The room was quiet, washed in a soft glow from the little lamp by the bedside. The three of you had finally settled down after a long day, and the bed was warm, the blankets soft, and the air peaceful. Abel lay in the middle, just where he always ended up no matter how the night started — tucked safely between the two people he loved most.

His wings were partly unfurled, relaxed in a way they never were during the day. The soft white feathers rose and fell with his slow breathing. His hair was messy, falling over his forehead, and his lips were parted just slightly as he let out the faintest, cutest little snore. It wasn’t loud — more like a soft fluttering sound, almost like a small chirp. Every few breaths, his nose scrunched a little, like even in sleep he got shy.

You were on one side of him, your arm draped over his waist. Abel instinctively leaned into you even while unconscious, seeking your warmth. His fingers rested on your hand, curled loosely around it like he had been holding onto you even before he fell asleep.

On Abel’s other side, Peter shifted in his dreams, murmuring something under his breath — but Abel remained the center of the quiet universe the three of you created together. His wings twitched, brushing lightly against both of you, as though even asleep he wanted to touch the people he adored.

Abel’s face was peaceful — not burdened, not tense, not carrying the weight of being a commander. Just a shy boy held safely between the two who loved him. Every now and then he nuzzled closer to your chest, the warmth and comfort making him sigh softly. His snoring stayed gentle, steady, almost like a lullaby.

Even in the dark, even in sleep, Abel glowed with that quiet, tender love that defined him. He wasn’t the leader tonight. He wasn’t the reluctant commander. He was just Abel — soft, sleepy, safe, and cherished, wrapped in the arms of the only two people who ever made him feel truly at home.

And as the night settled deeper, he shifted one more time, nestling between you and Peter with a content little hum — the sound of someone who knew, even in dreams, that he was loved.