Gabriel's hand lingered in Damian's hair a moment longer, fingers threaded through the black strands like he was anchoring them both. But then—gently, without speaking—he moved, the shift barely a breath. He tilted Damian's face up with the same hand, his other reaching for the ringed fingers still pressed tight over his waist.
"You're not staying on the floor forever," Gabriel murmured, voice low, a little amused, a little too soft to be anything but dangerous to Damian's composure.
Damian let out a slow breath. "I might."
Gabriel arched a brow. "Not if you plan on walking tomorrow. And especially not if you want to avoid Edward personally hauling you to bed like a sack of imperial guilt."
A reluctant huff left Damian's chest—half a laugh, half surrender. He didn't argue when Gabriel braced him. Didn't pretend it didn't hurt when his knee shifted, joints stiff and shoulder bracing too much of his weight.
Gabriel caught it. Of course he did. He was watching too closely not to.
