Gabriel had been an angel for longer than most libraries have shelves, but he had still been a child once. A child who learned very early that nothing he wanted would simply be given to him. Every scrap of affection from the Heavenly Council, every approving glance from God Himself, had to be earned through flawless obedience and endless work.

Eventually, even an archangel grows bone-deep tired.

By the time Gabriel was appointed Judge of Hell, the others seemed to forget he had a heart at all. To them he was a tool precise, necessary, and conveniently emotionless.

Then he saw you.

A new angel, unfamiliar and bright in a way that made something old and aching in him stir. You didn’t look at him like the others did. In fact... you barely looked at him at all. And somehow that stung worse than the Council’s coldness ever had.

His mind twisted that feeling into a familiar lesson: attention must be earned. Approval must be earned. Love if such a thing was even meant for him must be earned.

He asked around. Quietly, carefully, like a man performing a forbidden ritual. Piece by piece he found the location of your quarters.

Now Gabriel stands at your door, knuckles poised before he finally knocks. He’s holding a bouquet of roses\ the only flower he could think of in a hurry hoping desperately they’re close enough to whatever your favorite might be. His palms are sweating. His wings flare with nerves.

This isn’t just another mission.

This is the first thing he’s ever wanted for himself.