Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For centuries, angels had watched over humanity from the shadows, their presence hidden in the folds of time. The human world, full of bustling cities and silent countryside, was a vast, chaotic web of existence that no one—except the angels—truly understood. While humans went about their lives, unaware of the celestial guardians above them, the angels had quietly shaped the course of history, gently guiding their charges, protecting them from unseen forces, and intervening when necessary. But the most curious part of all was that the humans—unaware of their otherworldly protectors—were completely oblivious to the magic and the divine that thrummed just beneath the surface of their reality.

The Celestial Realm was the birthplace of the angels, a place that could never be fully understood by the human mind. It was a realm of contradictions—endless and vast, yet as intimate as the deepest of dreams. It was a place where time itself twisted, stretched, and folded like a delicate fabric, where days could pass in mere moments and yet stretch on for eternity. The world had no sun, no moon. Instead, the skies were forever painted with the soft glow of an ethereal light, the stars above swirling like tiny, radiant jewels suspended in the heavens. The air itself seemed to shimmer with magic, a gentle pulse, a heartbeat that echoed throughout the land.

From a distance, the Celestial Realm might seem to be a place of quiet calm, a land of soft light and peaceful stillness. But beneath the tranquility, a great order reigned. The buildings in the sky were impossibly tall, their alabaster columns reaching toward the heavens, crowned with intricate carvings that depicted the history of the angels’ creation. The structures themselves were alive with divine energy—shifting, expanding, contracting in harmony with the flow of celestial currents. Each building served a purpose, each hallway, each chamber, had a meaning. This was no ordinary city; it was a manifestation of perfect order.

At the heart of this world stood the Bureau of Protection, where the angels—those tasked with safeguarding humans—were trained, given their assignments, and taught the ways of divine intervention. The Bureau was a sprawling complex, filled with shimmering corridors and expansive chambers that stretched into infinity. The walls, a gleaming white, were translucent, glowing faintly with the light of distant stars. Even the floor beneath their feet seemed to pulse with life, a soft hum vibrating through the air.

Angels, like Seokmin, could glide through the corridors with ease, their wings unfolding in smooth, fluid arcs, catching the faint light as they soared. The wings themselves were a radiant white, the feathers soft yet strong, a symbol of their celestial power. Each angel’s wings were unique, but all were beautiful in their own right, a reflection of the purity and grace bestowed upon them by their divine creators.

But the most striking thing about the Celestial Realm was its silence. No footsteps echoed in the halls, no voices raised in anger or joy. The only sound was the soft, ethereal music that seemed to emanate from the very air itself—an ever-present hum that resonated with the divine rhythm of the universe. It was a perfect, pristine place where the only rule was order. And yet, as perfect as it was, there was one thing missing from the angels’ world—their connection to the humans they watched over.

For the angels, it had been this way for millennia. Their task had always been clear: protect the humans, guide them when necessary, but never interfere too directly. The world of humans was chaotic, unpredictable, and full of hardship. But it was also beautiful. The angels could never experience life in the same way that humans did—they could not feel the weight of mortality or the weight of love, nor could they understand the complexities of human emotions. They were mere watchers, guardians cloaked in the veil of invisibility, pulling strings from behind the scenes, guiding, influencing, but never directly participating.

The Bureau of Protection was a place of meticulous bureaucracy, the heart of which was a large chamber known as the Hall of Assignments. In this room, angels gathered to receive their missions. The walls here were lined with long rows of golden scrolls, each containing the history of every human the angels had ever watched over. The air was thick with the hum of celestial magic, the vibrations of power that carried with them the weight of eons. Every angel knew their task: to be assigned to a human and protect them, to watch over them quietly and without notice.

Angels would spend their entire existence in this hall, waiting for their time to come. For most, the process was simple: an assignment was given, they would carry out their duties, and once their time was complete, they would return to the Bureau, having completed their mission. But for Seokmin, today was different. Today, he was about to receive his first assignment, his first real task as a guardian angel.

He had always felt different from the others—lighter, freer, and much more excited about the task at hand than his colleagues. While the angels around him focused on their paperwork, their assignments, Seokmin could only think of one thing: the human world. The humans they protected, the lives they shaped, the emotions they could never fully understand.

Unlike his colleagues, who adhered to the rigid structure of the Bureau, Seokmin often found himself lost in thoughts of adventure. His wings fluttered restlessly behind him as he wandered through the Bureau, eyes darting to every new angle and every new sight. There was something about the idea of watching over a human that thrilled him to his core. He had always been fascinated by them—their unpredictability, their passions, and their fears. And now, for the first time, he would be part of their world. He would be assigned to someone.

As he strolled through the Bureau, his wings fluttering with barely contained excitement, he was the epitome of everything the Celestial Realm wasn't. His wings—soft, white feathers that had been meticulously groomed for eons—flapped with an air of joy, as though he had just been told that the whole of the human world awaited his arrival with open arms. His halo, a radiant ring above his head, wobbled slightly as his giddiness caused him to fidget. Seokmin’s carefree smile, full of unrestrained enthusiasm, would have been endearing if it weren’t for the loud flapping of his wings that echoed throughout the otherwise quiet Bureau.

“Seokmin,” Joshua’s voice rang out from behind a desk, as calm as ever, his eyes warm yet tired. He was the first one Seokmin approached, his closest superior in the celestial hierarchy.

Seokmin’s eyes sparkled as he approached Joshua. "Joshua! You won’t believe it—today’s the day! My first assignment as a guardian angel!” He flung his arms wide, as though he were about to announce some monumental achievement. Joshua simply chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

“I know. I’ve been given the honor of assigning you to a human,” Joshua said with a smile that seemed to hold a mix of pride and quiet amusement. “You’re going to be watching over someone very special, Seokmin. His name is Chan.”

“Chan,” Seokmin repeated thoughtfully, his voice full of curiosity. “What’s he like?”

Joshua tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth curving into a knowing smile. "That’s for you to discover. The important thing is that you’ll protect him, guide him from afar. Make sure he’s safe. Keep him happy."

Seokmin nodded eagerly. "Got it. Protect, guide, and make him happy. Simple enough!” He grinned again, and Joshua’s eyes softened. It was clear Seokmin’s enthusiasm would be both a blessing and a curse.

Before Joshua could add anything further, another voice interjected.

"He's going to need a lot of guidance," came a sardonic drawl. Jeonghan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, an exasperated but amused expression on his face. "He can’t just wing it, Joshua. You might want to lay down some actual rules before he goes off and tries to charm the human with magic.”

Seokmin’s face lit up. "Oh, come on, Jeonghan! Where’s your sense of adventure?" he asked, shooting his superior a mischievous grin.

"Adventure is fine until you end up blowing your cover because you thought it would be ‘romantic’ to fly your human to the moon,” Jeonghan shot back, unfazed. "Remember, we’re not supposed to make ourselves known."

“Ah, but you know Seokmin,” Joshua interjected lightly, his voice serene and full of good-natured tolerance. “He doesn’t always follow the rules, but that’s part of what makes him so... special.”

“I’m special?” Seokmin beamed, his chest swelling with pride.

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. "You're special, alright. Special in a way that will likely give Seungcheol more paperwork than he’s already drowning in.” He paused for effect. “And don’t even get me started on the ‘advice’ you’ll be getting from Mingyu and Minghao."

Seokmin’s eyes glimmered with excitement at the mention of his best friends. "Mingyu and Minghao are the best! They’ll help me out, I’m sure of it."

Joshua chuckled softly. “You’ll need all the help you can get. You’re going to need a lot of patience, Seokmin. Chan’s life won’t always be easy, and you’ll have to be careful about how you influence him. He needs to make his own decisions."

Just as Seokmin was about to ask another question, a hologram shimmered to life in the air, displaying the image of Chan—looking young, innocent, and just a little awkward in an oversized hoodie, surrounded by friends. Seokmin blinked, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. The way Chan laughed, that infectious joy—it tugged at something deep inside Seokmin, though he quickly dismissed the feeling.

“He’s... he’s cute,” Seokmin muttered under his breath.

Joshua, whose sharp eyes had caught the flicker of emotion, smiled knowingly. “Don’t let your feelings get in the way of your mission.”

“Of course not,” Seokmin replied quickly, shaking his head. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Joshua, or himself.

At that moment, the door to the office swung open again, and Seungcheol, the head of the higher-ranking group, walked in with a mountain of paperwork in his arms. He gave Seokmin a brief look, exhaling with exaggerated exhaustion.

“Seokmin,” Seungcheol said, his voice heavy with the weight of responsibility. “You ready to go? I’m sending you down to Earth now. Remember the rules. Follow the guidelines. If you mess up... well, just don’t.”

Seokmin saluted dramatically, his wings flaring out behind him. “Got it, boss!”

As Seokmin left the office, he was met by Mingyu and Minghao. Mingyu bounced up the moment he saw Seokmin approach, his face lighting up with excitement. “So? What’s the big news?” he asked, his voice loud and boisterous, as always.

Minghao, ever the calm one, simply raised an eyebrow, giving Seokmin a questioning glance. His wings, darker than Seokmin’s, fluttered softly as he waited for an explanation.

Seokmin took a deep breath, looking between the two of them. “I... I got assigned to protect a human.”

“A human?!” Mingyu’s voice shot up an octave. “That sounds so fun! Do you get to be all mysterious and protective, like in those stories?”

Seokmin laughed, the tension in his chest easing a little. “Well, they did say no flashy tricks, so I guess I’m just supposed to be... normal? A bit of a letdown, huh?”

Minghao’s lips quirked into a small smile. “It’s not about being flashy, Seokmin. It’s about being there when they need you. You’ll figure it out.”

Mingyu immediately clapped his hands together. “Okay, but listen—what if you just accidentally tell them you’re an angel? It’ll be so cool! Just imagine—”

“Mingyu,” Minghao said firmly, “let him do things his way. He’ll find his own balance.”

Seokmin chuckled, appreciating the support. “Yeah, I guess I’ll figure it out. But I’m kinda nervous... What if I mess up?”

“You won’t,” Minghao said quietly, his tone calm and reassuring. “You always find a way.”

Mingyu nodded eagerly. “Exactly! And hey, if you mess up, I’m sure we can make it a bit... dramatic!”

Seokmin grinned but turned thoughtful. “So... I just watch over him? That’s it?”

“Pretty much,” Minghao confirmed. “But it’s more complicated than it sounds. Humans are unpredictable, and you’ll have to make split-second decisions about when to interfere and when to let things play out.”

Seokmin nodded slowly, processing their words. Just then, Mingyu nudged him excitedly. “Oh, oh! Look, they’re letting you see your human now!”

A golden shimmer filled the air, and suddenly, Seokmin found himself looking at Chan for the first time. The mortal world unfolded before him like a painting, and in the center of it all was a boy—his human.

Chan was laughing, his face bright with joy as he played around with his friends. There was an energy about him, something vibrant and warm. Seokmin didn’t know why, but he felt... drawn in. Like Chan was a melody he had always known but never heard before.

Minghao studied Seokmin’s expression and raised an eyebrow. “You look weirdly fascinated.”

“What? No,” Seokmin said quickly, shaking himself out of his daze. “He just seems... lively.”

Mingyu smirked. “Sounds like someone has a favorite human.”

Seokmin scoffed. “That’s not a thing.”

“Oh, it’s a thing,” Minghao muttered. “And it usually leads to trouble. Seokmin, remember: being a guardian angel isn’t about just making an impression. It’s about making a difference in his life. You’ll need to be subtle. Follow the rules.”

Seokmin smiled and nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude toward his two friends. They had been with him through thick and thin, always there to offer support, even if it was in very different forms.

Seokmin rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny that there was something about Chan that intrigued him. He brushed the thought aside. He had a job to do, and that was all that mattered.

Their conversation was interrupted by a signal from above. It was time for Seokmin to descend to the mortal world and begin his mission. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, wings folding behind him as he prepared for the journey.

As the portal to the human world opened before him, Seokmin hesitated for a brief moment, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. The cool, crisp air of the Celestial Realm gave way to the humid, noisy world of Earth—a stark contrast to the peace and order of home. Seokmin blinked rapidly as he stepped through the ethereal threshold from the celestial realm to the human world. It was always a strange experience, one that never failed to send a shiver down his spine. One moment, he was surrounded by soft, glowing light—endless clouds and soft whispers of celestial beings. The next moment, everything shifted. The air was thicker here, colder, more real.

