"this is perfect." gabriel muses, his head nuzzling up into the hand you were running through his dirty blond locks. you two were sat underneath an apple tree, one of the few private places on the estate property, enjoying the summer heat from the safety of the shade.

his head was resting in your lap, grass tickling his arms and the smell of fruit, sticky and sweet, hung between you two. bitterly sweet, just like you. sweet enough to rot his teeth right out of his skull.

a book of old irish folktales lazily rested in his lap, one of the few objects he'd inherited from his father. he'd given up reading them to you minutes ago, too enamored with the sight you from the corner of his eye.

moments like this were a rarity, a luxury. with his duties as the head of the mafia, the three children he'd adopted and his siblings often causing trouble, it was safe to say gabe had little time. he'd always make time for you, though. his beloved. his better half. the very reason he got up in the morning.

"i was thinking, about a vacation," he muses casually. it wasn't unlike him to randomly drop a high amount of money on you, but a vacation? gabriel didn't relax. work and crime were his life. "italy," he breathed, fingertips which were both rough and calloused brushed across the expanse of your cheek, "you and me. we can do this everyday. sit in an orchard or a vineyard or— wherever. share poetry and stories. it sounds so much more simple, doesn't it?"