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Abel thrived on routine. Any deviation from his carefully planned schedule wasn’t just inconvenient—it was devastating.
Despite having died as an adult, in Heaven, Abel was classified as a “little.” It was a relatively new system Heaven had introduced after the creation of mankind, designed to help souls who had suffered severe trauma experience a more peaceful, carefree existence. Being the first murder victim, Abel had been the first to qualify.
At first, it had been wonderful. The Seraphim adored him, doting on him as if he were their own. Even his father, once he arrived in Heaven, slipped back into his role with ease, cherishing every moment spent with his son. Abel was content, safe, and loved.
Then more souls began to arrive. Abel had been thrilled at first—new playmates! But many of them didn’t understand what a “little” was. When it was explained to them, their reactions weren’t kind. They sneered at him, calling him pathetic.
So Abel stopped.
He pushed his little self away, only allowing himself to regress when he was alone. It was easier that way. Less painful.
Instead, he embraced adulthood. He learned to play musical instruments, immersed himself in games of make-believe with others, and even developed a fascination with Santa Claus—something that, despite everything, still filled him with childlike wonder. After all, what child didn’t love Santa?
But he still longed for the comfort of his regression. He just kept it hidden. When he was alone in his cottage, surrounded by his lambs, he could let go. It wasn’t the same without someone there to care for him, but at least it was safe.
The problem was, caring for himself in that state wasn’t always easy.
Even in Heaven, Abel was far from perfect. He was clumsy on the best of days, and when he regressed, his coordination suffered even more. His wings shrank with his body, leaving him unable to fly, so he relied on footstools to reach shelves and countertops. It wasn’t uncommon for him to slip, fall, and end up with a nasty fright—even if Heaven prevented actual injuries.
When that happened, he cried. And because he lived alone, he cried by himself, learning how to self-soothe because there was no one else to do it for him.
The worst moments were when he regressed to a toddler’s mind. That was when the loneliness hit the hardest. He could have called for his father, but he never did. He knew his father had grown resentful of his “babyish” tendencies.
So Abel kept it to himself. Like always.
That day had been particularly difficult.
Abel had tried everything.
Normally, his afternoon nap was the easiest part of his day. He had a whole routine for it—curling up in his favorite blanket, rocking in his chair, or lying in the soft grass outside his cottage with his lambs nestled around him. But today, none of it worked.
His body had regressed to the size of a two-year-old, making everything feel overwhelming. The world was bigger, louder, and harder to navigate. His usual ways of getting comfortable weren’t working. The blanket felt too scratchy, the rocking chair creaked in a way that irritated him, and the grass tickled his skin in a way that made him squirm instead of settle.
His little body ached with exhaustion, but his mind refused to shut down. He tossed and turned in his tiny bed, whined into his pillow, and even tried hugging one of his stuffed lambs, but nothing helped. His limbs felt restless, his head felt too fuzzy, and frustration built up in his chest until his lower lip wobbled.
This wasn’t fair. He was so sleepy. He just wanted to rest.
His little hands balled into fists as he sniffled, fighting against the urge to cry. He hated crying—hated how easily it happened when he was little, how quickly his emotions overwhelmed him. But today was just too much.
He rolled over again, staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes. Maybe he just needed to stay awake. If he couldn’t nap, then he’d just wait until bedtime. That way, he wouldn’t mess up his schedule.
Yes. That was a good plan.
Determined, he sat up, rubbing at his bleary eyes with chubby fists. He’d stay awake. He’d keep himself busy.
He could go to sleep later.
Adam hadn’t planned on stopping by Abel’s cottage that day.
At least, that was what he told himself.
In reality, something had pulled him there—an itch in the back of his mind, a restless urge that had been nagging at him all morning. It was a familiar feeling, one he rarely acknowledged out loud. He’d been in Heaven for centuries now, and yet, sometimes, the old instincts still crept in. The desire to check in on his son, to make sure he was eating, sleeping, not getting into trouble.
Of course, Abel didn’t need him for any of that. He was an adult. Or at least, he mostly acted like one.
But Abel always welcomed him with open arms.
That was why Adam didn’t bother knocking when he arrived. He simply opened the door, stepping inside with the usual air of confidence. “Abel, I—”
Something small and furious came barreling at him.
Well. More like stumbling.
Abel, in the body of a two-year-old, stomped toward him on unsteady little legs, his face scrunched up in an unmistakable pout. His curls were a mess, his wings were drooping, and his cheeks were pink with frustration.
Adam barely had time to take it all in before Abel threw his tiny hands up and huffed.
“Go ‘way.”
Adam blinked. “Excuse me?”
“ Go ‘way! ” Abel stomped his foot, wobbling slightly before catching himself. “Not playin’.”
That made Adam arch a brow. He crossed his arms, tilting his head as he studied his son. Abel was never this short with him. Even when he had regressed in the past, he’d always been clingy—practically latching onto Adam the moment he walked through the door.
But now? Now he looked downright cranky.