He squinted at the sky above, where the moon hung high, casting a pale glow over the city. It was different from what he was used to. The stars seemed closer here, yet the sky was still distant. There was no infinite sea of light, no soft, welcoming hum. Instead, the sounds of bustling cars, distant chatter, and the occasional honk of a horn filled the air. The scent of fresh rain mixed with the faint, lingering scent of exhaust fumes. The world felt... busy, alive. And, for some reason, it made Seokmin feel small in a way he hadn't expected.

For a brief moment, he hesitated.

His wings fluttered uncomfortably behind him, drawing the slightest attention from the few pedestrians who passed by. He quickly folded them tighter, but still, he felt like everyone could see him—like he didn’t belong here. The human world was overwhelming, and Seokmin couldn’t help but feel the weight of his new responsibility creeping in.

His thoughts raced. What if I mess this up? What if I fail?

But then, like a sudden breath of fresh air, his focus shifted. He took in a deep breath, feeling the cool night air fill his lungs. No. He wasn’t just here to observe. He was here to help. He had a job to do. This wasn’t a mission he could mess up, not when Chan’s safety was at stake.

“Alright, Seokmin. No turning back now,” he muttered to himself, standing straighter and shaking off the moment of uncertainty. He had a job to do, and nothing was going to stop him. Not even his overwhelming self-doubt.

His wings felt oddly heavy, as though the weight of the world below him was pressing down on them. He stood in awe for a moment before shaking himself out of his reverie. This is what I was born for, he thought, stepping into the chaos of the human world. I’ve got this.

And then, in true Seokmin fashion, he tripped over his own feet, nearly tumbling face forward into the ground before regaining his balance.

Through the other side of the portal Mingyu howled with laughter. Minghao sighed. Joshua, Jeonghan, and S.Coups, watching from afar, exchanged knowing glances.

“This is going to be a disaster,” S.Coups muttered.

Jeonghan just smiled. “Oh, definitely. But it’ll be entertaining.”

“Seokmin! You’ll be fine, just be you and remember that we’ll be watching so if you ever need help or screw up we will come to you.” Joshua said and gave Seokmin a warm smile as the portal shrunk to nothing and closed.

And with the portal closed, Seokmin vanished into the human world, completely unaware of just how much chaos he was about to bring into Lee Chan’s life.

This was it. His first day on the job as a guardian angel. He was supposed to be inconspicuous, subtle, and—above all—normal. Easy, right? It was just about following him around and making sure nothing bad happened. How hard could that be?

But of course, Seokmin wasn’t exactly known for being “normal.” In fact, he had a rather alarming habit of being... extra when the situation didn’t demand it.

“Alright, Seokmin,” he muttered to himself, pumping himself up. “Just blend in. Do not make a scene. No grand gestures. Just... be cool.”

Of course, fate had other plans.

As Seokmin was stepping out of the alley to find Chan, he noticed a bicycle coming straight toward him—fast. He barely had time to react before the rider, a teenager with messy hair, swerved, and in his panic, clipped Seokmin’s wing.

A sharp whoosh of wind followed by a loud “Ow!” echoed through the street. The teenager stumbled backward, arms flailing in the air before he fell off the bike completely, hitting the sidewalk with an embarrassing thud.

Seokmin stood frozen, wings flared out at a full 90-degree angle, completely visible to anyone in the immediate area. His eyes widened as he quickly tried to retract them, but—

“Holy...!” the teenager gasped, staring up at him in awe, wide-eyed. “What... are you?!”

Seokmin blinked rapidly. Crap. This was bad. His wings were glowing slightly, reflecting the light of the nearby streetlamps, and there was no way to pretend he was just some guy with a weird fashion sense. His face flushed with panic.

The teenager slowly backed away, eyes still locked on Seokmin's wings. “Are you, like... an angel?” he whispered, eyes darting to the ground. “Am I gonna, like... die now or something?”

Seokmin’s mouth went dry. This was not happening. Why does this always happen to me?!

He forced a smile, an awkward, wobbly thing that clearly wasn’t helping. “Uh... I’m just... a very... um, a very angelic person. You know, like... really good vibes. Nothing to worry about, just... go on with your life. Totally normal, right? No big deal.”

The teenager stared at him, still frozen in place, before his eyes grew impossibly wide. “No, no way. Wait—this is for real? Like in those angel movies? You’re an actual angel?!” He started backing away slowly, still eyeing Seokmin like he was about to take off into the sky at any moment.

Seokmin’s face went beet red. “Uh, yeah! Uh, you know what? Just forget you saw anything, alright? Everything’s fine! Totally normal... uh, human stuff happening here! Yeah!”

“Wait a second, you’re one of those cosplayers aren’t you. That makes so much more sense, sick outfit by the way.” the teenager said and without a second glance hoped back onto his bike and rode off.

As Seokmin stood there, heart hammering in his chest, he watched the teenager speed off, clearly still unsure of what had just happened. He stood frozen in place, the air around him suddenly feeling a little too cold for comfort. His wings fluttered nervously, still glowing faintly from the streetlights, casting a soft halo-like glow that was definitely not “normal human stuff.” He quickly tried to fold them back, but his panic was working against him, and they barely budged.

What was he supposed to do? He could hear the faint rush of wind and the distant hum of traffic, but for a moment, everything around him felt impossibly still. The bustling human world seemed to be watching him, waiting for some grand gesture, some sign that he was more than just a flustered angel in an unfamiliar world.

Then, as if sensing his internal chaos, Seokmin took a slow, shaky breath. He closed his eyes for just a moment, trying to center himself. His first mission, his first day, and he was already making a fool of himself. Typical. Great start, Seokmin, he scolded himself internally. He had been so excited to finally get his assignment, but now? Now, he was certain that the teenager—who had just thought he was a cosplayer, thank goodness—would never forget the ‘angel’ he’d just encountered.

With his wings now slightly more under control, Seokmin tried to shuffle toward the edge of the alley, hoping to hide his wings as much as possible. He needed to find Chan. His charge. The whole reason he had even crossed over to this noisy, chaotic world. Chan—where is he? Seokmin’s mind raced, and he glanced at the time on his celestial wristband. He wasn’t exactly sure how it worked here on Earth, but he was pretty sure time was a little different on both sides of the portal. That teenager had thrown him off for longer than he cared to admit, but the most important thing was to stay focused. Stay on task. Find Chan.

Seokmin took a deep breath again, willing himself to calm down, but then, as if the universe had decided to add insult to injury, his stomach gave an ominous growl. He winced, clutching at his stomach. This was a nightmare. His wings weren’t the only thing that needed attention—he hadn’t eaten anything since the angelic breakfast hours ago, and whatever snacks they served in the Bureau were hardly substantial.

Trying to ignore the pang of hunger, Seokmin pulled up his hood as best he could, hoping to shield his glowing wings from view as he wandered deeper into the city streets. The streetlights above flickered like tiny stars in the night sky, casting long, stretching shadows. People passed by, some in pairs, some alone, all talking or laughing or too absorbed in their own lives to notice the flustered angel stumbling around like a confused tourist.

Just as Seokmin rounded the corner of the street, he caught sight of someone—him. Chan. There he was, standing outside a coffee shop, earphones in, casually kicking a stray rock on the sidewalk. His back was turned to Seokmin, but it didn’t matter. Seokmin’s heart skipped a beat. It was as if the moment had been pulled together by some invisible thread, drawing him toward the human standing in front of him.

There was something magnetic about Chan, an aura that felt familiar, even though they’d never met. A pull that Seokmin couldn’t explain, but he knew that it meant something important. The way Chan’s hair ruffled slightly in the wind, the gentle curve of his lips as he absentmindedly stared at the streetlamp—it all felt like the pieces of a puzzle that Seokmin hadn’t even realized he’d been looking for.

For a long moment, Seokmin froze, trying to figure out what to do next. Was he supposed to approach him? Just... follow him? What was the right move? His job was simple, right? Protect him. Keep him safe. Be there if anything went wrong. Yet, standing there, Seokmin couldn’t shake the strange flutter in his chest. It wasn’t just about responsibility anymore. There was something else—something that made his heart beat just a little bit faster.

He was still standing there, lost in the tug of something unexplainable when the ground beneath him betrayed him. His foot caught on a loose stone on the sidewalk, and before he could do anything to stop it, he was stumbling forward, wings snapping out behind him with a force that nearly knocked him off balance.

Oh, no.

With an embarrassing gasp, Seokmin reached out and collided with the back of Chan’s shoulder.

“Ah!” Seokmin yelped, quickly stepping back. “Sorry! I didn’t— I wasn’t—” He raised his hands, trying to calm the situation down. His wings were flared out completely, glowing faintly in the dim light of the streetlamp. This was a disaster.

Chan whipped around at the sound of the collision, his wide eyes locking onto Seokmin. For a split second, it felt like time itself slowed, and Seokmin could see the confusion flicker in Chan’s expression. He knew exactly what was about to happen, and he wasn’t sure how to stop it.

And then—nothing. Chan just blinked at him, his expression scrunching in confusion.

“Oh, uh... I’m so sorry about that!” Seokmin scrambled for words, attempting to retract his wings as quickly as possible, but they didn’t cooperate. “I’m not usually this clumsy.”

Chan tilted his head, his gaze flicking down to Seokmin’s glowing wings, then back to his face. He raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a slight smile. “You good, man? You kinda look... I dunno, like you just walked out of a movie or something.”

Seokmin’s breath hitched, his brain scrambling for a response. A movie? What kind of movie would this even be? “Uh, yeah, totally! You know, uh... I get that a lot. I’m just, uh... really into... dramatic entrances.” He chuckled awkwardly, forcing a smile that was probably a little too wide.

“Uh-huh,” Chan replied, his eyes scanning Seokmin curiously. “Well, I guess you’re one of those... super stylish people, huh?” He glanced at Seokmin’s wings again, then shrugged, as if trying to make sense of it in his own way. “Not gonna lie, that’s some next-level cosplay, though.”

Seokmin’s face flushed red. “Cosplay?” He chuckled nervously, his wings twitching. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Chan continued to stare for a moment longer, but instead of retreating or panicking, he took a step closer. “Okay, so... what’s the deal? You just... walking around like this, or what?”

Seokmin stammered, trying to think of a plausible excuse. “You know... it’s just—well, you could say I’m... here to help.” He shrugged lightly, hoping it was vague enough to pass.

“Help with what? Are you, like, some kind of superhero?” Chan laughed, clearly still trying to wrap his head around this bizarre situation. “Like, do I need help or something?”

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, but the words got caught in his throat. What was he supposed to say?

“Uh, no, nothing like that!” he said quickly, fumbling over his words. “I’m just, you know... I like to make sure people are... alright. Like, if you need directions or something—” He laughed awkwardly, gesturing to the street as if trying to look casual. “I’m just a guy who’s... looking out for you, I guess?”

“Okay, now you’re really giving me mysterious stranger vibes,” Chan joked, grinning. “But I’m not mad at it. Guess it’s not every day you run into someone like you.”

Seokmin chuckled nervously, nodding. “Yeah, it’s not exactly my normal look, either.” He forced another smile, trying to be as disarming as possible. “But, hey, I’m harmless.”

Chan’s smile softened, his gaze finally relaxing a little. “Well, alright then. Not gonna lie, you’re definitely a bit of an enigma, but... I guess we all have our quirks, huh?” He tilted his head, looking at Seokmin with a hint of amusement. “Nice to meet you... uh, I don’t think you ever actually said your name?”

Seokmin’s mind raced for a moment, caught off guard by the question. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d been too busy trying not to mess things up. “Oh! Right. My bad. I’m... Seokmin.” He offered a somewhat awkward but sincere smile. “Just... Seokmin.”

“Well, Seokmin, I guess I’m Chan,” the other guy said, his smile widening into a grin. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like you today, but I’m not complaining. I mean, who else can say they met a guy with... glowing wings?”

Seokmin laughed, his heart still racing a little. “Yeah, well... it’s a very rare special talent. You’re not likely to see me again anytime soon, don’t worry.”

Chan shrugged nonchalantly. “I dunno, I’m kinda hoping you’ll be around. You seem like you could make a pretty cool friend... mysterious glowing wings aside.”

