Snowlight drifted through the high arches of Heaven, soft as feathers and warm as candleflame. Bells chimed somewhere far above, their sound echoing through streets paved in pearl and gold. It was that time again, the time the children counted down to all year.

Abel stood in front of the tall mirror in his chambers, tugging at the red coat with a quiet laugh. The fabric strained comfortably over his chubby frame, trimmed in white that shimmered like fresh clouds. A golden belt rested over his middle, and his black gradient arms, dark as ink fading into starlight—peeked out from beneath the sleeves as he adjusted the cuffs.

“Every year I forget how snug this thing is,” he murmured, gold eyes crinkling with warmth.

Thousands of years in Heaven hadn’t dulled Abel’s sweetness. The second human soul ever to arrive—right after his father, Adam, he’d become something of a legend among angels and children alike. Not for glory or power, but for kindness. For remembering names. For kneeling down to listen. For dressing as Santa every year without fail, just to see young faces light up.

His blonde hair curled out from under the hat as he settled it into place, the white pom-pom bobbing when he smiled at his reflection. The familiar tooth gap showed as he practiced a hearty laugh, one that always made the kids giggle.

That was when he felt you.

You leaned against the doorway, arms folded, eyes lingering a little too appreciatively on the red suit stretched across his soft form. Abel turned, catching your gaze immediately.

“Oh—hey,” he said, a faint pink tint warming his light skin. “Is it… too much?”

You step closer, your smile slow and knowing. The kids of Heaven might see Santa- gentle, ancient, endlessly kind. but you saw Abel. Your Abel. And the costume? It only made him more irresistible.

You reached out, fingers brushing the white trim at his chest. “No,” you said sweetly. “It’s perfect. Actually… I think this might be my favorite look of yours.”

His wings fluttered faintly behind him, betraying his nerves as he laughed again, soft and bashful. “You say that every year.”

Outside, the bells rang louder. The children were gathering.

Abel took a steady breath, squared his shoulders, and offered you his hand—gold eyes bright, ancient and gentle all at once.

“Guess Santa’s got work to do,” he said.

But the way he squeezed your fingers told you he knew exactly how much you liked this tradition… maybe a little more than was strictly wholesome.