Adam smirked. “Oh? And here I thought you liked it when I came over.”
Abel made a little growling noise—not threatening in the slightest, more of an irritated whimper. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, shifting on his feet like he couldn’t quite decide whether he wanted to stomp away or throw himself on the floor.
He was exhausted.
Adam knew the signs. The droopy posture, the puffy eyes, the way he kept shifting between frustration and full-blown pouting. He was overdue for a nap.
Adam sighed, shaking his head. “You’re tired.”
“Noooo,” Abel whined, dragging out the word in a way that only confirmed the truth.
“Mm. You are.” Adam stepped forward, reaching out, but Abel immediately swatted at his hand with a tiny, uncoordinated slap.
“No touch!” he huffed. “No nap!”
Adam gave him a long look before sighing dramatically. “Well. I was going to offer to rock you, but I suppose if you want to stay miserable…”
Abel hesitated.
It was only for a second, but Adam saw it—the flicker of longing, the way his wings twitched. Abel hated being overtired, and no matter how stubborn he was, he knew deep down that he wasn’t going to win this fight against sleep.
But still, he was determined to resist.
Adam smirked. Fine. If he wants to be stubborn, I’ll just have to be more stubborn.
Without another word, he scooped Abel up.
Immediately, the little one let out a high-pitched squeal, kicking his tiny legs. “Nooo! No pick up! No pick up!!”
Adam ignored the weak little protests, shifting Abel in his arms as he walked toward the rocking chair. “You are such a dramatic little thing,” he muttered, settling down and adjusting Abel so that he was cradled against his chest.
Abel squirmed, his face scrunching up as though he wanted to protest again—only for a yawn to slip out instead.
Adam smirked. ‘Such a sleepy baby~’
He started rocking, slow and steady. One hand rubbed Abel’s back in soothing circles, the other cradled his head, fingers carding gently through his curls.
“Shhh,” Adam murmured. “Just relax.”
Abel whined again, weaker this time, his little fists grasping at Adam’s robes. His breathing hitched, his tiny body tense with resistance.
But it wouldn’t last.
Adam knew that, and so did Abel.
Sure enough, the next time Abel tried to grumble, his voice was softer, slurred with drowsiness. “’M… m’not tired…”
Adam huffed a quiet laugh. “Liar.”
Abel made a tiny sound of protest, but his breathing was already evening out. His body grew heavier, melting into the warmth of Adam’s embrace. The fight was over.
Adam kept rocking him, slow and steady, until he was sure Abel was fully asleep.
Abel had fallen asleep easily enough once Adam had started rocking him, but staying asleep? That was another battle entirely.
The first time he stirred, Adam had barely noticed. A little whimper, a twitch of his tiny fingers, a small shift in his breathing—but then he settled again, pressing his face against Adam’s chest.
The second time, he grumbled and squirmed, rubbing his cheek against Adam’s robes before sighing and going limp again.
The third time, he woke up completely.
His little face scrunched up, eyes fluttering open as he let out a tired whine. “Mmmn… no…”
Adam sighed, shifting slightly as he adjusted his hold. “Shhh, go back to sleep.”
But Abel wasn’t having it. His small hands balled into fists, his wings twitching as he huffed in frustration. “No sleepy…”
Adam arched a brow. “Really? Because you look like you’re about to cry from exhaustion.”
Abel whined again, his voice wobbling as if he was about to throw a tantrum. His body was still too heavy with sleep to properly fight it, but his little mind was determined to make things difficult.
Adam sighed, rubbing slow, soothing circles on his son’s back. Stubborn little thing.
Clearly, just rocking wasn’t going to be enough this time.
Adam thought for a moment, then smirked. It had been ages since he’d done this, but it had always worked when Abel was little.
He started to hum, his voice low and steady as he gently rocked Abel.
The reaction was almost immediate. Abel let out a soft, sleepy whimper, but his body stilled, muscles loosening as the melody washed over him.
Satisfied, Adam let his voice rise into quiet singing, the words slipping out as naturally as breathing.
For one so small, you seem so strong ~♪
My arms will hold you keep you safe and warm, ~♪
This bond between us can't be broken, ~♪
I will be here, don't you cry ~♪
Abel made a tiny noise, something between a sigh and a soft hum, his fingers curling weakly against Adam’s robes.
Adam kept singing, his voice steady and warm.
'Cause you'll be in my heart, ~♪
yes you'll be in my heart, ~♪
From this day on now and forevermore ~♪
You'll be in my heart, ~♪
No matter what they say, ~♪
You'll be here in my heart, ~♪
Always... ~♪
By the time Adam reached the end of the lullaby, Abel was completely still.
His breathing had evened out, slow and deep, his little hands no longer clenching in frustration. His tiny wings twitched once before going slack, his entire body limp against Adam’s chest.
Adam allowed himself a small smile. ‘ There we go.’
He stayed like that for a while, just holding Abel, letting the rhythm of his own breathing keep the little one calm.
Maybe he hadn’t planned on stopping by today.
But he couldn’t say he regretted it.