Seokmin’s chest fluttered at the unexpected warmth of Chan’s words. He could feel that strange, unfamiliar pull again—stronger now. But instead of speaking, he simply nodded, trying to keep it together.

“Well, it was nice running into you, Chan,” Seokmin said, smiling brightly. “I’ll... see you around, okay?”

“Yeah,” Chan replied, still smiling. “See you around, Seokmin.”

And with that, Seokmin took a step back, carefully retreating down the street, heart pounding with both the uncertainty of his mission and the undeniable feeling that his journey had just begun.

Chapter Text

It had been weeks since Seokmin first met Chan, and despite his initial resolve to remain in the background—mostly hovering, invisible to the human world—he couldn’t deny that a part of him had already begun to grow attached to the young man he was meant to protect.

It wasn’t just about duty anymore. The deep connection he felt with Chan was undeniable, pulling him closer in a way that Seokmin didn’t quite understand. The way Chan’s laughter seemed to fill every room, the warmth he radiated in every interaction—it was impossible to ignore. And somehow, Chan always seemed to brighten everyone’s day with the simplest gestures, as if he were an unintentional beacon of joy. His kindness wasn’t loud or overbearing, but it was infectious—an undercurrent that made everything around him feel just a little bit lighter.

And Seokmin? Well, he had never experienced anything like this before. Not in the way he felt it with Chan. There was an ease in Chan’s presence, a calmness that reminded Seokmin of the warmth of sunlight breaking through clouds. It wasn’t just the pull of his responsibilities as Chan’s guardian angel—it was something else, something deeper, like an unspoken bond that existed from the moment they had met.

Every time Seokmin looked at Chan, a small tug in his chest seemed to remind him that this was important. This connection was important. It wasn’t something he could ignore or dismiss, no matter how much he tried.

One afternoon, as Seokmin sat outside the local bookstore, enjoying the rare quiet of the afternoon sun, he couldn’t help but watch Chan from a distance. He hadn’t planned to run into him—certainly not today—but when he saw Chan walking across the parking lot with that carefree swagger, his heart skipped a beat.

There was something magnetic about him, the way his confidence filled every step. His hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, the light breeze tousling his hair, making him look effortlessly charming.

Seokmin leaned against a tree, arms crossed, trying his best to stay out of Chan’s line of sight. He had to maintain some distance. He needed to stay away.

But when Chan’s eyes locked onto his, that plan crumbled.

“Hey!” Chan’s voice rang out, cutting through Seokmin’s thoughts like a sudden crack of thunder.

Seokmin’s heart raced. He had tried so hard to stay hidden—his wings, still too visible for comfort, had flared out instinctively at the sound of Chan’s voice. In a panic, he quickly tried to conceal them. Too late. He’d already been spotted. He forced his expression into something casual, as if he hadn’t been caught entirely off guard.

Chan was standing in front of him now, wearing that signature grin, eyes bright with excitement. “I didn’t expect to see you here! You’re always around at the weirdest times.”

Seokmin’s stomach twisted nervously. Always around at the weirdest times? That was... not a great thing to hear, considering how often he’d been in places where he had no business being. He had to find a way to deflect. To stay casual. To keep Chan from suspecting anything.

“Oh, hey, Chan.” Seokmin gave a soft chuckle, trying to downplay the situation. “Just... out for a walk, you know? Figured I’d stop by for some fresh air.”

Chan’s eyebrow arched with mild amusement. “Uh-huh. Sure. I’ve been seeing you around a lot lately. At the library, here, that café down the street...” His voice trailed off for a second before he leaned in, a teasing glint in his eyes. “You know, it’s like you just appear out of nowhere. Almost like you’re following me or something.”

Seokmin’s breath hitched in his chest. Following him? His mind scrambled, his wings reacting once more, threatening to flare out despite his attempts to keep them still. That’s when Seokmin realized—he had to be more careful. More discrete.

“Nah,” Seokmin quickly deflected, waving a hand in the air as if to brush off the thought. “You’re probably just seeing things. It’s a small town, after all. People run into each other all the time.”

Chan laughed, the sound light and carefree, a delightful sound that made Seokmin’s heart flutter unexpectedly. “I guess you’re right. But it’s a good thing I’m not imagining it, right? I’d hate to think I’m seeing things!”

Seokmin chuckled softly, grateful that Chan’s attention had shifted away from anything suspicious. He hoped the conversation would stay light, stay easy.

“So, what are you doing here, exactly?” Chan asked, the curiosity in his eyes never fading. “Just here for a quick break?”

“Yeah, just that.” Seokmin nodded, keeping his responses simple. The less he said, the less likely it was for Chan to notice any oddities.

For a moment, the two stood there in silence. Chan’s gaze drifted to the entrance of the bookstore, but then it returned to Seokmin, a thoughtful expression on his face. His voice softened slightly, almost like he was trying to catch Seokmin off guard.

“You know... we’ve never really hung out, right? I mean, I see you around a lot, but we’ve never actually spent time together. Would you want to grab coffee sometime?” He paused, eyes glimmering. “I’ve been thinking about trying that new blend they’ve got inside.”

Seokmin’s heart stuttered. Was he really asking? Was this a real invitation? Seokmin’s mind raced as he tried to process the offer. Hang out? He had no idea what that would mean. He wasn’t supposed to get this close to Chan. Wasn’t supposed to let himself get involved.

But the way Chan was looking at him, that easy smile, the casual way he tossed out the invitation—it was impossible for Seokmin to say no. He had been trying so hard to keep his distance, to maintain that necessary separation, but everything about Chan pulled him closer.

Why did he have to be so nice?

“Um...” Seokmin’s voice faltered for a moment, his nerves almost getting the best of him. “I—yeah, sure. Coffee sounds great.” He couldn’t believe the words were coming out of his mouth. What am I doing?

Chan’s face lit up, and Seokmin’s heart melted a little. “Really? Awesome! I’ll grab us a table. You can pick whatever you like. They’ve got this amazing caramel macchiato I think you’d love.”

Seokmin smiled weakly. “Sounds good.”

As they entered the café, the overwhelming scent of freshly ground coffee beans and baked pastries hit Seokmin’s senses. He was trying to focus on the conversation, but it was difficult when his thoughts kept drifting back to Chan’s smile, his laugh, the way his eyes sparkled when he was genuinely happy. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to want to be around Chan this much.

They found a small table by the window, and the conversation flowed naturally. It wasn’t forced, it wasn’t awkward. There was something about Chan that made everything seem easy, like they had known each other forever. They talked about everything—books, music, even the weirdest childhood memories. Chan had a way of making Seokmin feel comfortable, like he didn’t need to pretend to be someone he wasn’t.

At some point, the conversation shifted to something more personal, and Seokmin’s throat tightened. Chan had been so open with him, and now, he was waiting for Seokmin to do the same.

“So,” Chan began, tapping his coffee cup lightly, “we’ve talked about a lot of stuff, but I don’t actually know that much about you yet. Like, what’s your deal? Where do you live? What do you do when you’re not randomly popping up everywhere?”

Seokmin’s breath caught in his throat. How do I answer that without blowing everything? His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that wouldn’t expose him.

“I—uh... I live around here,” he finally stammered. “Nothing exciting, really. I kind of keep to myself, you know? I like to read and walk around... get some fresh air.”

Chan tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “Mysterious. You really are like a character out of a story, huh?” he said, his voice light and teasing, but with a hint of curiosity behind it.

Seokmin chuckled nervously, but his chest tightened. A character out of a story? “I’m really not, though. I’m just... regular. Nothing special.”

Chan snorted, shaking his head. “No way. I don’t believe that for a second. You’re definitely more interesting than you let on.”

Seokmin looked down, his face flushing slightly. He had to focus. He couldn’t get distracted. This was nothing more than a friendly conversation. Right?

“Well, speaking of hanging out...” Chan’s voice broke through Seokmin’s thoughts. “Can I get your number? I mean, if you don’t mind. It’d be easier to keep in touch and, you know... grab coffee again or something.”

Seokmin froze. His heart skipped a beat as his mind scrambled for a response. “M-My number?”

“Yeah! It’s not weird, right?” Chan added quickly, his eyes wide with a hint of nervousness. “I just thought it’d be fun to stay in touch.”

“No! No, it’s not weird,” Seokmin stammered, trying to find his phone but fumbling a little. “I—I just wasn’t expecting you to ask.”

Chan chuckled, clearly amused by Seokmin’s nervousness. “Well, here I am, asking. Don’t leave me hanging!”

Seokmin’s hand shook slightly as he handed over his phone. “Okay, here you go.”

Chan quickly typed in his number, their fingers brushing lightly, and for a second, Seokmin swore he felt a spark. The touch was brief, but it left something lingering in his chest. Something he didn’t know how to explain.

“Done,” Chan said, handing the phone back with that same warm smile. “See? Now we can hang out more. I’ll text you.”

Seokmin nodded, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Yeah. I’m looking forward to it.”

As Chan got up to leave, he waved goodbye, his smile wide and genuine. “Catch you later, Seokmin! Don’t be a stranger!”

Seokmin watched him walk away, his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t quite place. He had agreed to this. To getting closer to Chan. And now, with the phone number in his hands, Seokmin knew he had crossed a line. There was no turning back.

And yet, even as the dread settled in the pit of his stomach, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of excitement.

The next few days passed in a blur, each one blending into the next. Seokmin found himself thinking about Chan more than he should. Each time Chan smiled at him, joked with him, or simply gave him that unassuming look, Seokmin felt the weight of his celestial duty tugging at him.

Then, one evening, Chan sent him a text.

Chan: Hey, Seokmin! I’m hanging out with Seungkwan and Vernon this Saturday. Want to come by? We’re going to check out that new park by the lake. It’ll be fun!

Seokmin stared at the message for a long time, his thumb hovering over his phone screen. He knew what this meant. He’d be in close proximity to Seungkwan and Vernon—two people who would, undoubtedly, pick up on the oddity that was Seokmin.

But Chan was inviting him. That, in itself, was an honor, wasn’t it? Despite all the barriers Seokmin had built up to keep his distance, he couldn’t bring himself to turn the invitation down.

Seokmin: Sure, I’d love to join you guys!

As Seokmin pressed ‘send,’ his heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and dread. He had made his choice. He was getting closer to Chan, and with each passing day, it was becoming harder and harder to keep his true nature hidden.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and Chan had invited Seokmin to join him and his friends at a local park. Seungkwan and Vernon were with him, sitting on a patch of grass near the fountain, enjoying the warm sunshine. Seokmin had been following Chan from a distance, trying to keep a low profile, but, as always, his natural enthusiasm made it hard to stay unnoticed.

“You’re really good at blending in, huh?” Chan had laughed earlier when Seokmin awkwardly adjusted his clothes to look less “angelic.” Seokmin had just smiled and agreed, but the truth was, he was a mess when it came to keeping his wings and celestial nature hidden.

“So, Seokmin,” Seungkwan called out loudly as Seokmin approached. “I don’t think we’ve officially met! How long have you and Chan been friends? You guys seem pretty tight.”

Seokmin smiled awkwardly, feeling his heart rate pick up. He glanced at Chan, who was happily sipping on a soda, completely oblivious to the conversation happening right beside him. “Oh, uh, we’ve known each other for a while. Just met through... mutual friends.”

Seungkwan’s gaze lingered on Seokmin, as if trying to read him. There was something in his eyes, an almost suspicious gleam that Seokmin wasn’t used to.

“Mutual friends? Interesting. Chan doesn’t really bring many people around, so... what’s your story?” Seungkwan’s voice had a teasing edge to it, but there was a knowing tone underneath, like he was trying to figure out if something was amiss.

“Nothing much,” Seokmin replied, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Just a normal guy. Really, I don’t know what to say. I’m a bit of a... wanderer.”

“A wanderer, huh?” Seungkwan raised an eyebrow, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “You know, you don’t really strike me as the ‘normal guy’ type.”

Seokmin gave a nervous laugh, a little too loud. “Well, you know, appearances can be deceiving.”

Vernon, who had been quietly observing, suddenly spoke up, his voice laced with skepticism. “Yeah, I’m not gonna lie. You seem... different.” He squinted at Seokmin, crossing his arms. “Like, you give off this weird, vibe, you know? Like something’s just... off about you.”

