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When Gabriel hugs him from behind like that, Sam can’t help himself—the corners of his lips always, always betray him, lifting into a smile, even when he’s supposed to be angry.
“I love you,” Gabe murmurs, his voice a playful whisper against Sam’s ear.
Sam’s response is soft, almost absent-minded as he gazes at their reflection in the mirror. “Your hair is gilding.” The sun down south is too bright, impossibly bright, seeping into every crack, filling the room with an almost surreal glow. Not that it has to try. Gabriel loves the sun, loves the light, and rarely bothers to close the curtains, even at night. Now, in the late morning, the sunlight is almost blinding, so vivid it makes the angel seem as though he’s wearing a halo—just this once, just for Sam.
“I know,” the archangel grins, his expression mirthful as he buries his face against Sam’s shoulder. Sam feels his breath against his skin, warm and familiar. There’s no embarrassment here; Sam knows it’s just Gabriel’s way of playing, keeping things light, always finding the fun in every moment. It’s their honeymoon, after all—no room for seriousness now.
“I love you too,” Sam says, turning to face his trickster, meeting that sly, honeyed gaze.
“I know that too,” Gabriel laughs, the sound warm and rich. He takes Sam’s hand, fingers entwining, and pulls him toward the door. The light catches on their wedding rings, making them gleam in the sunlight, as though they too are part of this endless radiance.