The first light of morning bled in through the narrow curtains, painting the room in a pale, reluctant glow.
Gabriel swung his legs out of bed, movements measured, habitual. Shirt, pants, belt.
He stretched once, shoulders cracking faintly, then padded into the small kitchen.
The hiss of the kettle filled the silence, followed by the earthy aroma of coffee rising into the room.
Gabriel poured a mug, sat at the table, and let the warmth settle into his palms.
But his eyes… his eyes kept straying.
The boy-Ace-was still curled in a cocoon of blanket on the floor. No grumbling, no dramatic sighs, no endless chatter. Just stillness. Too much of it.
Gabriel frowned, turning back to his mug. He finished the coffee slowly, waiting.
Surely, any minute now, Ace would leap up with some nonsense about angels or hardwood floors.
But the minutes stretched thin, the only sound the ticking drip from the kitchen sink.
By the time the mug was empty, irritation pressed against his ribs.
Gabriel set it down harder than necessary, the ceramic clink sharp against the table.
He stood, crossing the short space, crouching low.
The blanket shifted faintly with Ethan's breath, but when Gabriel pulled it back, the sight froze him.
A sheen of sweat clung to Ethan's temple, hair plastered damp across his forehead.
His lips were pale, parted slightly as his chest rose in shallow pulls.
Gabriel pressed the back of his hand against his cheek—and the heat jolted through his skin.
"Damn it," Gabriel muttered under his breath. Fever. High.
He lingered there, hand still on Ethan's face longer than necessary, something unnameable tightening in his chest.
Yesterday's rain. That ridiculous stunt in the street. He should've known. He should've…
Gabriel exhaled hard through his nose, steadying himself. No space for panic. Just action.
He rose, tugging the blanket tighter around Ethan's shoulders, his voice low but firm even though Ethan couldn't hear him.
"You idiot… you really couldn't stay out of trouble for one night, could you?"
The apartment felt smaller now, the silence heavier—broken only by the rasp of Ethan's unsteady breathing.
Gabriel straightened, jaw tight, eyes scanning the cramped apartment as if the answer would appear between the cracked walls and the single chair.
Nothing useful. No medicine, no thermometer. Just him.
He pulled open the cupboard, found a half-clean bowl, filled it with cool water.
A faded cloth hung from the rack—he snatched it, dunked it, wrung it out, then returned to the figure on the floor.
Kneeling, he pressed the damp cloth gently across Ethan's forehead.
The boy stirred, mumbling something slurred and half-formed his lips moved around a name, maybe "Mom," maybe nothing at all.
The sound hooked somewhere deep in Gabriel's chest.
"Shh," Gabriel muttered, though it was more to himself than Ethan. He adjusted the blanket again, then went back for more water.
Each trip was the same: soak, wring, press.
His movements were steady, almost mechanical, but his eyes betrayed him—lingering on Ethan's face, on the way his lashes trembled against flushed skin, on the sharp edge of vulnerability that replaced the boy's usual arrogance.
Hours seemed to fold into minutes.
The cloth slipped warm in his hand; he dipped it again, cooler this time, brushed it across Ethan's temple, his jaw, down to the base of his throat.
At some point, Gabriel found himself speaking—not loud, not even meant to be heard.
"You picked the wrong stranger to bother, Ace. Anyone else would've thrown you back into the street."
Ethan shifted, a faint groan escaping.
Gabriel froze, then sighed, setting the bowl aside.
He brushed a damp lock of hair from Ethan's brow, fingers lingering a moment too long.
"You're impossible," he said quietly.
The rain outside had stopped, but inside, the air still held its weight.
Gabriel leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, yet his gaze stayed fixed on the feverish boy on the floor guarding, waiting.
Gabriel wrung the cloth out again, but the second it touched Ethan's skin he knew it was useless—already hot, fevered heat burning through like fire under fragile porcelain.
His jaw tightened. A curse pressed against his teeth.
"Damn."
The word came out low, almost swallowed.
He tucked the blanket tighter around the boy, pressing the edges down like a barricade, though fabric couldn't hold back this kind of storm.