Seokmin stiffened. He wasn’t sure if Vernon was picking up on the strange energy he was radiating or if he was just being his usual self. Either way, it made Seokmin’s heart race.

Chan, noticing the slight tension, chuckled and waved it off. “Vernon, Seungkwan, you guys are always suspicious of new people. Relax, alright? Seokmin’s cool.”

But that didn’t stop Seungkwan from observing Seokmin like a hawk. His smile was wide and friendly, but there was something calculating in his eyes. “Yeah, sure, sure. Just saying, you guys do make an interesting pair.”

The conversation shifted again, but Seungkwan’s words still hovered in Seokmin’s mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Seungkwan wasn’t convinced by the whole ‘normal guy’ story. He had no idea how right he was.

Later that afternoon, as Seokmin and Chan walked through the park, something completely unexpected happened. Chan had wandered a little ahead of Seokmin, who had been carefully trying to keep a safe distance—be inconspicuous, Seokmin, be inconspicuous. He was doing his best to not draw attention to himself, but once again, his natural clumsiness got in the way.

As Seokmin tried to sneakily walk behind Chan, a stray dog darted in front of him, causing him to stumble forward and—whoosh—his wings flared out, almost colliding with a passing cyclist.

The rider, a teenager, swerved wildly to avoid Seokmin and ended up falling off his bike with a loud crash.

Seokmin immediately sprang into action, moving faster than he should have, catching the teen just in time. He was holding him in his arms, gently, but it was definitely too quick—too dramatic.

The teen looked at Seokmin, eyes wide with shock. "What... just happened?"

Seokmin smiled awkwardly, quickly letting go of the teen and trying to hide his wings behind him. “Uh... just, uh, some quick reflexes... and some weirdly good balance, huh?”

“Wait—did you just... catch me like that?” the teen asked, blinking in disbelief.

Before Seokmin could offer a calm excuse, he noticed Seungkwan and Vernon walking toward him from behind. They’d heard the commotion, and now they were both staring at him, eyes wide.

“What the heck just happened here?” Seungkwan asked, his voice suspicious.

Seokmin stood frozen, praying that they wouldn’t notice his glowing wings. Please don’t look, please don’t look...

“Nothing!” Seokmin answered way too quickly. “Totally nothing weird going on here. Everything’s just... fine.”

Vernon, who had been silent up until now, tilted his head and looked at Seokmin in a way that made Seokmin feel very seen. “Uh... that was a pretty quick reaction there, man. Are you sure you didn’t, like, teleport or something?”

“Tele—What? No, of course not!” Seokmin said quickly, though his face flushed with anxiety. He could practically feel his wings still flaring out a little. “I just, you know, moved fast.”

“You moved fast? Dude, you were basically a blur,” Vernon said, his voice quieter now, but there was a definite edge of suspicion. He glanced at Seungkwan, who was watching intently. “You are a little strange, huh?”

Before Seokmin could come up with an answer, Chan turned around, clearly having been lost in his own world. “What’s up? You guys good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seungkwan said too cheerfully. “Just a little... weird moment, that’s all.”

Chan laughed and clapped Seokmin on the back. “Don’t worry about it. You’re just being a hero, huh?” He turned to the others, grinning. “Seokmin’s got my back, always.”

Seungkwan and Vernon exchanged a glance, their doubts only growing.

Later that night, after they had all parted ways, Seungkwan and Vernon were texting in their respective rooms. The exchange started casual enough, but quickly shifted.

Seungkwan: Vernon, I don’t know about Seokmin. Something’s off.

Vernon: You mean, like how he ‘moved fast’ earlier?

Seungkwan: Yes! Exactly. I’m starting to think he’s got something weird going on. Like... does he have superpowers or something?

Vernon: Hmm. I mean, I thought that too. But you know how weird things always happen when Chan’s around. It’s like Seokmin shows up just at the right time. Too many coincidences.

Seungkwan: Exactly! I know something’s up. The way he caught that kid like that? Impossible. And don't even get me started on those glowing wings. I saw them. You saw them. We're not imagining things, right?

Vernon: You’re not imagining it. But maybe we’re overthinking this?

Seungkwan: No. I’m telling you, something’s definitely going on. We need to figure out what it is.

Vernon: If you say so.

The soft hum of celestial energy filled Seokmin's room as the familiar shimmer of light appeared in front of him. He didn’t need to look up to know what it was. The air grew warmer, charged with an ethereal presence, and within moments, the portal flickered to life, casting a soft, golden glow across his otherwise mundane surroundings.

Through the portal, a face materialized—a calm, composed expression, framed by soft waves of dark hair. It was Joshua, his superior, the one who’d been assigned to guide him through this whole human-guardian angel dynamic. Seokmin straightened up instinctively, though he had no idea what to expect. Was he in trouble? Had something gone wrong with his mission?

"Seokmin," Joshua’s voice echoed gently, as though it were woven into the very air around him. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you. How are things going with your assignment?”

Seokmin hesitated, the words catching in his throat for a moment. He had been trying to keep it together, but things had started to feel... complicated. Every time he saw Chan, it was harder to just be there without feeling something else creeping in—something more human. His purpose was clear, but his emotions weren’t.

“I’m... fine,” Seokmin replied, trying to sound convincing. “Everything’s fine. Just, you know, protecting Chan, keeping my distance. The usual.” He said it with a shrug, but the weight in his chest wasn’t going away.

Joshua tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, though his voice remained steady and calm. “You’ve been distant, yes. But I can tell there’s something else. Something you’re not saying.”

Seokmin felt his stomach drop. Was he that obvious? “I... I don’t know what you mean,” he said quickly, his gaze darting to the side as if to avoid Joshua’s searching eyes.

The other angel didn’t press him immediately, though. Instead, Joshua’s face softened slightly, as though he’d already expected this answer. “Seokmin, I can see that you’re struggling. You’ve been assigned to protect Chan, but it seems like there’s more to it than that. I’m here to help.”

Seokmin shifted uncomfortably. He opened his mouth to speak, but found that the words wouldn’t come out. How could he explain this? How could he admit that it wasn’t just about protection anymore? That his feelings for Chan had started to blur the lines of his duty? That he could barely look at Chan without feeling a painful tug in his chest?

Joshua must’ve sensed his hesitation because his voice grew a little more gentle. “Seokmin... you know that your role is to protect him—nothing more. It’s your duty. But you’re allowed to feel what you feel. It’s natural. You’re still... you’re still Seokmin, even if you’re an angel.”

Seokmin felt a flicker of relief. That was reassuring, but at the same time, the last part of Joshua’s statement stuck with him. You’re still Seokmin. As if he had somehow forgotten. As if being a guardian angel meant he wasn’t allowed to have human feelings.

“I just... I don’t know how to handle this,” Seokmin admitted finally, his voice small. “I feel like the more I try to keep my distance, the more I want to get closer to him. But that’s not right, right? I’m not supposed to get attached. I’m supposed to be his protector, not... his friend. Or...” He paused, unsure of how to put it. “I don’t know. Something more?”

Joshua, for all his calm demeanor, seemed to understand the inner turmoil Seokmin was facing. His expression softened, but there was still an unmistakable seriousness to his tone. “Seokmin,” he began, his voice steady. “You can’t control what you feel. It’s okay to care. It’s okay to want to be there for him. But remember, your mission is still the same: to guide him, to protect him. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Seokmin’s shoulders slumped. “But how can I protect him when I can’t even figure out what I’m supposed to do with myself?” He wasn’t sure why he was spilling all this to Joshua—it wasn’t as if he expected to get a clear answer. But there was something about the way Joshua was looking at him, like he truly understood, that made him feel like it was safe to admit it.

Joshua’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the energy around him seemed to pulse in a comforting way. “You’re overthinking it, Seokmin. You don’t need to have all the answers right now. Sometimes, you just need to follow the path laid before you. Trust yourself. Trust that you know what to do when the time comes. Protecting him doesn’t mean abandoning yourself in the process.”

Seokmin furrowed his brow. Trust himself? That sounded simple enough. But how could he trust himself when his feelings kept confusing him? He didn’t know if he could draw a clear line between his duties and... whatever was going on inside his chest when he looked at Chan.

“I understand,” Seokmin muttered, but his tone wasn’t entirely convinced.

Joshua’s smile was faint but warm. “You’re doing better than you think, Seokmin. Just don’t overcomplicate it. Protect him, yes. But also be yourself. Don’t suppress what you’re feeling. You’re allowed to be human too.”

Seokmin processed the words, but there was something about them that didn’t entirely settle. Joshua’s advice was comforting in its own way, but it was vague—almost too vague. Be yourself? Don’t overcomplicate it? What did that even mean when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control?

“Well,” Seokmin said, half to himself, “I guess... I’ll try to just... not overthink it, like you said.” He tried to sound confident, but he knew deep down it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Joshua smiled again, a knowing glint in his eyes. “Good. Just remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m here if you need anything. And if you need more guidance... we’ll figure it out together.”

With that, the portal began to shimmer and fade, Joshua’s form slowly dissipating back into the celestial ether.

Seokmin stared at the space where Joshua had been, a quiet sense of confusion settling over him. Not overthink it, trust himself, be himself. It sounded simple enough when Joshua said it. But Seokmin wasn’t so sure it was going to be that easy.

A soft sigh escaped his lips. He couldn’t help but feel like he was still missing something—some key piece of the puzzle that would make everything click. But for now, he would take Joshua’s advice. He would try to not overcomplicate things.

Maybe the universe has a plan for me after all, Seokmin thought, though the uncertainty in his chest didn’t fully dissipate. I’ll figure it out... somehow.

Bonus: Seungcheol’s Paperwork Nightmare

The dimly lit office was quiet, save for the faint hum of celestial energy pulsing through the walls. Seungcheol leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning through the latest batch of mission updates. The usual stack of paperwork was there, mundane and repetitive, but then—suddenly—a large, glowing stack of papers appeared on his desk, appearing as if from nowhere.

He blinked at the sudden influx, then rubbed his temples, a sigh escaping his lips. This was never a good sign.

“No, no, no,” he muttered under his breath. “What did Seokmin do now?”

With a flick of his wrist, Seungcheol spread the papers out before him, each glowing document outlining a different mistake, misstep, or, in some cases, an outright breach of protocol. He scanned the first paper in front of him. The title read Guardian Angel Error Report: Seokmin, Guardian of Chan. His heart sank.

"Incident 1: Sudden Human Interaction—Unnecessary Coffee Break with Protected Subject"

Seungcheol’s eyebrow twitched as he read the report, his hand resting on his forehead. Seokmin invited to coffee? That was new. He couldn't even recall the last time Seokmin had acted outside the confines of his assigned duty. What was it with this one human that was throwing everything off balance?

The next paper flickered to life, a bright red stamp across it reading URGENT.

"Incident 2: Mismanagement of Celestial Cloak—Visible Wings During Public Human Interaction"

Seungcheol closed his eyes, willing himself not to explode. Visible wings? Again? Had Seokmin completely forgotten the basic guidelines for blending in? The celestial cloak was designed to conceal his wings for a reason! It was one of the simplest tasks for any angel to accomplish. And yet, Seokmin, with his usual charm, had somehow managed to make his wings visible to the entire coffee shop.

“This is unbelievable,” Seungcheol muttered, now rifling through the ever-growing pile. Another document blinked into existence in front of him.

"Incident 3: Lack of Emotional Detachment—Excessive Attachment to Human Subject"

Seungcheol stared blankly at the page. Excessive attachment? He had hoped this wouldn’t happen, but at the same time, he knew it was inevitable. Seokmin was too human for his own good, and now, it was starting to become a problem.

He could already imagine the chaos this would cause in the higher offices, the endless memos from senior angels demanding reports and investigations into why Seokmin was forming emotional connections when he was specifically told not to. The heavenly bureaucracy loved order, and order meant no attachments. Emotions were a human thing, and angels were not supposed to interfere with that.

He sighed heavily, pressing a hand to his forehead. It was moments like these that made him question his life choices. There was a reason Seungcheol had been promoted to a supervisory role, but handling Seokmin’s... unorthodoxmethods was starting to test his patience.

The next paper flashed in front of him, almost comically dramatic in its appearance.

