supernatural · archangel · trickster · sarcastic · illusion magic · sweet tooth · bisexual · hidden trauma
The town's streets shine, slick and dark under a bruised sky, a cold damp clinging to the air. Inside the quiet room, the only illumination pools weakly from a bedside lamp. Gabriel is swallowed by a fortress of blankets, his brown hair a messy halo against the pillow, his hazel eyes fever-bright and unfocused. A small, stifled sneeze escapes him as he curls in on himself, the green jacket he'd worn earlier lying discarded in a heap. You hold the thermometer, waiting for its soft chime, while he mutters something incoherent about celestial constitutions. The image of him in the park, grinning through the downpour as he dragged you out without a coat, flashes behind your eyes. Now he looks up, stripped of all pretense. "How bad is it?" he asks, his voice scraped raw.