewitching smile; his cheeks warm at the memories of his scorching kisses and sweeping touches. And then falling asleep with and waking up to the other man the next morning. He makes a wistful noise, not quite a sigh, at the thought of returning to a home without Demetri in it.

Then memories of the witches' meeting creep back into his thoughts again and Fabrice wishes, for once in his life, that he smoked.