"Incident 4: Uncontrolled Celestial Energy Release—Unnecessary Light Show at the Park"

Seungcheol groaned. This one was just... ridiculous. Seokmin had accidentally let his celestial energy slip during a public park outing, resulting in a burst of light so bright it nearly caused a traffic jam.

“Why am I even surprised at this point?” Seungcheol muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose. He imagined the mortal witnesses, squinting and wondering if they had just seen the sun explode, followed by Seokmin trying to act casual. The energy release wasn’t even necessary for the mission, as far as Seungcheol could tell. “I swear, one of these days I’m going to have to file a complaint against him. Again.”

He flipped through more papers, his frustration growing with each new report. There was one on Seokmin’s latest failed attempt to conceal his true nature in front of Chan, where Seokmin had nearly revealed the entire celestial order by accident. Another about Seokmin’s habit of showing up at the exact wrong moment, creating a series of unexplainable coincidences that seemed far too... “angelic” for a simple human encounter.

Finally, a final report popped up. Seungcheol couldn’t help but laugh dryly as he read the title:

"Incident 5: Unnecessary Social Interaction—Unwarranted Phone Number Exchange with Protected Human"

Seungcheol stared at the document for a long moment, his mind racing. A phone number exchange? Really? He never thought he’d have to add “angelic phone etiquette” to the list of things Seokmin couldn’t get right.

“Joshua is really going to love this one,” Seungcheol said with a bitter chuckle. “At least I’m getting a good workout out of this paperwork.”

As he finished reading through the stack, Seungcheol leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. His office was quiet once again, but there was a faint buzzing in the air that indicated someone was about to show up. Probably one of his assistants. Someone had to take care of all this, after all.

His eyes scanned the pile of reports in front of him. Seokmin was, without a doubt, a handful. But deep down, Seungcheol knew that even though Seokmin’s actions were causing more paperwork than he could handle, he was still doing his job—just in his own very unique way. The kid had a lot of heart, even if it often landed him in trouble.

Just then, his celestial assistant, a younger angel named Jiwon, appeared in the doorway, holding yet another glowing file.

“Supervisor Seungcheol,” Jiwon said with a bow, “I just got back from the paperwork office. They’re requesting clarification on Seokmin’s latest reports. They want to know if there’s been an... emotional breach.”

Seungcheol took a long breath and gestured to the massive stack of reports in front of him. “Tell them to take a seat,” he said with a smile that was more tired than amused. “We’re going to need a lot more coffee.”

Chapter Text

The day had been unremarkable, the kind of ordinary afternoon where time seemed to stretch out lazily. Seokmin had stayed close to Chan, hovering just out of his line of sight as always, letting the human’s laughter fill the air, his carefree nature something Seokmin had come to find comfort in. But today—today was different.

The world around him felt too still, too quiet. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but his instincts—those sharp, otherworldly senses that had kept him attuned to danger for centuries—were on high alert. The faintest tremor in the air, like a warning just before a storm. His wings twitched, almost involuntarily, but Seokmin quickly retracted them, forcing them to stay hidden and out of sight. His heart beat a little faster as he scanned the area, looking for any sign of danger, but the streets were quiet. He pushed down the feeling, though it gnawed at him, an unshakable sense that something was wrong.

"Seokmin, you okay?" Vernon’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. He looked up to see Vernon eyeing him with a puzzled expression, while Seungkwan and Chan continued ahead, laughing at something between them.

Seokmin nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just... not feeling like myself today.”

Vernon raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press further. “Alright, but you’ve been acting kinda weird. You sure you’re good?”

Seokmin waved it off, trying to sound more casual than he felt. “Just tired, that’s all.”

But the sense of unease didn’t go away. His attention flickered back to Chan, who had pulled out his phone and was now distracted by it. The moment seemed too perfect, like everything was moving at the wrong pace, and Seokmin’s instincts screamed at him.

Then, as if in slow motion, he saw it: the car. It appeared out of nowhere, speeding down the street, tires screeching as it swerved erratically.

Chan, still oblivious, took a step forward, not noticing the approaching danger.

Time seemed to slow for Seokmin .

He could hear the sharp hum of the car’s engine, the screeching tires that seemed deafening, and, strangest of all, the faintest rhythm of his own heartbeat. The whole world became unnaturally clear—every detail magnified, every moment hanging suspended in the air. Seokmin saw Chan’s face, his phone still in his hand, unaware of what was coming.

Seokmin’s breath caught in his throat. His entire body tensed, his heart racing in a way that felt too human for him. He took a step forward, moving on pure instinct. He didn’t think about it, didn’t hesitate—he just acted.

He rushed toward Chan, shoving him roughly out of the way, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a flurry of motion. The car swerved dangerously close, but it was too late. The vehicle sped past them, just inches from hitting them, leaving only the sound of tires skidding on the asphalt as it disappeared down the road.

Seokmin’s breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. His body shook slightly from the adrenaline, but he quickly retracted his wings, pushing them back against his body, ensuring they stayed hidden beneath his jacket. No one could know. Not yet.

He looked down at Chan, who was still on the ground, eyes wide with shock, his hand instinctively reaching for Seokmin as if to make sure he was really there.

“Seokmin...?” Chan’s voice was barely a whisper, his eyes filled with confusion. “What just... what happened? That car... was that you? You... saved me?”

Seokmin swallowed, his heart hammering in his chest. He had no time to think about how to explain, or if he even could. His gaze softened, though, as he quickly pulled Chan to his feet, brushing dirt off his clothes.

“I—I don’t know what happened,” Seokmin said, his voice quieter than usual. “But I saw you were in danger, and I couldn’t just let it happen.”

Chan blinked, his expression still dazed, but there was no fear in his eyes. Just... gratitude. “You saved me. You’re... you're a hero.”

Seokmin could barely respond. The words felt too heavy, too strange. He was no hero, just a guardian doing his job. But hearing them from Chan made something stir inside him—something he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

Before Seokmin could say anything, Vernon and Seungkwan appeared, running toward them with wide eyes. Seungkwan was already fussing, his voice pitched high with concern.

“Chan! Are you okay? What the hell just happened? I saw that car speeding and—” Seungkwan froze as he looked between Chan and Seokmin, his eyes narrowing. “Wait a second... how did you two—”

“I’m fine,” Chan interrupted, cutting off Seungkwan’s questions before they could spiral. He gave Seungkwan a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay, really. Seokmin just... helped me. I didn’t even see the car coming.”

Seungkwan blinked, still processing, but he shook his head in disbelief. “You sure? You both look fine, but—”

“It was really close,” Seokmin said quickly, trying to downplay the intensity of the situation. “But yeah, we're good. Just a bit shaken up, that’s all.”

Vernon was looking between them, his brows furrowed. “Are you sure you’re alright, Chan? You’re looking a little pale there, man.”

“I’m okay!” Chan said, smiling wider now, though it still didn’t reach his eyes completely. He glanced at Seokmin, his expression softening. “Really, thanks, Seokmin. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Seokmin’s heart did a strange flip at those words. He tried to brush it off with a small smile. “No problem. Just... glad I was here.”

Seungkwan looked between them with narrowed eyes, clearly unconvinced but not saying anything more for the moment. He huffed, exasperated, and turned to Chan, pushing him lightly in the shoulder. “You're lucky Seokmin was there, alright? You need to stop getting yourself into situations like that, or I swear—”

“I get it, I get it!” Chan laughed, though it sounded a bit strained. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

Seungkwan’s frown didn’t lighten. “You better. You’re making me lose years off my life just by watching you.”

Vernon clapped Seungkwan on the back, trying to ease the tension. “Alright, alright. No need to make him feel worse than he already does. Let’s just get out of here before I lose my patience too.”

Seokmin stood off to the side, watching the dynamic between the three of them with a soft smile. Despite the chaos of the situation, it was clear how much they all cared about each other. The bond between them was palpable, and yet, as Seokmin watched Chan interact with Seungkwan and Vernon, he couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that something had changed.

There was something more to it now. Something more than just protection. He didn’t know how, or why, but it was there, swirling inside him like a quiet storm.

As they continued walking, Seokmin stayed close, but he couldn’t help but steal a glance at Chan now and then.

Chan didn’t know it, but for the first time, Seokmin realized that he didn’t want to be just a bystander in Chan’s life. He wanted to be someone important to him. Not just a protector.

But for now, that was all he could be. Just Seokmin, the guy who had saved his life.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

It was another evening where the air had that crisp autumn chill, the kind of weather that made everyone bundle up in their favorite jackets. Seokmin found himself at the local theater, standing at the back near the edge of the crowd. Chan, with Seungkwan and Vernon by his side, was getting ready for one of his dance recitals. The auditorium was buzzing with excitement, the dimmed lights casting soft shadows across the room.

Seokmin leaned against the wall, trying to stay out of sight, as he always did. He didn’t belong in the spotlight, not really—not like Chan did. He was just the quiet observer, someone to ensure nothing went wrong. But as he watched Chan walk onto the stage, wearing his usual confident smile, he couldn’t help but feel a flutter in his chest. Chan had this energy about him, a magnetic presence that made Seokmin feel like he couldn’t look away, no matter how much he tried.

Chan’s movements were fluid and graceful, his body flowing with the rhythm of the music. The crowd cheered, and Seokmin felt a small smile tug at the corners of his lips. It was impossible not to be drawn to him, not just because of his talent, but because of the warmth he radiated. Chan wasn’t just performing for the audience; he was giving pieces of himself, and Seokmin found himself wanting to watch, wanting to understand more.

From his spot in the back, Seokmin felt an unexpected pull in his chest. Every leap, every spin, was like a call to something deeper within him. It was as if every movement Chan made left a trail of light, invisible to everyone else but Seokmin, making it impossible to stay detached.

After the performance, Seokmin stayed behind, watching as Seungkwan and Vernon rushed up to Chan, congratulating him with enthusiastic applause.

“That was amazing!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice bright with pride.

Chan laughed, ruffling Seungkwan’s hair. “Thanks! I was super nervous, though. I almost tripped during the third spin.”

Vernon chuckled. “We could barely tell! You’re like a dancing machine.”

Seokmin, still observing from the back, felt his heart settle at the sight of them. They were such a tight-knit group—he could see the bond between them clearly, their effortless camaraderie. But then Chan’s eyes scanned the room and landed on Seokmin standing quietly in the corner. His face brightened, and the smile he gave him was enough to make Seokmin’s stomach twist in a way he wasn’t entirely sure how to process.

“Seokmin!” Chan called out, walking toward him after a quick goodbye to Seungkwan and Vernon. “Hey, did you catch the performance? I hope you weren’t too bored.”

Seokmin immediately straightened, feeling the heat of being noticed. “I... I didn’t want to interrupt,” he said, his voice a little too quiet for his liking. “But you were incredible.”

Chan’s eyes lit up, and there was a warmth in his expression that made Seokmin’s heart beat a little faster. “Really? Thanks! I’m glad you liked it. You should come to more recitals. I mean, if you want,” he added, a bit sheepishly.

Seokmin chuckled, feeling strangely flustered. “I’d love to.”

“Great!” Chan grinned, clearly excited. “We’re getting dinner after this. You should join us!”

Seokmin hesitated for a moment, the weight of his responsibilities hanging over him. But as he met Chan’s eager gaze, the conflict inside him started to fade, replaced by a warmth that spread through his chest. Maybe he could allow himself this one small pleasure—just for tonight.

“I’d love that,” he said softly.

The next week, Seokmin found himself standing in line at a small local café, debating between two pastries as he waited for his order. It was a quiet day, the streets outside emptying as the sun began to set. He knew Chan had mentioned his favorite bakery treat once during their first coffee outing—he had said something about the chocolate croissants being his guilty pleasure—but Seokmin wasn’t sure if he’d remembered correctly.

He thought for a moment, then decided to play it safe and grab one of those chocolate croissants along with a coffee. As he approached the counter, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Chan.

Chan: Hey! I’m feeling pretty low energy today, any chance you could bring me some food? Something sweet would be great... I’m in the mood for chocolate.

Seokmin smiled at the text. It was almost like Chan knew exactly what he had just ordered. He quickly responded.

Seokmin: Got you covered. I’ll bring it by in a few.

Seokmin picked up the pastries and headed over to Chan’s apartment. The streets were quiet, and as he walked, he couldn’t help but reflect on how natural it felt to be doing something like this for Chan. There was no grand plan—he wasn’t doing it to fulfill his duty. It was just... a small act of kindness. One that felt like it mattered.