Ethan shifted, lips parting, voice trembling out into the still air.
"Mom… don't go…"
The words carved through Gabriel sharper than glass.
His hand froze on the blanket.
For one reckless breath he almost answered, almost leaned in with something he had no right to say.
*I'm here.*
Instead he pushed back, rose fast, grabbed his jacket. Wallet. Keys. His boots struck hard against the floor as he left.
Rain drop hit him the second the door opened, cold air slapping him awake.
He kept walking, fast, no thought except finding what was needed—corner shop, pharmacy, anything with lights still glowing.
Money hit counters harder than intended; he didn't wait for change. Fever tablets. Lemons. Porridge oats. Anything, everything.
When he returned, breath fogging in the damp hallway, the key trembled once in his grip before sliding home.
Inside, nothing had changed.
Ethan still lay curled beneath the blanket, damp hair sticking to his forehead, body shaking. His lips moved faintly.
"Mhm… please…"
Gabriel dropped to his knees beside him, tore open packets with rough fingers. Tablets crushed, stirred into warm water.
He slid an arm under Ethan's shoulders, lifting him carefully until the boy's head lolled against his chest.
"Drink," Gabriel ordered, voice low but steady.
Ethan's lips parted. At first the liquid spilled, sliding down his chin, but Gabriel tilted the cup, steadied his hand, eased each swallow down his throat.
"That's it. Good. Just a little more."
Next came the porridge—lukewarm, bland, but fuel.
Spoon by spoon, patient despite the weak refusals, despite the groans.
Gabriel wasn't made for patience, but right now it was the only weapon he had.
When it was done, Ethan sank back, lashes damp against flushed cheeks, breath finally less jagged.
Gabriel set the bowl aside, sitting back on his heels. His chest felt too tight.
"You're a damn handful," he muttered.
Without thinking, his hand brushed across Ethan's brow, sweeping strands of hair away.
His thumb lingered just a moment too long at the boy's temple.
The room seemed to hush. Rain eased outside, the city shrinking to a far-off hum.
All that was left was this-Ethan, fragile yet stubbornly clinging, wrapped in Gabriel's blanket.
And Gabriel, sitting guard beside him, refusing to look away until the fever broke.
A faint rustle stirred the silence.
Gabriel's gaze snapped down just as Ethan's lashes fluttered, slow and heavy, dragging his eyes open.
"...Angel?" The word came out cracked, soft as breath. His gaze wavered, unfocused, but fixed on Gabriel all the same. "It's you, right?"
Gabriel stayed still, jaw taut, watching the boy fight his way through the haze.
Ethan's fingers twitched against the blanket, then lifted weakly, groping until they caught Gabriel's hand.
His grip was clumsy, fever-shaken, but desperate.
"Don't go…" His voice broke around the plea, raw and childlike. He tugged faintly, like he thought strength might return if he just willed it. "Stay. Please…"
Gabriel could have pulled away. Should have.
Instead, his knees shifted, gravity taking him down. He lowered himself to the floor, lying on his side beside the boy.
The blanket sagged between them, but Ethan closed the gap in an instant_arms sliding tight around Gabriel's waist, face pressed against his chest as though anchoring himself.
"Don't move," Ethan murmured, already drifting again, his voice muffled into Gabriel's shirt. "If you move, I'll fall…"
Gabriel's throat tightened. He lay rigid, staring at the ceiling, every muscle trained for escape.
But the small, burning weight against him wouldn't let go.
Slowly, he let his eyes drop.
Ethan's expression had softened, tension drained by sleep, but his hold only tightened—as if even in dreams he refused to release him.
Gabriel didn't lift a hand to stroke his hair. Didn't whisper reassurances.
But he stayed.
He let himself be held.
And when Ethan's breathing steadied at last—deep and even, the fever finally breaking—Gabriel closed his own eyes, surrendering, if only for a moment, to the quiet pull that kept him there.
His hand, almost without conscious thought, came to rest on Ethan's back.
Just to keep him steady, he told himself.
Just to make sure he didn't fall.