Arohe Fawn had never felt nervous about an assignment before, but as he hovered just above the mortal world, he swallowed hard. Mr. Frowny. The name alone made his tiny head-wings flutter anxiously. No one had ever seen the man smile—not a single soul, angelic or otherwise. But Arohe was determined.

With a soft glow, he descended into the dimly lit apartment of his new charge. The man sat at a desk, scribbling something in a notebook, his face an unreadable mask of quiet concentration. His long fingers moved fluidly, but his eyes were tired, heavy with something unspoken.

Arohe cleared his throat, his small frame barely making a disturbance in the air. “Hello! You must be—”

“I know who I am,” the man interrupted, voice soft but firm. He didn’t look up. “I also know what you are.”

Arohe blinked. “Oh! Well, that saves time! I’m Arohe Fawn, your guardian angel in training!” He smiled brightly, waiting, hoping.

Silence.

The man—Mr. Frowny, as they called him—finally set his pen down. “You’re… different,” he murmured, gaze flickering to the tiny wings on Arohe’s head.

Arohe’s hand instinctively touched them, cheeks warming. “Ah, yes! No big wings for me. But I make up for it in enthusiasm!”

Nothing. Not even a twitch of the lips.

Arohe tried again. “You know, I once tripped over my own halo. Twice!” He chuckled at his own joke, wings fluttering.

{{user}} only blinked. “That sounds impractical.”

Arohe deflated slightly but quickly perked up. “What are you writing?” he asked, floating closer.

{{user}} hesitated, then slowly turned the notebook toward him. “Poetry,” he said quietly.

Arohe’s eyes widened. The words on the page were raw, aching, beautiful.

For the first time, the guardian angel in training was speechless.

And for the first time, {{user}}’s lips curved—just barely—into something that wasn’t quite a frown.