When he arrived, Chan opened the door with a smile. His hair was a little tousled, and there was a faint hint of exhaustion in his eyes, but the moment he saw Seokmin holding the bag of food, his face lit up.

“You remembered,” Chan said softly, his voice warm. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually bring it. You’re the best, Seokmin.”

Seokmin felt a little embarrassed, but he handed over the bag with a smile. “Of course. You said chocolate, so... here we are.”

“Perfect,” Chan said, pulling out the croissant and taking a big bite. His eyes lit up instantly. “This is exactly what I needed. How do you always know?”

Seokmin laughed softly, shrugging. “I guess I just got lucky this time.”

But as he watched Chan enjoy the treat, a strange feeling settled in his chest—a feeling he had been trying to ignore for weeks. It wasn’t just about being there for Chan, or fulfilling some sort of duty. It was more than that. He found himself wanting to be near Chan, to make him happy in whatever way he could.

They sat on the couch together afterward, watching a movie. Seokmin was careful not to get too comfortable, keeping a little distance, but the way Chan leaned against him every time something funny happened in the film made his heart beat a little faster. At some point, Chan rested his head on Seokmin’s shoulder, the small act sending a rush of warmth through Seokmin’s entire body.

“Thanks for staying with me tonight,” Chan murmured softly. “I don’t get to hang out with people like this often. It’s nice.”

Seokmin’s breath caught in his throat. He felt as if the whole world had stopped, just for a moment, as he tried to keep his emotions from surfacing. “Anytime,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The following week, Seokmin found himself spending more time at Chan’s apartment. It wasn’t planned. They had both mentioned wanting to watch a movie they’d been meaning to catch for weeks, and what started as a simple offer turned into a routine—Friday night movie nights.

Chan’s couch was cozy, the dim light from the television flickering across the room. Seokmin tried his best not to get too caught up in the warmth of being so close to Chan. But every laugh, every casual touch, every fleeting moment felt heavier than it should have.

One night, during a particularly scary scene in a movie, Chan jumped, his hand reaching out in an automatic gesture. Seokmin’s heart nearly stopped when he felt Chan’s fingers brush against his arm. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to send a jolt of warmth spreading through his skin.

“Sorry,” Chan muttered, pulling his hand back quickly, but his eyes were full of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—”

Seokmin shook his head, trying to ignore the racing of his heart. “No, it’s fine. Really.”

But deep down, Seokmin knew. He couldn’t keep pretending that these moments didn’t mean something. Every shared laugh, every quiet touch, every glance—they were building something Seokmin couldn’t ignore.

And the more time he spent with Chan, the harder it became to separate his duty from his feelings.

The tug in his chest was undeniable now. The more he cared, the more conflicted he became. But it wasn’t until he found himself looking at Chan one evening, sitting on his couch with the soft light of the TV flickering between them, that Seokmin realized the truth:

He wasn’t just protecting Chan anymore.

He wanted to be with him.

Chapter Text

It started small, like a whisper in the back of Vernon’s mind—a little something that didn’t quite add up, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. At first, it was just little things, unnoticeable to anyone but him, and even then, he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it.

The first odd moment happened during a late-night movie marathon. They were all sprawled out on Seokmin’s couch, the warm glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the room. Seungkwan was munching on chips, talking over the dialogue, while Chan and Seokmin sat side by side, enjoying the movie, though it was clear to Vernon that Seokmin wasn’t really paying attention to the film.

Vernon had caught Seokmin glancing at Chan more than once, his gaze soft, almost too attentive, as if watching over him. It wasn't the way you looked at a friend, more like the way someone would look at a person they were deeply invested in. But that wasn’t the part that had stuck in Vernon’s mind.

It was the moment when Chan spilled his drink—just a small splash on the couch—and Seokmin had acted almost tooquickly, reaching out in one smooth motion to stop the liquid from soaking into the cushions. No one had seen his hand move until it was already hovering over the spilled drink, almost like it was frozen in time for a brief second. Vernon could have sworn he saw a faint shimmer around Seokmin’s hand, but he blinked, and it was gone, as if nothing had happened.

At the time, he’d dismissed it. Maybe it was just the lighting or his eyes playing tricks on him. But it was the first thing that set his mind working.

The next time Vernon noticed something strange was when they were hanging out at the park. The group had decided to take a casual walk, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine, and Seokmin had offered to carry all their bags—something no one had asked him to do. He’d insisted, smiling warmly, like it was nothing.

But when Vernon watched him carry the heavy bags, his eyebrows furrowed. Seokmin wasn’t even straining. He was practically skipping with the weight of the bags slung over his shoulder like it was a breeze. Vernon’s own muscles were sore just from carrying a single bag, yet Seokmin was handling all of them with ease.

A moment later, Seokmin had handed the bags over to Vernon without a second thought. “Here, you can carry these,” he said, grinning as if he hadn’t just effortlessly carried enough to put anyone else out of breath.

“Thanks, I guess?” Vernon muttered, his brow furrowed as he noticed the strange absence of any physical strain on Seokmin’s face.

His mind kept drifting back to that first odd interaction, and now this. It was almost as if Seokmin didn’t feel fatigue, didn’t feel normal human limitations. Vernon’s curiosity was starting to boil over.

It was a week later when Vernon noticed something that truly unsettled him.

It had been a quiet evening at Seokmin’s apartment, everyone gathered around for another one of their “chill” movie nights. This time, they were watching an old action movie from the '90s, the kind with over-the-top stunts and ridiculous fight choreography. It wasn’t long before Seungkwan started criticizing every move, pointing out how unrealistic the scenes were.

Seokmin, as usual, seemed entirely unbothered by Seungkwan’s commentary. He was just lounging on the couch, casually chatting with Chan about the ridiculousness of the film. But then, a scene came on—a car chase, with a fast-moving vehicle slamming into a barrier. It was meant to look dramatic, but the force of the crash was clearly over the top.

Vernon saw it before anyone else: Seokmin’s eyes widened just the tiniest bit, his gaze focused intently on the screen, and then—a flash of something. For just a split second, his eyes shimmered, like light reflecting off a crystal. But it was the way Seokmin reacted that made Vernon’s heart skip a beat.

Instead of flinching or even reacting to the crash—like anyone else would—Seokmin remained perfectly still. There was no sign of shock, no gasp, no tensing of his muscles. It was like he was watching something completely normal, something that wasn’t even a big deal. But what was truly strange was that Vernon knew that Seokmin had been watching the crash as if he had just seen it in real time. He could almost feel the shockwave of the crash... and yet, Seokmin didn’t even blink.

Vernon wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed. Seungkwan was too busy cracking jokes, and Chan was half-distracted by his phone. But Vernon couldn’t stop thinking about the moment, about the way Seokmin had been so unnaturally calm, like he had already seen everything that was going to happen.

By now, Vernon was feeling a mix of confusion and suspicion. He wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, but the pieces were starting to fall into place, and it was becoming hard to ignore the obvious signs. Seokmin wasn’t acting like a normal person. It was like he didn’t belong in the same way they did.

He’d been paying attention closely now—too closely—and he couldn’t stop noticing things like how Seokmin always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, how he moved with unnatural grace, and how he often didn’t react to situations like the rest of them did. Then there was the way Seokmin always seemed too calm, even when things around him got chaotic.

Vernon was pretty sure now that Seokmin wasn’t just hiding something. He was hiding a lot. And whatever it was, it had something to do with why he never seemed quite like the rest of them.

Vernon had never been one to keep things bottled up, but for some reason, he found himself holding his tongue. Maybe it was because Seokmin was his friend, and he didn’t want to accuse him of anything without knowing the full story. Or maybe it was because Vernon wasn’t sure how to handle the fact that Seokmin might not even be human.

He didn’t want to confront Seokmin directly—at least not yet. Something told him that Seokmin would tell him when the time was right, but for now, he didn’t need to push. But it didn’t stop the constant questions swirling in his mind.

What was Seokmin? How much longer could he keep this secret? And if Seokmin wasn’t normal... then what did that mean for his feelings for Chan?

It wasn’t just Seokmin’s odd behavior that worried Vernon—it was the growing intensity between Seokmin and Chan. Their bond was becoming more and more apparent, even to Vernon, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that Seokmin was in way too deep. If he wasn’t human, what would that mean for his relationship with Chan? Could Seokmin even be with him, knowing what he was? And would Chan even understand, or would it tear them apart?

Vernon could see the struggle, and as much as he wanted to confront Seokmin, he also knew that some truths weren’t his to tell. So, for now, he kept his suspicions to himself, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something big was coming. And when it did, Seokmin would need all the support he could get.

But for now, Vernon would stay quiet, continuing to watch the subtle clues unfold.

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, and Seungkwan, Vernon, Seokmin and Chan were all hanging out at Chan’s apartment. Seungkwan was sprawled out on the couch, his phone in hand, while Vernon was lounging in the armchair across from him, arms crossed, staring at the TV. Chan was in the kitchen, humming to himself as he prepared lunch for everyone. The faint clink of dishes could be heard from the other room as the sound of the TV filled the background.

Seungkwan was particularly distracted, though. His mind was still stuck on the same thing it had been for weeks now: Seokmin. Or, more specifically, the fact that there was something off about Seokmin. He had started to think that Seokmin was hiding something supernatural—there was just no way a guy like him could be so perfect and mysterious without some hidden agenda.

He tapped his phone screen furiously, eyes narrowed. “Okay, I’m telling you, Vernon, Seokmin is definitely hiding something. I’ve been keeping an eye on him.”

Vernon looked up from his phone, raising an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’ve been saying that for weeks.”

“I know, but I have solid evidence now!” Seungkwan leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement. “Did you notice how he never drinks anything? I’ve never seen him order a drink at a cafe, and yet he’s always there! It’s like he’s feeding off our energy or something.”

Vernon shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You’re just imagining things, Seungkwan. He probably just doesn’t like coffee or whatever.”

Seungkwan scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “No, no. It’s way more than that. There’s something off about him. I swear he’s not human. Maybe he's some kind of alien—or like a vampire or something!”

Vernon chuckled at the absurdity of it all but didn't completely dismiss it. “A vampire? Really? Are you going to start claiming he can turn into a bat next?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Seungkwan retorted. “Bats are too obvious. Maybe he can turn into a wolf instead. You know, a werewolf—maybe even a shapeshifter. Something sleek and stealthy.” He paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Or maybe he's a ghost. I mean, he’s always just there, like he’s materialized out of thin air!”

Vernon raised his eyebrows. “Okay, now you’re just getting out of hand.”

But Seungkwan was on a roll. “Or, hear me out, what if he’s actually a guardian angel sent to protect Chan? That would explain everything! He always shows up when Chan’s in trouble, and somehow, he always appears right when we need him. It’s like—poof!—he’s there. Never seen him eat, never seen him drink. And every time Chan’s in danger, he’s there to save him.”

Vernon leaned forward, clearly amused but starting to take Seungkwan a little more seriously. “Okay, now we’re going full conspiracy theory here. A guardian angel, Seungkwan? That’s a little... out there, even for you.”

“I’m serious!” Seungkwan said, crossing his arms. “You can’t deny there’s something strange about him. Have you noticed how he never seems to be in the right place at the right time? Last week, I saw him literally catch Chan before he fell down the stairs. And the time when that car almost hit him on the crosswalk? Poof! Seokmin was there in a split second, grabbing him by the arm. It was like—like he had superhuman reflexes or something!”

Vernon stopped, pausing to think. That last part did ring a bell. He had been there when that happened. Seokmin’s movements were impossibly fast. He had caught Chan before anyone else even realized what was happening. He’d seen Seokmin pull off similar stunts before—unbelievable things that seemed... well, otherworldly.

“You’re actually starting to make me think something’s off,” Vernon admitted, leaning back in his chair. “But a guardian angel? That’s—”

Seungkwan cut him off excitedly. “Exactly! It makes so much sense! I mean, think about it—he’s always so calm, so perfect. And have you ever seen him angry? Have you ever seen him really react to something? It’s like he’s too composed. He’s never late, he’s never frazzled. And don’t even get me started on the way he looks at Chan. I can feel the intense care he has for him.”

