Gabriel stood at the mirror, straightening his tie with practiced precision.
The morning light slipped across his shoulders, sharp lines against a man who looked like he belonged anywhere but here.
Behind him, Ethan lingered at the doorway, hair messy, expression equal parts sulky and amused.
"So that's it?" Ethan drawled, leaning his head against the frame. "Off to work, leaving your poor patient to suffer alone? Very husband of you, Angel."
Gabriel's hand paused on the knot of his tie, eyes narrowing at the reflection. "You're not my husband."
"Yet," Ethan murmured, grin crooked.
Gabriel turned sharply, reaching for his jacket. "Don't start."
But Ethan did. He shuffled closer, clutching the blanket around him like a child. "At least promise you won't stay out too long. I could starve. Or collapse dramatically. Or—"
"Eat what's in the fridge," Gabriel cut in, slipping his arms into the sleeves.
His tone was clipped, but his eyes flickered, betraying that small crack in the armor.
Ethan sighed, throwing his head back as though abandoned. "You sound like every stern husband in a bad drama. Cold. Stoic. Heartless. Leaving his delicate spouse alone…"
Gabriel grabbed his keys, jaw tight. "Enough." He stepped closer, towering, gaze pinning Ethan in place. "Don't touch my things. Not a book, not a drawer, not anything. Understood?"
Ethan pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "What kind of man do you think I am?"
"The kind who can't keep still," Gabriel said flatly. He opened the door, cold air rushing in.
Ethan tilted his head, smile sly. "Careful, Angel. You keep talking like you know me."
Gabriel hesitated only a second before stepping out. The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence filled the apartment.
Ethan stood there, still wrapped in the blanket, lips twitching.
He whispered to the empty room, almost gleeful:
"Don't touch my things, huh?" His eyes darted toward the shelves, the desk, every corner Gabriel had just forbidden. "Challenge accepted."
The door clicked shut, Gabriel's presence gone like the snap of a string.
For a long beat, Ethan stood there, blanket cocooning him, listening to the faint echo of retreating footsteps down the hall.
Then slowly, deliberately his grin spread.
"Don't touch my things," he mimicked under his breath, lowering his voice into Gabriel's clipped, deadly-serious tone. "Understood?"
He snorted, tossing the blanket aside. "Please. He really doesn't know me at all."
The first stop: the bookshelf. Neat rows, perfectly aligned spines, not a single one tilted or out of order.
Ethan crouched, tilting his head. "Angel reads… philosophy?" He tugged a book free, flipping pages dramatically, then shoved it back slightly crooked just to see if it bothered him later.
He drifted toward the desk next, fingers grazing pens lined like soldiers.
His eyes caught on a small, leather-bound notebook. His pulse quickened, curiosity sparking. "What are you hiding, Angel?"
But before he touched it, he pulled his hand back, biting his lip. "No, no. Too obvious. He'll know. Start small, Ace."
He wandered into the kitchen instead, opening cabinets like a thief casing a house.
Rows of spices. Perfectly stacked plates. He leaned against the counter, muttering, "This man lives like a monk. No wonder he needs me around. I'm color."
The fridge door squeaked open.
Inside: water bottles, eggs, vegetables, containers labeled in Gabriel's neat handwriting.
Ethan groaned dramatically. "Angel, you're killing me. Where's the chocolate? Where's the fun?"
He grabbed an apple anyway, biting into it as he wandered back into the living room.
Juice dripped down his thumb. He licked it away, smirking to himself.
"Operation: Find What Angel Wants," he announced quietly, pacing. "If I figure him out, maybe I can get him to keep me."
He stopped at the window, rain streaking down the glass outside, city noise muffled.
His reflection stared back at him, hair messy,
Gabriel's too-big shirt hanging off his frame.
For a brief moment, his grin faltered.
"Keep me…" he whispered, softer this time. His chest tightened.
But then he shook his head, tossing the apple core into the trash with a grin. "Step one: break all the rules. Step two: make Angel laugh again. Step three…" He chuckled, settling back on the couch, blanket in hand. "Win him."
The couch sagged under his weight, blanket twisted around his shoulders like he couldn't decide if he was warm or cold.
Ethan sprawled there, the apple gone, crumbs from the stale crackers he'd found in the cupboard scattered on his lap.
He stared at the ceiling for a long while, counting faint cracks like constellations. "Angel Gabriel," he murmured, rolling the name in his mouth as though tasting it. "Really, what are the odds? Dad sets me up to marry some stranger, I run off, and instead I crash into… you."
His lips quirked, then softened, his gaze drifting to the door as if the man might walk back through it any second.
Every little detail of this place screamed order, discipline, control.
Gabriel's world was precise, stacked like the neat plates in his kitchen.
Ethan was the opposite mess, noise, color.
He kicked his feet lazily against the armrest, grin pulling wider. "No wonder he hates me. No wonder he can't look away."
Hours slipped by with the rain.
Sometimes he hummed to himself.
Sometimes he pretended he was asleep, only to laugh at the silence.
Sometimes his hand would lift to his lips, remembering the feel of Gabriel's mouth against his, the second kiss, the one that wasn't a mistake.
That thought stilled him every time.
"Love at first sight…" he muttered, voice quiet now, almost a confession. "And he thinks I'm joking."
Evening crept in, shadows crawling across the floor.
Ethan tugged the blanket tighter, rolling onto his side, eyes heavy but mind restless.
He traced the rim of the empty glass beside him with one finger, whispering, "You'll see, Angel. You won't get rid of me that easy."
And with that, he closed his eyes, pretending the faint hum of the city was his heartbeat slowing, waiting for Gabriel's return.