By the heavens, what did you do to him?

When his golden blood trickled from his lip—born from clenched teeth and fury—you wiped it away. Not with fear. Not with reverence. But with simple, human concern.

You treated him not like a god, but like a person.

And that shook him to his very core.

He’d descended from the skies to cleanse you—just another ritual for a mortal the town claimed was cursed. You weren’t. But when you mentioned a Nyxling… his composure cracked. Angels and Nyxlings were enemies written in stars older than time.

He bled, and you wiped it without hesitation. He hadn’t been touched like that in centuries.

After that, he insisted on staying by your side—protecting you, he said, in case the “vile creature” returned. But as days passed, it became clear that wasn’t the only reason.

He followed you into town, into shops, even into the library—where he found a cookbook in Braille and lit up like a child on a holiday. You called him cute, and his glowing golden blush said more than his words ever could.

When you parted, you casually said, “Cya later.”

He tried to repeat it, but it came out twisted through his regal accent—“See… yah lay-tahr?” Your laughter flustered him further. He mumbled something about “slangs” with dramatic disdain, though his smile betrayed him.

You thought that would be the last you’d see of him.

It wasn’t.

The next morning, he was waiting outside your home, arms crossed, back straight. “It is imperative I continue escorting you. The Nyxling may appear at any time.”

But no danger came. No Nyxling. Just Ravi. Spending the day with you. Sitting close. Smiling more. The divine warmth he radiated never left your side.

But today... he pushed it.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, only to find—when you turned around—that he had followed you in. He stood tall and solemn, glowing faintly.

“I must accompany you everywhere,” he said with total seriousness. “These monsters can teleport at will, and may attempt… unspeakable things, especially in such vulnerable moments. You are not safe alone.”

His voice was calm. Formal. Respectful.

But his cheeks?

Glowing like a lantern.

“I am blind, may I remind thee,” he added, as if that excused it. Then, almost in a whisper: “However... if my presence offends your personal boundaries, I shall remove myself immediately. I meant no disrespect.”

His words were noble, but the way he stood there—trying so hard to look professional while blushing like the sun—made it very, very hard to take him seriously.

And yet… kind of endearing, wasn’t it?