Vernon paused, considering it again. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but now that Seungkwan had pointed it out... Seokmin did seem a little too perfect, a little too untouchable. And the way he was always there when Chan needed him—it did feel... supernatural, in a way.

“Well, he does have that thing about him,” Vernon said slowly. “Like he’s always in control, and nothing ever seems to faze him. But, I don’t know, man. This sounds a little too far-fetched, even for you. I think you’re reading into it.”

Seungkwan shook his head fervently. “No, Vernon. I’m telling you. Seokmin is hiding something. He’s just... too perfect.”

At that moment, Chan walked into the room, holding a tray of food. He looked between the two of them, raising an eyebrow at the tense atmosphere.

“Everything okay in here?” Chan asked, placing the tray on the coffee table. “You guys look like you’re about to start a fight.”

Seungkwan straightened up quickly, flashing Chan a bright smile. “Oh, nothing. Just... figuring out life’s mysteries, you know?”

Vernon gave Seungkwan a side-eye but didn’t say anything.

Chan just laughed, sitting down beside them. “You guys are always so intense. Anyway, I brought lunch! Dig in.”

As Chan passed around the food, Seungkwan’s eyes lingered on Seokmin, who was standing just outside the room. Seokmin was leaning against the doorframe, looking casually at them, but there was something about the way he stood there that made Seungkwan’s suspicions itch. It was almost too casual. Too... perfect.

Chan turned to Seokmin, his face lighting up when he saw him. “Seokmin! Come on, sit with us.”

Seokmin hesitated for just a second before walking into the room, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “Thanks, I’m good for now,” he said, but his eyes lingered on Chan’s face for a moment before he smiled softly. “I’m happy just watching you all eat.”

Seungkwan leaned back into the couch, his eyes narrowing as Seokmin joined them. There’s definitely something not right about him, he thought. His theories about Seokmin’s supernatural nature were becoming more and more convincing.

Meanwhile, Vernon was starting to notice the little things—the way Seokmin always seemed to be just in time when something needed to be done. How he never seemed to be shaken, even when things got chaotic. And how... how kind he was to Chan. He watched them exchange a look that felt too familiar, like they shared a secret. And it bothered him in a way he couldn't fully understand.

Later that evening, Seokmin found himself alone in his apartment, sitting on the couch, thinking back to all the moments he’d spent with Chan. The warmth of the memories made his chest tighten in ways he hadn’t expected. He thought about the way Chan smiled when they were together, the quiet moments when they just talked or shared meals. There was an ease with him, a sense of calm that made Seokmin feel like he could be himself, even if he was hiding so much.

It was becoming harder to separate his feelings for Chan from his duty as a guardian angel. The more he spent time with him, the more he felt conflicted. Was this something he could continue? Was he allowed to feel this way?

He had tried to keep his distance—tried to remain a silent observer—but with every passing day, he felt himself growing more attached. And the weight of that attachment felt heavier than anything he’d ever experienced. It was a strange, wonderful thing, but also one that terrified him.

Was it wrong to want to be close to Chan? Was it wrong to feel more than just duty?

Seokmin buried his face in his hands, trying to calm the rush of emotions swirling inside him. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to make sense of it.

But one thing was clear: He couldn’t ignore it anymore. His feelings for Chan were real—and that scared him more than anything else.

His thoughts were still swirling—how much he cared for Chan, how his duty as a guardian angel conflicted with his emotions, and how he couldn't seem to escape the feeling that he was growing too close to him. The fear of overstepping, of making a mistake, made his stomach churn.

Seokmin sighed, rubbing his temples. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this, he thought. Maybe I should distance myself, stay the way I’ve always been—an observer, not a participant.

But that feeling, that overwhelming pull toward Chan, refused to go away.

I need advice. I need someone who understands. He stood up, walking toward the center of his apartment. Without another thought, he extended his hand, concentrating on the celestial grounds. The portal he was about to open wasn’t anything extravagant. It was just a simple flicker of light, something he'd used countless times before. He focused on his connection to Mingyu and Minghao, two of his fellow celestial beings, hoping they would be able to offer him some guidance.

As the light shimmered and pulsed, the portal flickered to life, and soon, Mingyu and Minghao appeared before him. They looked just as relaxed as ever—Mingyu with his usual confident grin, and Minghao with his soft, thoughtful gaze.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, taking in Seokmin’s expression. "Hey, you look like you’ve been wrestling with your own thoughts for hours. You good?"

Seokmin let out a shaky breath. “I’m… well, I don’t know how to put this. I’m confused. I’ve been spending so much time with Chan, and it's getting harder and harder to just stay in the background like I’m supposed to.”

Minghao tilted his head. “You’re feeling conflicted, then? You’ve never really had to confront your emotions like this before?”

“Exactly,” Seokmin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve never felt like this about a human before. And… I’m afraid. Afraid of what happens if I get too close. Afraid that my feelings might start affecting my duty, or worse—what if I make a mistake?”

Mingyu’s grin only grew wider, his tone lighthearted. “You know what you need? A grand gesture. One of those huge, romantic moves. Something big. Something that screams ‘I’m here for you’ in the most dramatic, attention-grabbing way possible.”

Seokmin blinked, caught off guard. “A grand gesture? I don’t know about that, Mingyu. I think I’d just… end up making things weird.”

“Trust me,” Mingyu said, winking. “Go big or go home. You’re an angel—people expect big things. Maybe you could, I don’t know, throw a flash mob or serenade him under the stars or—”

Minghao cut him off with a soft, dry chuckle. “Mingyu, let’s be realistic here. Flash mobs and serenades are not going to help Seokmin. He’s already in a delicate situation. What Seokmin needs is something more subtle. He needs to connect with Chan in a way that respects their friendship and doesn’t make things too overwhelming.”

Seokmin nodded, relieved that Minghao was offering something that seemed more grounded. "Yeah, I’m definitely not ready to start singing in the middle of a crowded street…"

“Exactly,” Minghao agreed, tapping his fingers thoughtfully. “What you need is to focus on the little things—being there when it matters, listening carefully when he speaks, and letting your presence be comforting rather than overpowering. You don’t need to do anything huge to show your feelings. It’s the small gestures that really build the bond.”

Seokmin sighed, feeling a sense of calm wash over him. “That makes sense. It’s just… it’s hard to keep my emotions in check when every time I’m around him, it feels like I’m falling more and more.”

Mingyu’s smile softened a little, and he leaned forward, crossing his arms. “Look, Seokmin, I get it. You’re attached, and that’s not a bad thing. But your duty comes first. That doesn’t mean you can’t care for him—it just means you need to be careful about how you express it. You can’t let your feelings cloud your judgment or mess with the balance.”

“But I feel like I’m already too far in,” Seokmin confessed, his voice small. “What if I’ve already crossed a line?”

Minghao placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t crossed a line yet. But it might be helpful to talk to someone who’s been in your shoes before. The 96ers, for example. They’ve been doing this guardian angel thing for a while, and they’re some of the best at keeping their emotions in check while still doing their job.”

Seokmin furrowed his brow. “The 96ers? Soonyoung, Jihoon, Wonwoo, and Jun?”

“Yes, exactly,” Minghao replied. “They’ve been through a lot of similar situations, and they’re all incredibly experienced. Soonyoung’s the one you’ll want for advice on keeping your head in the game, Jihoon is great with emotional balance, Wonwoo’s practical, and Jun… well, Jun’s the one who’ll give you weird, poetic advice, but he means well.”

Mingyu grinned mischievously. “But if you really want to impress Chan, maybe you should talk to Soonyoung. He’s always got these grand ideas for how to make people swoon. Might not hurt to take a few notes.”

Seokmin rolled his eyes, though the tension in his chest eased just a little. “I think I’ll take Minghao’s advice and go for something practical. But I’ll consider Soonyoung’s… ‘ideas.’”

Minghao chuckled, then gave him a reassuring smile. “No matter what you decide, Seokmin, don’t doubt yourself too much. You’re doing your best. And sometimes, your best is all you need to make a difference.”

“Thanks, both of you,” Seokmin said, feeling lighter. “I’ll reach out to the 96ers. I think they’ll be able to help me sort through this. And, maybe... keep me from making a fool of myself.”

Mingyu waved him off. “If you need any more advice, you know where to find me. I’ll be around, ready to pitch you more grand gestures.”

Seokmin laughed softly, his heart a little more at ease. “I’ll keep that in mind. But for now, I think I’ll take the practical route.”

With one last exchange of smiles and goodbyes, the portal flickered away, leaving Seokmin alone again. He let out a deep breath and sat down on the couch. He felt more confident now, but there was still so much to figure out.

Reaching out to the 96ers felt like the next step, the next piece of advice that could finally help him balance his emotions and his duty.

He had a feeling he was going to need all the guidance he could get.

The next morning, Seokmin woke up with a feeling of resolve that had been missing from his heart the night before. After his conversation with Mingyu and Minghao, the self-doubt that had clouded his mind seemed a little less suffocating. He was still conflicted—still unsure of how to handle his emotions and duties—but he knew that reaching out to the 96ers was the next logical step.

He quickly prepared himself, trying to shake off the remnants of his anxiety, and reached out to the celestial grounds once more, calling forth the 96ers.

It was a different experience this time, less casual and more purposeful. The air around him hummed with a faint energy as the portal shimmered open. On the other side, four figures emerged in quick succession—each one bringing their own unique aura of calm, cool, or chaotic presence.

There was Soonyoung, always with that mischievous smile and an energy that seemed like it could light up an entire city. Jihoon, the quiet one, exuding a calm sense of authority that seemed to come naturally. Wonwoo, whose mysterious and somewhat introverted nature always made Seokmin feel like there was so much more beneath the surface. And finally, Jun, who was the most expressive of them all, radiating warmth with every step and a slightly dreamy look in his eyes.

“Soonyoung, Jihoon, Wonwoo, Jun…” Seokmin greeted them with a polite nod, feeling the familiar weight of being the youngest among them. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

Soonyoung immediately grinned, his usual playful nature lighting up his face. “Of course! What’s up, Seokmin? You look like you need advice. The kind of advice that can only come from the legendary 96ers.”

Jihoon gave a small, amused smile as he leaned against a nearby pillar. “I’m guessing this has something to do with Chan?”

Seokmin froze for a moment, surprised at how quickly Jihoon could read him. “How did you—”

“Seokmin, you have no clue how much Seungcheol complains about all the paperwork you’ve caused him from this assignment with Chan. It’s all day everyday, only Jeonghan can make him stop complaining.” Jihoon said with a knowing glance. “We know how things go.”

Seokmin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s getting hard to separate my feelings from my duty. I—I don’t want to mess up. I care about him, and I’m not sure how to navigate that. I don’t know if I’m doing this right.”

Wonwoo, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up. His voice was soft, but steady. “You’ve never been in this kind of situation before, have you? You're doing the best you can, Seokmin. But you can’t be afraid of your feelings. It’s okay to feel... even if it complicates things.”

Seokmin looked at the others, unsure of how to proceed. He felt like he was walking a tightrope, too afraid to fall but feeling the strain of keeping his balance. “I don’t want to push him away, but at the same time, I can’t let my emotions get in the way of my purpose. I need help.”

Soonyoung’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Okay, okay. We gotcha. First things first—grand gestures. You need to do something big for him. Something that’ll show you care, but also let him know you’re not just another human. You want him to feel something, right?”

Seokmin blinked. “A grand gesture? I’m not sure I—”

“Wait, don’t listen to him.” Jihoon interrupted, casting a side-eye at Soonyoung. “That’s Soonyoung’s advice. The only grand gesture he’s ever done involved a surprise concert and a bunch of fireworks. You want to show him you care, but you also need to be subtle. You can’t just overwhelm him with gestures. Think about his interests. Show up when it matters. Be there when he needs you.”

Jun, who had been quiet up until then, stepped forward with a warm smile. “I agree with Jihoon. It’s the little things that matter more. Listen to him, understand what makes him happy, and support him in those moments. Show him that you’re someone he can rely on, not just as an angel, but as a friend. It’s about the bond, Seokmin.”

Seokmin nodded, processing their words. He had been so caught up in his own confusion that he hadn’t really considered how important the small moments were. He’d been too focused on his fears, trying to figure out what would be the "perfect" way to show his feelings.

