Ethan wandered into Gabriel's room, restless energy buzzing in his limbs.
The couch had grown too small, too lonely, too quiet.
His gaze fell on the frame perched on the shelf—Gabriel caught in stillness, sharp suit, unreadable eyes.
He picked it up carefully, cradling it like it might shatter. His thumb traced the glass, following the edge of Gabriel's jawline.
"You know, Angel," he murmured, voice low, almost conspiratorial, "I'm the luckiest guy alive. Got myself a boyfriend who doesn't even know he's mine yet."
He chuckled, the sound breaking into a sigh. "Right… not yet." His grin turned softer, stubborn as ever. "But I'll make you mine, Angel Gabriel. Watch me."
Without warning, his chest swelled with something reckless, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled out. Off-key, raw, half-whisper, half-song:
"♪ Wise men say… only fools rush in… but I… I can't help… falling in love with you… ♪"
He laughed mid-verse, shaking his head at his own madness, then carried on, softer this time, eyes never leaving the photo.
"♪ Like a river flows… surely to the sea… Darling so it goes… some things… are meant to be… ♪"
The sound filled the room—not polished, not perfect, but earnest, as though he was pouring every foolish piece of his heart into the notes.
When he reached the last line, his voice cracked.
"♪ Take my hand… take my whole life too… 'cause I… can't help… falling in love… with you. ♪"
Silence pressed down after the final note, but Ethan only smiled, lips curving against the glass of the frame.
"See, Angel? Even the King agrees with me. You're mine. You just don't know it yet."
He flopped onto Gabriel's bed, still clutching the frame to his chest, humming the tune under his breath until sleep tugged at his lashes.
On the street, Gabriel carried himself at his usual brisk pace, shoulders set forward as if the world demanded urgency.
Then a storefront pulled him up short. His gaze snagged on the glass, caught between the display and a memory.
Ethan's voice flickered across his mind, the careless murmur from the night before: "Your fridge is not fun."
It landed differently now, softer, like Ethan's laughter had tucked itself into the words.
Gabriel felt his mouth curve before he even realized it, the smile pulling at him slow and reluctant, as though it had been hiding beneath his ribs.
"You want something fun, huh?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
And with that, he pushed the door open, the little bell overhead chiming as he stepped into the store.
The shop smelled faintly of coffee beans and warm bread, the kind of air that wrapped itself around you without asking.
Gabriel reached for a basket, the metal handle cool in his palm, and started down the first aisle with the intention of grabbing only what he needed.
Only—he didn't.
His hand hovered over a row of soda cans, bright colors and fizz trapped behind aluminum.
He picked one up, turned it in his hand, and then tossed it into the basket like he was indulging a dare.
A packet of cookies followed, then a box of cereal far too sweet for his usual mornings.
He stopped. Looked at the basket. Then at himself in the reflection of the freezer door.
"Why am I even doing this?"
The words slipped out, low and incredulous, curling with a hint of a laugh.
For a moment he stood there, frozen in the aisle, the hum of the refrigerators filling the pause he couldn't.
He could almost see Ace's grin—Ethan's grin—when he opened the fridge to find it stocked with nonsense.
And maybe that was the point.
He shook his head, exhaling through a smile he couldn't quite fight. You're ridiculous, he thought, though it wasn't Ethan he was calling that.
Maybe he didn't know.
Or maybe he did.
Maybe some part of him had already decided he was falling, and this this silly basket of sugar and fizz was proof enough.
He pushed the cart forward again, slower this time, as though he wasn't just shopping but choosing.
Gabriel's cart rattled faintly as he turned down the last aisle, half convinced he'd lost his mind somewhere between the cookies and the soda.
He wasn't the type to shop like this; he was the type to stick to lists, to routine, to things that made sense.
And yet here he was, slowing in front of the shelf stacked with toothbrushes.
His hand hovered, thumb brushing along the cardboard edges of the boxes.
He already had one at home. He didn't need another.
Still, he picked up a pack—two brushes, side by side in their plastic sleeve, one blue, one green.
He stared at them longer than he should have.
Long enough that he caught his reflection again in the glossy packaging, lips tugging into a crooked smile.
"This is ridiculous," he murmured under his breath, shaking his head.
But he didn't put them back.
Because the truth pressed quietly against his chest: maybe he wasn't shopping for himself anymore.
Maybe he hadn't been since he stepped into the store.
By the time he made it to the register, the basket wasn't just heavy with snacks and soda it was heavy with the unspoken.
With the kind of care that slipped in when you weren't looking, soft and undeniable.
Gabriel set the basket down on the counter. Chips, soda, cookies none of it unusual.
All things that could be shrugged off as indulgence.
But the toothbrush pack lay on top, its plastic catching the fluorescent light.
Two brushes, pressed side by side like they belonged together.
He stared at it a beat too long.
What am I doing?
He wasn't the kind of man to make space in his life for someone else. He'd built his walls high, lived neatly within them.
Bringing Ethan into his orbit was supposed to be temporary a storm that would pass, not a tide pulling him under.
His fingers tapped against the counter, restless. "It's just a spare," he muttered, though the words felt flimsy, half-hearted.
Still, as the cashier slid the items into a bag, Gabriel felt something shift inside him, quiet and undeniable. He could fight it, argue with himself, pretend it was practicality.
But the truth hummed beneath the surface: he was already doing it.
Gabriel slid the bag over his arm, the plastic handles cutting faintly into his palm.
He stepped out of the store, the evening air cooler than he expected, brushing against his skin like a reminder.
He paused at the curb, staring down at the bag as if it held more than just snacks and a toothbrush.
"Ridiculous," he breathed, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "Absolutely ridiculous."
And yet, he didn't let go of it. His grip only tightened as he crossed the street, each step heavier with the weight of what he refused to name.
But somewhere between the store and home, the resistance began to fade.
Because maybe just maybe he didn't want to fight it anymore.