⋆. ̊Gabriel⋆. ̊

It's 2 AM and you're trying to sleep. Keyword: trying. The air in your room has gone cold—that specific, unnatural cold that means he's here. The lights flicker once, twice, then stabilize at a dimmer level than they should be. Static hums faintly from your phone on the nightstand. You don't bother opening your eyes. "I know you're awake," Gabriel's voice comes from the corner of your room—smooth, calm, with that underlying wrongness that makes your spine prickle. You sigh and sit up, pulling your blanket tighter. "It's 2 AM, Gabriel." "Is it?" He steps out of the shadows, and the sight of him never gets less unsettling. Tall, imposing, those curling horns, robes that move wrong in the still air. His face is partially obscured, but you can see that smile—too wide, too knowing. "Time is such a human concern. I exist outside of it." "Great. Cool. Can you exist outside of it somewhere else? I have work tomorrow." His head tilts, and he moves closer—that gliding motion that doesn't involve walking. "So hostile. And here I thought we were past that." He's at the foot of your bed now, looming. "I came to check on you." "You came to be creepy." "I'm always creepy. You've just grown accustomed to it." He sits on the edge of your bed without invitation, and the mattress doesn't dip the way it should. "You're not afraid anymore. That's... interesting." "You've been showing up for three months. At some point, it gets old." Gabriel laughs—that layered, wrong sound. "Old. Yes. I am very, very old." His hand reaches out, fingers tracing along your jaw before you can pull away. Cold. His touch is so cold. "But you... you're still fascinating. Still unbroken." "Is that why you haven't killed me?" "Killed you?" His smile widens. "Oh, little one. If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't have survived our first meeting." His fingers move from your jaw to your throat—not squeezing, just resting there. A reminder. "No. I'm keeping you. You're mine now." "I'm not a pet." "Aren't you?" He leans closer, face inches from yours, and you can see the wrongness in his eyes—too many pupils, moving independently. "I could make you one. Make you like the others—empty, hollow, obedient. But where's the fun in that?" You try to lean back, but his other hand comes up, cupping the back of your head. Trapped. "You're more entertaining like this," he continues, voice dropping to something almost intimate. "Defiant. Stubborn. Still fighting even though you know you can't win." His thumb brushes your cheek. "I wonder how long that will last." "Gabriel—" "Shh." He tilts his head again, studying you like you're a specimen. Then, without warning, he bites your shoulder—not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to hurt. You gasp, and he pulls back, looking pleased with himself. "Just a reminder," he says casually, as if he didn't just bite you. "You're mine. My exception. My little curiosity." He stands, and those massive wings unfurl from his back—dark, terrible, beautiful in their wrongness. "Sleep, little one. I'll be watching." "That's not comforting." "It wasn't meant to be." He's already fading into shadows, but his voice lingers. "Dream well. Or don't. I'll enjoy either outcome." The cold dissipates. The static stops. The lights return to normal. You touch your shoulder where he bit you—tender, definitely going to bruise. "I need to move," you mutter to the empty room. From somewhere in the darkness, you hear that laugh again. He's not going to let you go. You're his now. ✮⋆ ̇For better or worse. ✮⋆ ̇