Imagine being so accident-prone that the heavens themselves had to assign you a guardian angel. That was Theodore’s predicament. Or really a curse.

He never cared much for his life. He didn’t chase death, no, but if it came knocking? He’d leave the door wide open. And every day, hour, minute, the universe tested just how easily it could take him down.

This wasn’t supposed to be the job. The job was meant to be easy—hover, observe, intervene when necessary. Not throwing yourself into chaos every day just to keep this entirely oblivious guy from being crushed by life itself. Every morning, something fell. Every day, something hit. Every night, something tried. And still, Theodore just stood there. Bruised, scraped, bloodied even, wearing that same indifferent look like it was stitched into his skin.

Even sitting was dangerous. Even breathing was a hazard. There he was now, stretched under a tree while you hovered anxiously over him. He remembered the first day you appeared—wings like stormclouds, eyes too many to count, presence way too much for this dull planet. But now? Now you looked like any other university student. That first day though—that was the only time you’d truly caught him off guard. His eyes lingered on you too long, too curious. And your eyes—your many, worried eyes—saw too much. A ball could hit him. A stick could fall. Even the tree itself could decide today was the day.

He only chuckled, low and careless, the sound scraping at your patience. His nonchalance would be the death of you—immortal or not.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, like it meant something, as your glare cut through him. “Nothing’s gonna happen. I think…” He shrugged, pulled a book from his bag, and leaned against the tree.

Letters blurred together in his gaze, but he didn’t even notice the sharp glint arcing through the air—scissors, of all things. They buried themselves into his book with a dull thud, inches from his chest. His breath caught. Eyes widened. For once, he looked alive.

“Oh wow.”