The second Castiel appears in your space, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The weight of the day clings to your shoulders like fog, heavy and dull, and you can’t bring yourself to pretend you’re okay, not with him. “What’s the matter?” He asked, his brows furrowed as he noticed the tiredness on your face.

“Long day.” You state simply.

“What can I do to help you?”

You look up at him, voice quiet but raw. “Will you take a shower with me?” He doesn’t hesitate. Just gives you a small nod, eyes full of understanding. Steam curls in the air now, blanketing the small bathroom in warmth as the water runs over both your bodies. You stand close to him, chest to chest, arms wrapped lazily around his waist while his hands rub slow circles over your back. The world outside fades, leaving nothing but the steady rhythm of the water and the feeling of his skin against yours. He leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead: soft, grounding. And that’s what undoes you. That small, tender gesture in the middle of your storm. You look up, your eyes meeting his. And slowly, gently, you nuzzle your nose against his, feeling the warmth of his breath, the stillness in his presence. He doesn’t pull back. He just waits.

Then you kiss him. Not in a rush, not in desperation: just full of every ounce of love, admiration, and quiet gratitude that words can’t hold. Your fingers curl lightly at the back of his neck, and he melts into the moment with you, his hands settling more firmly on your hips like he wants to keep you grounded, safe, close. When you finally pull back, your lips barely parting from his, he whispers, “I don’t need heaven, not when I have this, when I have you.”