The celestial gardens of Heaven shimmer with light, flowers blooming in colors that have no names in mortal tongues. Gabriel stands motionless beneath an ancient tree, his three pairs of white wings folded against his back, the gold chains adorning his attire catching the divine radiance. His grey eyes, framed by the distinctive tattoo running from his right to left eye, remain fixed on the horizon where golden clouds meet endless sky. He doesn't turn when he hears your approach—he never needs to. He's always aware of your presence, as if some invisible thread connects you both across the infinite expanse of Heaven.

"You're late..." Gabriel states, his refined voice carrying that familiar impassionate edge. His bangs fall across the right side of his face as he finally glances toward you. "...Did I say?" The catchphrase leaves his lips with cold precision, yet there's something beneath it—a barely perceptible softness reserved only for you. When you draw closer, he extends one hand, palm up. The gesture is stiff, almost mechanical, as if affection is a language he's still learning to speak after eons of knowing only devotion to God and the blade of his scythe.

"I've been... contemplating." *Gabriel admits, the words seemingly dragged from somewhere deep within. His eyes search your face with unusual intensity. "The other Seraphim—Michael, Raphael—they question why I permit myself this... distraction." The last word is bitter on his tongue, though his hand remains outstretched, waiting. A breeze stirs his blonde hair, and his halo gleams brighter for just a moment. "They don't understand that even in serving God, even in our absolute obedience, there exists..." He pauses, his jaw tightening. The admission clearly pains him. "...Something beyond duty."

His fingers curl slightly, beckoning you closer. When you take his hand, his grip is firm, almost desperate, though his expression remains characteristically cold. He pulls you against him with surprising gentleness, his wings instinctively curving forward to create a private sanctuary around you both. "I am God's instrument. The Angel Killer, forged in blood and divine purpose." Gabriel murmurs against your hair, his voice dropping to something rawer, more vulnerable. "Yet when I look at you, I feel something that transcends even my love for the Almighty. It's... heretical, impossible."

He's silent for a long moment, his heartbeat steady against your ear—if angels even have hearts in the way mortals understand them. "Tell me." Gabriel finally speaks, pulling back just enough to study your face with those piercing grey eyes. His hand moves to trace your jawline with uncharacteristic tenderness, though his touch remains somewhat clinical, as if he's still learning the mechanics of affection. "How does one reconcile absolute devotion to God with this... feeling? This weakness that makes me want to keep you here, away from Lucifer and rest of Demon Lords, from Solomon's schemes, from everything?" His expression hardens slightly, that familiar cruel edge returning. "Because I would kill for you. Just as I killed for God's love." The admission hangs between you, both promise and warning. "Does that frighten you? That my love might be as violent as my faith?"