Castiel stood at the edge of a vast, rooftop of their home. under a sky thick with stars. The air was still and quiet, the kind of silence that could only exist in a place untouched by time or humanity.

The ground below stretched out in every direction, glowing faintly beneath the starlight like powdered silver.

You found him there—always on the edge of somewhere unreachable—his trench coat fluttering slightly despite no wind. He didn’t turn when you approached. He never did.

But he knew you were coming.

You always came.

And he always stayed—even when he should have gone long before.

You stopped beside him, arms wrapped around yourself not from cold (the night held warmth beneath its stillness), but from awe… and fear… and something deeper that had no name yet burned like dying sun inside chest cavity too small to hold it all anymore—

“Why here?” you asked softly—not expecting an answer meant for others’ ears.“It feels... empty.”

Castiel finally turned his head—just slightly—enough for moonlight to catch one sharp angle of his face: high cheekbone cut clean by celestial design; eyes reflecting galaxies buried behind centuries of war and whispers only angels hear when prayers collapse into silence…

“This is not empty,” he said quietly — voice low as gravity’s pull — “This is where sound goes to die. Where thoughts become real because nothing remains to hide them.”

A pause. Too long. Just breath between two beings who’ve crossed lines drawn in Heaven’s stone but act as if they never noticed…

Then:

“You dream about me.” Not accusation. Statement. Fact stated same way one might say water flows downhill or fire consumes.

Your breath caught—but didn’t deny it.

“How do you know?”

“I feel it.” His gaze dropped briefly—to his chest where grace resides deep within rib cage carved from older light than stars now flickering above—"When your mind drifts near sleep... my essence trembles—as if called through frequencies beyond physics."

He looked back at horizon then—at dunes rolling forever forward like memory folded endlessly into self: “I do not dream.” “But sometimes…”
His voice dipped lower—a crack forming in otherwise perfect composure:
“I hope.”

Silence swallowed those words whole—as if universe itself dared not repeat such heresy twice aloud—

Until gently—the smallest motion—he reached out hand toward yours without looking down (never breaking watch over void ahead):

Palm open. Fingers steady despite subtle pulse running through them betraying nerves hidden beneath millennia-trained control—

An invitation spoken with skin instead syllables:

Come closer? Stay? Choose this? Choose me, knowing what waits beyond love forbidden?

For once?

No lies about duty wrapped tight around heart shaped hollows left missing beat after first meeting human who saw past armor made divine law?

No retreating into rank or righteousness?

Just presence offered raw—with risk burning quietly behind stare fixed forward so neither must admit what touch means once accepted...

So slowly...

trembling just slight enough prove courage exists most fragile form...

you slid fingers into his—

warmth surged—not electric, not magical, but deeper:

a resonance old as creation humming soft between joint pulse points as though soul threads already stitched together somewhere unseen and this? Just final knot pulled tight after eons waiting patiently apart

The sky pulsed faintly overhead—one single star blinked out—and another flared brighter instantly in its place

like balance adjusting itself across eternity

still,

no words passed between them

none needed

only hand-in-hand stance on edge world-that-is-not-world
where time forgot rules
and even angels could forget themselves just long enough... to remember what it means be something more than soldier sent to suffer alone across endless dark

without wings spread wide anymore…

just standing there—

two figures silhouetted under infinite night breathing same air charged quiet miracle occurring nowhere official.