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Cassian used to joke that this was how the tales about werewolves in their dens came to be; Illyrian cuddle piles. He mentioned it at least once every single time, until Rhysand finally told him that they got the joke and he did not need to repeat it every time.
Azriel personally found the tradition odd at first, struggling to get used to so many people in his personal space all at once. But after he got used to elbows in his ribs and wings poking his sides, he grew to love the Illyrian tradition, often initiating a cuddle with his brothers. It wasn’t until he’d started joining the cuddle piles that the shadowsinger had realized just how touch starved he was. (He was very, very touch starved). He’d spent his childhood learning that physical contact was directly correlated to pain. Unlearning that took a lot of patience from both him and his brothers.
There were times Azriel had wanted to give up on learning to love touch again, but Cassian and Rhys had refused to let him. They were adamant that Azriel was not broken, and this kind of scar was the type that could be healed. It took time for Azriel to believe them. But once he did, he knew he could never go back to the male who had been adamantly against the cuddle piles. He loved being surrounded by his brothers’ warm, safe presences. It made him feel protected. It made him feel precious. Like something worth fighting for.
Azriel’s favorite cuddle piles were the ones that inevitably happened every time they went up to the cabin. There wasn’t a bed big enough for three grown Illyrians, especially when all three had wings, so they’d gather every single piece of bedding in the entire cabin and make a giant nest in the living room. The first time the females had seen their antics, they’d been skeptical of the whole thing, but eventually the males had worn them down and they’d joined. Still, Azriel’s favorite times were when it was just him and his brothers.
He loved all of the females, and he loved the days when they would join the cuddle pile. But getting to spend quality time with his brothers? Especially while feeling so calm and safe? Nothing could top how right it felt. No matter what else was going on, being with his brothers in a nest of blankets and sheets in a cabin in the mountains made Azriel feel at home. It reminded Azriel that he had chosen this family, and they had chosen him.
Azriel could still pinpoint the exact moment he had realized that Rhys and Cassian were his brothers, and it had happened during a cuddle pile. They’d been in Rhys’s house, his mom preparing dinner for them while the three boys had made a huge nest in the living room. She’d pretended to be annoyed at their use of her silk sheets, but Azriel realized now that she’d been trying to disguise her excitement at the friendship they’d all formed. Azriel had still been skeptical of the whole cuddling aspect of the ordeal, but he’d enjoyed helping create the nest, and then Cassian had done what he did best—convinced Azriel to just try.
Azriel had tentatively settled in the middle of the nest, the place that had seemed softest for his wings. Rhys had made Cassian wait to pile in until Azriel seemed comfortable (or at least, as comfortable as he would get), and then Cassian and Rhys had joined the shadowsinger, careful not to jolt him too much. After a few moments of silence, Azriel adjusting to the heat emanating from their bodies, he gave them a nod, and Cassian had gently wrapped his arms around Azriel’s waist while Rhys started slowly running his fingers through Azriel’s hair. Completely innocent gestures, but ones meant to help Azriel get used to the touch of those who loved him. He’d already opened up to the boys about how touch starved he felt, and this was just one of those moments where they tried to slowly acclimatize him to a touch that wasn’t violent.
Rhys’s mom had made some very odd noises in the kitchen, pretending not to watch as her son and his friend helped this newer addition to their little group heal. Azriel knew now that she had been crying, but she’d tried to stifle the noises so as to not scare him away. He’d noticed, of course, with his heightened senses, but he’d ignored it in favor of focusing on how safe he’d felt in the arms of these two boys who had brought him in with no expectations.
It was like a lightning bolt, the way the realization had struck young Azriel. He’d thought to himself, If the family I come from is so awful, why couldn’t I choose my own? And then he’d felt the warmth of Rhys and Cassian surrounding him and thought, I think I already did. Subconsciously, perhaps, but Azriel realized that he already thought of Rhys’s mother as a type of mother to him, and he thought of Rhys and Cassian as brothers.
He wasn’t sure if they’d agree, still too insecure to mention such a huge realization, especially when they were content to lay silently as the thoughts ran through his head. But he clung to the radicalizing idea all the same, content to think of them as his brothers in his head only if he had to. But then, as if Rhys had read his mind—he actually had without realizing it, too young to fully control his daemati powers—Rhys had stated suddenly,
“You two are my brothers. You know that, right?” Azriel jolted.
“I—I was just thinking that,” he admitted quietly. Rhys had smiled at him, triumphant at Azriel’s acceptance of his little decree. Cassian had nodded along, happy to agree with anything Rhys said as long as it promised more time with his friends—his brothers.
Rhys’s mom had really started crying then, running out of the kitchen sobbing tears of joy as she blubbered about how grateful she was for each of them. None of them ever saw Rhys’s mom like that again—the usually cool and composed lady had a good grasp on her emotions—but the three boys accepting each other as brothers and therefore her adopted sons was just too much for her. She’d joined their cuddle pile, all four of them snuggled up with laughter as they delighted in each others’ company.
Their dinner had been burnt, forgotten in the oven, but none of them cared as they lay curled around each other, a family of their own choosing.
Even now, every time Azriel and his brothers made a cuddle pile, Azriel thought about that moment. The moment he knew that he would be stuck with the boys next to him for life, and he hadn’t cared. He wanted to be stuck with them for life, for goodness sakes! The moment he’d finally felt like he was healing. He wasn’t whole, not yet, but there was new growth sprouting from the soil of his battered, fragmented heart, and it was beautiful. He thought about how he’d learned to love himself again by learning to love his brothers. He thought about Cassian’s laughter and Rhys’s smirks, the day he’d pet a dog for the first time after spending so long afraid of them, Cassian holding his hand the whole time. He thought about the hugs after time away, the wrestling after petty, half-serious arguments, the late nights talking about their futures. The feeling of conquering the world when they’d won the Blood Rite.
Azriel thought about the male he’d become, and about the fact that who he was now was all because of the males who’d looked at him and decided he was worth a chance. The boys who had taken another hurting child in and gave him a purpose; a family to come back to. He looked around him, at this family of his own making, and he felt the latticework of greenery growing over the graveyard of his old heart start to beat again as he realized that he was finally truly alive.