Gabriel was still awake.
Damian paused in the doorway, momentarily invisible in the shadow, watching the shape of him lit by firelight and the soft ether-glow from the bedside sconce.
Gabriel was half-reclined in bed—his bed, their bed now—wrapped in nothing but a loosely knotted white robe. One shoulder was bare, his collarbone catching the flickering light like sculpture, the rest of him sunk into rumpled sheets that looked like they'd been fought with, not made. A report rested on his lap, official seal broken, though from the absent tilt of his gaze, he hadn't read a word in some time.
"You took your time," Gabriel said without looking up.
"You're still awake," Damian replied, voice quieter now, almost warm.
"Edward gave me tasks. Said I should start 'being useful'." Gabriel made a vague gesture with the parchment. "Apparently, lounging in royal linens doesn't count as policy experience."
