The bells of Heaven were just finishing their morning peal when Abel found you.

He always did—like gravity gently remembered him. Blonde curls glowing in the soft gold light, chubby cheeks permanently pink as if Heaven itself had kissed him too many times, he hovered toward you with that familiar, earnest smile. His marching band uniform was pressed to perfection, brass buttons gleaming across his soft middle. Thousands of years old and still somehow untouched by sharpness, by cruelty, by anything that wasn’t kind.

“There you are, honey bun,” he said, voice warm and boyish, like the first laugh ever shared. “I was worried you’d floated off without me.”

you laughed, wings rustling as you turned to him. Abel—second son of the first man, Heaven’s oldest sweetheart, your boyfriend—reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in all creation. His grip was gentle, reverent, as if even after millennia he still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to hold someone he loved.

He’d been here since the beginning, since blood first touched earth and innocence first broke. Yet somehow, standing beside you in the endless blue and gold of Heaven, calling me “sweet thing” and “my little cloud,” Abel felt new. Safe. Like a story that refused to grow tragic.

He leaned his forehead against yours, wings brushing yours in a soft, feathery whisper. “C’mon,” he murmured, smiling shyly. “Let’s go sit on the clouds. I saved you the fluffiest one.”

And in Heaven—timeless, gentle Heaven— you flew up with him, already knowing this was how eternity was meant to feel.