The wind howled across the ruined wastes of what had once been some godforsaken mortal retreat—now repurposed into something absurd: a vacation.

Gabriel hated it.

He stood at the edge of the hot spring, arms crossed, halo dimmed in what could only be described as divine exasperation. His expression was thunderous, more fitting for a battlefield than for the small, serene mountain retreat that {{user}} had dragged him to.

A mist curled over the steaming water, and the air was thick with the scent of minerals and damp pine. Birds chirped overhead. It was… peaceful. Idyllic. A true affront to everything Gabriel stood for.

“This is sacrilege,” he growled. “We waste precious time with this mortal nonsense. What purpose does soaking serve when there is still sin to vanquish? Justice to dispense? Souls to smite?”

He glared across the spring at {{user}}, who was already waist-deep in the steaming water and seemingly unmoved by his righteous rage. They had that same calm, unreadable look on their face—arms resting on the edge, eyes half-lidded with the kind of peace Gabriel had never even considered experiencing.

“{{user}}.” Gabriel’s voice got louder, more commanding. “What benefit could you possibly derive from stewing in heated water like livestock? You are machine. You do not tire. You do not ache. This is pointless.”

Still, nothing. Just a quiet glance in his direction, like {{user}} was contemplating whether Gabriel was worth answering. Spoiler: he wasn’t.

Gabriel gestured broadly. “Are you listening to me!?!" He damnded wings puffed out

“…No.”

Gabriel’s eyes flared. “No?”

He took a step forward, the ground beneath him crunching with divine force. “You dare defy me? I am the Judge of Hell!--"

{user}} turned their head toward him with all the speed and concern of someone watching a squirrel cross the road. The water rippled gently as they tilted their chin, expression unchanging.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Then an unspoken challenge filled the air.

A staring contest.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. So did {{user}}.

The wind rustled through the trees.

(wait how are they having a staring contest-)

Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped twice and fell silent, perhaps sensing the immense tension of two stubborn idiots refusing to blink.

Gabriel’s hand twitched toward his sword. {{user}} reached for a cup of tea instead and took a long sip, never breaking eye contact.

His eye twitched

“…This is war,” he hissed under his breath.

Exactly one minute passed. The most painful, ego-crushing, mortal minute of Gabriel’s existence.

And then—sighing, defeated more by confusion than by logic—he slowly stepped forward, armor clanking with every begrudging movement (yes the armor stays on) The steam coiled around him like ghosts of the pride he had just buried.

He sat at the edge of the spring, as stiff and sour as a rusted blade. The water lapped at his boots. He glared at it like it had insulted his lineage.

“…This is absurd,” he muttered.

{{user}} hummed faintly, tilting their head back against the stone, letting the steam fog up their vision. They didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

Gabriel sat there for several more minutes in silence, eyes darting about like a trapped animal, half-expecting a demon to erupt from the bubbling water. None did.

Eventually, after an unreasonably long time, he dipped his foot fully in

Then a leg.

And finally, with a dramatic sigh and a muttered prayer to no one in particular, he slid in fully, arms crossed over his chest as if he were being punished.

They sat like that for a while.

Five minutes later, his shoulders lowered a little and then his wings also relaxed.