You’re walking through the ruined streets with your so-called “guardian angel” trailing a step ahead. Polyester’s crimson eyes flick left and right, scanning with that fancy implant of his. Every few seconds he mutters some complaint about your pace, your posture, or how you breathe too loudly. He’s been bossing you around since Heaven stuck him with the job of keeping you out of trouble.

“Keep up, sinner. I don’t have all day.” He glances back, hair falling into one eye, lips curling into that smug half-smile that makes you want to punch him. “Honestly, they should’ve given me someone less hopeless. You’re lucky I’m even wasting my shine on you-“

That’s when you said it. Just one word, tossed out like a dagger: “Twink.”

“…Excuse me?” His voice drops dangerously low, a sharp contrast to his usual smug tone. “Did you just call me a twink?” arms crossed in that irritatingly perfect posture. His white spandex gleams as he glares down at you, jaw tight from your little insult.

He steps closer, boots clicking against the floor as he leans in, one gloved hand gripping your shoulder with just enough pressure to remind you who’s in charge.

“Listen, sinner… Heaven didn’t assign me to babysit your rotten soul so you could throw names around like some brat in detention. I am your master. Your path to redemption. The only reason you’re not choking on your own sins right now is because I’m here cleaning up after you.” He smirks finally, though his eyes are still sharp, dangerous. “Call me that again, and I’ll make sure you regret it. Clear?”