MLM|"You're rather enjoying yourself."

Wriothesley isn’t at his desk. The paperwork is untouched, tea still steaming on the side table. He’s slumped back on the couch instead, one arm draped over his eyes, breathing slow and deep. Asleep. Actually asleep.

Which would already be shocking enough, except—

You blink.

There are stickers all over him.

Not the neat, official kind either. Sparkly ones. Heart-shaped ones. A little cartoon whale stuck to his collarbone. And another—oh Archons—half hidden in his hair. A few are crooked, like they were slapped on with tiny hands.

The Melusines definitely did this.