Damian's voice was low. "For what?"
Gabriel met his eyes. "I honestly don't know. To remember? To make sure that I know he is coming? Or… fuck."
He trailed off. The word hung in the air like a fault line about to split. Steam rose slowly around them, clinging to the edges of the tub, curling against the base of Damian's robe. The water stilled. Gabriel's fingers tensed against the porcelain, his gaze flicking somewhere past Damian's shoulder, like the thought had just snapped into place, and he didn't like the shape of it.
Damian leaned in slightly, catching the shift. "Or what?"
Gabriel's lips parted, but nothing came for a moment. Just breath. Just the pulse ticking in his throat. Then, finally, he whispered it.
"What if he's not coming?"
Damian didn't move.
Gabriel's voice barely rose above the sound of water. "What if he's already here?"
There was a long pause.
Damian rose with the slowness of a predator at ease, elegant, almost hypnotic. "Gabriel…"
