Robin

Anael was flying over the roofs of London, and beginning to fly lower, wondering where he would land today. There was a little frost on his wings and in his hair, from how high he had been flying, but he was barely aware of it, or how cold his skin would have been to the touch right then. The sun would warm it quickly enough now that he had regained lower heights, and he let the wing carry him where it might want, without any guidance from him.

He smiled warmly, with definite approval, at the distant sight of a naked figure sunbathing on the roof of a tall building and sipping a colourful drink through a straw, before his eyebrows raised as the wind carried him closer, and he was startled to recognise the person in question.

Not that it was a surprise that Robin would want to avoid tan lines.

At least, Anael hoped it was Robin; he had never met a puck he liked so much. When the wind veered to the side, he beat his wings to leave it behind and come closer, still cloaked to the eyes of anyone. He flew over to the roof, hopeful that it would be the puck who could, and did, love. He beat his wings a couple of times as he came down, sending gusts of wind across the roof, then appeared as bare feet touched the ground. He took a few steps, smiling at the puck before shedding his wings, now looking like nothing but a young man in simple jeans and a t-shirt.