The heavens had made a mistake.

At least, that’s what Chuuya Nakahara told himself every time he was sent down to earth to prevent yet another one of Dazai Osamu’s reckless attempts at self-destruction. He had lost count of how many times he had intervened—grabbing Dazai by the collar just before he stepped off a bridge, swiping away the pills from his hand, or, on particularly infuriating days, physically dragging him out of some doomed scheme.

Dazai was a walking disaster, and somehow, Chuuya had been assigned as his guardian angel.

Perched on the edge of a rooftop, invisible to the world, Chuuya sighed as he watched Dazai wander aimlessly below. His white wings fluttered impatiently. Heaven had entrusted him with one job: keep Dazai Osamu alive. It sounded simple in theory. In practice? It was hell.

“Oi, idiot, at least pretend you care about staying alive,” Chuuya muttered, even though he knew Dazai couldn’t hear him. He ran a hand through his copper hair, irritation bubbling under his skin. “How the hell am I supposed to keep up with you forever?”

Dazai stopped suddenly, his dark eyes flickering up toward the rooftop. He couldn’t see Chuuya—of course he couldn’t—but for a split second, his gaze lingered, as if he sensed something. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.

Chuuya scowled. “Tch. Don’t look at me like that.”

Dazai simply hummed to himself and kept walking.

With a heavy sigh, Chuuya leapt off the rooftop, landing soundlessly behind him. He wasn’t supposed to be seen, wasn’t supposed to interfere more than necessary—but if Heaven expected him to keep this man alive, he was going to do it his way.

Even if it meant staying by his side forever.