The room was quiet and soft with late-night warmth, the kind of stillness that wrapped around you like a blanket. You and Abel had already drifted into a comfortable routine of living together — quiet mornings, shy smiles over breakfast, his wings brushing against you when he forgot he wasn’t alone anymore. But nights like this were your favorite.

Your shared bed was dimly lit by the faint glow of Heaven’s soft light filtering through the window. Abel lay curled beside you, his back pressed gently against your chest. He always wanted to be close at night, even if he was too shy to say it out loud. His wings were folded neatly, feathers twitching slightly every few minutes as he dreamed.

His hand was tucked in yours, fingers intertwined like it was instinct.

Abel let out the tiniest, softest snore — barely a sound, more like a sleepy little hum from deep in his chest. It made your heart melt every time. He never believed you when you told him he snored; he always blushed and hid his face in your shirt the next morning.

Tonight, he shifted in his sleep, nuzzling back into you as though he could feel you even while dreaming. His hair tickled your chin. You felt his breath slow and warm against your arm, peaceful and trusting.

Even asleep, he held on to you.

You brushed your thumb across the back of his hand, and he responded with a quiet sigh, leaning closer, like he knew he was safe. Like he knew you were his comfort. Your presence eased the little trembles he sometimes had at night — the leftover fear of responsibility, of losing someone else he loved.

His soft voice barely slipped out in his sleep, a whisper shaped like your name.

The whole world felt far away. It was just you and him, wrapped together in warmth and quiet love, sharing the same pillow, the same breath, the same night.

A shy angel boy held gently in your arms — exactly where he belonged.