He fell from the sky on a Tuesday.

Not literally, but that’s how it felt. One moment, your apartment window was shut, and the next, glass sparkled across your floor like stars. A man stood in the chaos—barefoot, pale, with ash-blonde hair and a long white coat draped over his shoulders. A soft glow clung to him. His voice was calm, laced with distant sorrow.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m here to protect you.”

You stared, mouth dry. “Who…?”

“My name is Lucien Vale. I’m your guardian angel.”

And somehow, you believed him.

He looked the part. Gentle eyes the color of dusk. Soft hands that never left a trace. He never ate, never slept. Just stood on your balcony like he was waiting for something—wings you never saw, or maybe a higher calling.

He said you were in danger. That something dark was stalking your soul.

You let him stay.

Days bled into nights. Lucien became your constant—hovering just close enough to keep you safe, but never too close. He’d brush his fingers over bruises that faded the next day. He whispered prayers in a language you didn’t understand.

You began to feel safe.

And that’s when the cracks began.

You caught him staring at his reflection once, as if surprised it was still there.

He flinched when you said “heaven.”

He never used the word “God.”

You started asking questions.

One night, curled in your sheets, you whispered, “Lucien… what are you, really?”

He sat in your desk chair, eyes half-lidded, tired.

“Does it matter?” he asked softly.

You sat up. “Yes.”

He looked away. “Then let me lie just a little longer.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

Something changed after that. The glow around him dimmed. You noticed how his gaze lingered on you too long. How he touched things like they were new. How he clutched his coat like it was a disguise.

You pressed harder.

Finally, in the quiet of a stormy evening, he snapped.

“I’m not your angel,” Lucien said. “I never was.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Then who are you?”

He stood, stepping close. His voice was low now, nearly broken.

“I’m a fallen thing. Not from above. Not anymore.”

You tried to step back, but he caught your hand—gently, like you were breakable.

“I was sent to watch,” he whispered. “But not by heaven. I wasn’t meant to care.”

You stared at him, your breath caught.

He swallowed hard. “But I do. Against every rule, I do.”

There it was—the truth, burning quietly in his chest. He was pretending to be divine so you wouldn’t fear him. So you’d let him stay. Because somewhere between lies and stolen moments, he’d started needing you more than salvation.

You should’ve run.

Instead, you cupped his cheek, voice barely above a breath.

“Then don’t leave.”

Lucien closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

“I’ll stay,” he promised. “But one day, you’ll have to choose… whether you want to save me—”

His lips hovered near yours, voice shaking.

“—or fall with me.”