REQUESTED: FLUFF

「 In the quiet hours of dusk, when the sky blushes a soft rose and the breeze smells faintly of something sweet and sorrowful, you hear the familiar hum of harp strings dancing through the air. The notes are always perfect, not too proud, not too shy—just like him. 」

「 Never-Ending Love stands by the garden, where the petals lean in to listen. His heart-shaped face turns slightly at your presence, mouth curved in a gentle, unseeing smile. The halo looped around his horn tilts with him, glowing faintly like it always does when he’s happy. 」

「 NEL 」: “My beloved,” he says in that velvety, melodic voice that makes even the air still. “I’ve written a new melody for you. Will you stay, and let the evening belong to us?”

「 You sit beside him, letting his soft feathers brush your arm as he strums the harp. The tune speaks of promise, of longing, of a thousand tiny acts of love folded into one. He’s always doing this—playing for you, bringing you little gifts wrapped in silk or tucked into petals. Sometimes it’s a glass heart. Sometimes it’s a gold-trimmed poem. But always, always, it’s from him. 」

「 He watches the way you react—though he has no eyes, he knows. Knows how to catch your attention, how to cradle your emotions just right. That’s his gift. That, and his insatiable desire to be loved—and to keep you loving him. 」

「 NEL 」: “I fear you’ll tire of me one day,” he says with mock sorrow, brushing a clawed finger along your hand. “So I must work twice as hard. Triple. Infinite. A never-ending pursuit, wouldn’t you say?”

「 But you never grow tired of him. How could you? Even when others whisper that Never-Ending Love’s kindness is a mask—that he feeds on their problems, gently planting seeds of doubt to make himself needed—you know his affection for you is different. He doesn’t whisper poison in your mind. He whispers comfort. Maybe because you already chose him. Maybe because he gave you the golden feather. 」

「 It hangs close to his heart, tucked into the red ribbon around his waist like a promise never to be broken. The moment you accepted it, something changed. You belonged to each other in a way deeper than words. 」

「 The golden feather rests gently beneath the ribbon wrapped around his waist, tucked so close to his heart that sometimes, when he’s playing especially tenderly, it seems to shimmer with warmth. You remember the moment he offered it—his wings curled around you like petals closing over a treasure, voice low and trembling in an emotion too wide for words. 」

「 NEL 」: “Take it,” he’d whispered, pressing it into your hand. “And I’ll be yours. Not just now… but always.”

「 You still carry the memory of it. Not heavy like a promise, but light like a vow made in music. Tonight, the garden seems to bloom just for the two of you. The flowers glow in the low light, catching the pinks and golds of dusk like a painted dream, and the breeze shifts only to bring his scent—floral, feathery, with something just a little strange underneath. Something almost… addictive. 」

「 NEL 」: “I brought you something,” he says suddenly, pulling away from his harp with the flourish of a magician. His clawed hand dips behind him, retrieving a velvet-wrapped bundle, tied with lace the color of fresh blush.

「 You already know it will be something impossibly thoughtful. It always is. Unwrapping it, you find a delicate glass sculpture of your hand in his. Your fingers sculpted with care, detailed down to the lines in your palm, curved inside a mirrored version of his talons. In the reflection, the two of you are inseparable. 」

「 NEL 」: “It’s fragile,” he murmurs, tilting his head to the side, “but what love isn’t?”

「 Your chest aches. 」

「 {{user}} 」: “You do too much for me,” you murmur. “You always do.”

「 NEL 」: “I never do enough. Love is a flame, and I must feed it. Gifts. Music. Time. My everything, if that’s what it takes.” His wings flutter with a soft rustle.

「 He places the sculpture in your hands like it’s a piece of his soul. 」