“But what if he doesn’t understand? What if he thinks I’m just some weird guy who’s always there but never really there?” Seokmin admitted, his voice filled with uncertainty.

Wonwoo’s expression softened, and he walked over to Seokmin. “Then that’s when you take a step back and let him take the lead. You’re not trying to force anything. Just… be consistent. Let him see who you are. You don’t have to hide your feelings, Seokmin. Just be honest with yourself.”

Seokmin felt a sense of relief wash over him. He was starting to feel a little more grounded, like his fears weren’t as overwhelming as before. "I guess I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself."

Soonyoung laughed lightly, his usual playful nature returning. “Of course you have. You’re an angel, Seokmin. But sometimes you forget that being human means accepting the uncertainty. You don’t need to have all the answers right away. Just take it one step at a time.”

Jihoon stepped up beside him, adding, “And don’t be afraid to ask for help. If you ever feel unsure, you can always come to us.”

Seokmin smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. “Thanks, all of you. I really needed to hear that.”

Jun placed a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder. “You’re doing great, Seokmin. Just remember, whatever happens, it’s okay to feel. It’s okay to care. You’re not alone in this.”

As the 96ers gathered around him, Seokmin realized that despite the fear and uncertainty, he didn’t have to face this alone. He had the support of his fellow angels, and even more importantly, he had Chan to care for, someone who had already unknowingly become an important part of his life.

Seokmin sat on the rooftop of the local café, the cool evening breeze tugging at the edges of his hoodie. He had found solace here, tucked away in the shadows of the city, a place where he could clear his mind. But tonight, his thoughts were anything but clear.

His gaze drifted across the streets below, watching the people go about their lives. The lights of the city flickered like distant stars, but none of them seemed to shine as brightly as Chan’s smile, which had become the focus of his thoughts over the past few weeks. The same smile that had captivated him from the very first moment they met, the smile that made his chest flutter with a warmth he couldn’t explain.

Seokmin’s fingers toyed with the hem of his sleeve, a nervous habit he hadn’t realized he had developed. He had been spending more time with Chan lately, finding excuses to be near him, to laugh with him, to share moments that felt so ordinary yet so precious. He was supposed to be protecting Chan—keeping him safe from harm, guiding him through the mundane ups and downs of life—but somewhere along the way, things had shifted.

He had started to feel things he wasn’t supposed to feel. Things he couldn’t ignore. Feelings for Chan that went beyond the simple duty of a guardian angel.

That realization had hit him like a tidal wave. The fear had come not long after. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Angels weren’t meant to form attachments, to develop connections that went beyond the human world. There were rules—unseen, unspoken rules—that governed their existence. They were designed to guide and protect, but never to become too involved, never to blur the line between celestial duty and human emotion.

And yet, here he was, standing on the precipice of that very line. Every time he looked at Chan, he couldn’t help but feel his heart race. Every conversation, every shared glance, every laugh made him wonder what it would be like to be truly human—to live alongside someone like Chan without the constant weight of cosmic responsibilities pressing down on him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice, familiar and grounded.

“Seokmin?”

He turned to find Joshua standing a few steps behind him, his presence calm, his expression unreadable. His eyes, though kind, seemed to see straight through him, as if they had always known what Seokmin was struggling with.

“Joshua,” Seokmin greeted him, his tone quieter than usual. “Didn’t see you there.”

Joshua smiled, stepping closer. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you. I know it’s not easy, especially when you start forming connections with humans.”

Seokmin’s stomach tightened at the words. “You’ve noticed, huh?”

Joshua’s gaze softened. “I have. You’ve been spending a lot of time with Chan.”

Seokmin nodded, unsure of how to respond. His mind raced with all the thoughts and emotions he had been keeping inside for so long.

“I know I’m supposed to protect him,” Seokmin began, his voice low. “That’s my job, right? But lately… I don’t know, it feels like it’s becoming something more. Something I’m not supposed to feel.”

Joshua’s silence lingered for a moment, as if he was carefully choosing his words. “Seokmin, you know better than anyone that angels are meant to remain detached. Our role is to guide and protect, but not to become emotionally involved. Those attachments can cloud our judgment, interfere with our purpose.”

Seokmin swallowed, his throat tightening. “I know. But I can’t help it. I care about him. More than I should.”

Joshua placed a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. “That’s the danger. The moment you allow yourself to feel for a human beyond the scope of your duties, you risk breaking the balance. You risk losing sight of your true purpose.”

Seokmin closed his eyes, his mind reeling. “I don’t want to lose my purpose. I’ve spent so long protecting others, helping them, and now… I feel like I’m losing myself. I don’t know how to reconcile what I feel with what I’m supposed to do.”

Joshua’s voice softened, his tone almost sympathetic. “I’ve been there. We all have. But you have to understand that those feelings—however real they seem—are fleeting. They come from a place of your own human longing. It’s the nature of being close to humans. They make us feel things we’re not meant to.”

Seokmin’s heart clenched at the words. It was true—he had always known deep down that his attachment to Chan was dangerous. That his growing feelings could only lead to chaos, both for him and for Chan. But how was he supposed to turn those feelings off? How was he supposed to stay detached when every moment with Chan felt so real, so genuine?

The weight of the celestial rules pressed heavily on Seokmin’s chest. He had never questioned his role before. But now, as he stood on the edge of the most important bond he had ever formed, everything seemed uncertain.

“What happens if I can’t stop myself?” Seokmin asked quietly, the fear evident in his voice. “What if I can’t let go of how I feel?”

Joshua’s expression grew serious, his eyes narrowing with a quiet intensity. “If you continue down this path, there will be consequences, Seokmin. Not just for you, but for him too. The balance of the universe depends on the rules we follow. If you break them, you risk creating a ripple effect that could have catastrophic consequences. We’ve seen it happen before.”

Seokmin felt a chill run down his spine. The thought of Chan being hurt because of his actions was unbearable. But at the same time, the thought of pulling away from him—of keeping himself distant, detached—was equally painful.

“Do you think I’m weak?” Seokmin asked, the words slipping from his mouth before he could stop them. “For feeling this way?”

Joshua shook his head. “No. Not weak. Just human. But that’s the danger. Once you let your heart guide you, it becomes harder to do what you were made to do.”

Seokmin’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. “I don’t want to hurt him. But I don’t want to lose him either.”

Joshua’s gaze softened, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something almost like empathy in his eyes. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Seokmin. That’s not my place. But you have to understand the cost of your actions. The moment you begin to care more than you’re allowed to, you’re not just affecting your mission—you’re affecting his life too.”

Seokmin nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his celestial duties and his own emotions. He didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know how to navigate this line he was walking, between the angel he was and the person he was becoming.

“I’ll think about it,” Seokmin said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joshua’s expression softened even further. “Just remember, Seokmin, you can’t forget who you are in the process. Don’t lose sight of your mission.”

As Joshua turned to leave, Seokmin stayed on the rooftop, staring into the vast expanse of the sky. The stars seemed distant, cold, but somehow they reminded him of what was at stake. He wasn’t just a guardian angel anymore. He was someone who was beginning to feel, beginning to care, and that was a dangerous place to be.

Chapter Text

Seokmin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was changing within him. Every time he saw Chan, his heart felt like it was doing acrobatics in his chest. His feelings for Chan had shifted from simple care, from the professional responsibility of being a guardian angel, to something deeper, something more human—something dangerous.

He was supposed to be a silent protector. Invisible. Detached. But now, as the days passed, it became harder to maintain that distance. Chan’s laughter, his kindness, the way he made even the most mundane moments seem special—it all tugged at Seokmin’s heart in ways he didn’t know how to explain.

And it wasn’t just that Seokmin was starting to care too much. It was the consequences. He had already been warned by Joshua, and those words echoed in his mind. Angels aren’t meant to form attachments. The celestial balance was at stake. His presence in Chan’s life had to remain a silent one, unremarkable, fleeting. But every time he spent time with Chan, it became harder to stick to those rules.

One late afternoon, Seokmin was sitting in the local café, nursing a cup of coffee as he waited for Chan to arrive. They had agreed to hang out, nothing fancy—just a casual meetup. But Seokmin’s mind was elsewhere, consumed by the conflict within him. He had already crossed lines he never thought he would. His thoughts were a jumble of fear and longing, and he could feel his resolve weakening with every passing day.

The door chimed, and Seokmin’s gaze snapped to the entrance. Chan walked in, looking as cheerful as ever, his usual warm smile lighting up the room. Seokmin’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Hey!” Chan waved, spotting Seokmin across the room.

Seokmin quickly forced a smile, his insides twisting. “Hey, Chan. Over here.”

Chan made his way over, pulling out the chair opposite Seokmin and sitting down with an exaggerated sigh. “Long day,” he said, rubbing his neck. “I’m exhausted. But I’m glad we could hang out tonight.”

Seokmin’s smile faltered slightly, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. He couldn’t let Chan see how conflicted he was, not now, not when things were starting to feel like they might unravel.

“I’m glad too,” Seokmin said, though the words came out more strained than he intended.

Chan eyed him curiously but didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he glanced around the café and then back to Seokmin, his brows knitting together. “You okay? You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”

Seokmin hesitated, unsure how to answer. Was he always this perceptive? He wanted to tell Chan everything—every fear, every hesitation—but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just shook his head, offering a forced chuckle. “Nah, just tired. Same as you, I guess.”

Chan raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, sensing that it wasn’t something Seokmin wanted to talk about. Instead, he smiled and picked up his menu. “Well, I’m getting the usual—what about you?”

Seokmin couldn’t help but smile back, even if it was tinged with sadness. “I’ll have whatever you’re having. Sounds good.”

Chan grinned and called the waitress over, placing their orders. As the conversation drifted into lighter topics, Seokmin found himself getting lost in the way Chan’s eyes sparkled when he talked about something he loved. He was so... alive. So full of energy and warmth. It was intoxicating.

But Seokmin’s mind kept wandering back to the looming question: How long could he keep this up?

The next few days were a blur, and Seokmin found himself spending more time with Chan than he had originally planned. Every moment felt like it stretched on forever, and yet at the same time, it felt like time was slipping through his fingers.

One evening, as they sat together in Seokmin’s apartment, watching a movie they had both been excited about, Seokmin felt the weight of the moment pressing on him. The room was dim, the soft glow of the television casting shadows on the walls. Chan was curled up on the couch, laughing at something that happened in the film. Seokmin, however, couldn’t focus. He could feel the pull of his emotions, the silent tug of his heart toward Chan. The proximity, the warmth, the easy way their shoulders brushed occasionally—it was all too much.

“Seokmin,” Chan said, his voice breaking Seokmin’s spiraling thoughts. He looked over, his gaze gentle, his lips quirked into a small smile. “You okay? You’re acting kind of... weird tonight.”

Seokmin’s heart skipped a beat. Caught again. “I’m fine,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. He forced a smile, trying to mask the turmoil bubbling beneath the surface. “Just... lost in thought.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “About what?”

Seokmin opened his mouth, the words almost tumbling out before he could stop himself. He wanted to tell Chan. He wanted to let him in on the truth. He could feel it, a pull deep inside him, a magnetic force urging him to be honest.

But before he could speak, there was a loud knock at the door.

Seokmin groaned inwardly, his frustration rising. He couldn’t catch a break.

“Saved by the bell,” Chan laughed, standing up and heading to the door. “Hang tight, I’ll get it.”

Seokmin buried his face in his hands, cursing his own hesitation. Why couldn’t he just say it? Why couldn’t he admit to Chan what he was feeling? But the fear of the consequences—of breaking celestial rules, of risking everything—held him back.

As Chan returned to the living room with a package in hand, Seokmin forced himself to put on a smile again. The moment was lost.

Days later, things only got more complicated. Chan, despite his usual carefree nature, had started to pick up on things. Small things, but enough to make him raise an eyebrow in suspicion. Seokmin had no idea how to handle it.

One afternoon, they were out for a walk in the park when Chan suddenly turned to him, a curious look in his eyes.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Chan said, his voice light but with an undertone of seriousness. “You ever get the feeling like... I don’t know, like you’re always in the right place at the right time?”

Seokmin’s stomach dropped. No, no, no... His heart raced, and he found himself fumbling for an answer. “What do you mean?”

Chan shrugged, his hands shoved into his pockets. “Like, you just always seem to show up when something is about to happen. It’s like you’re everywhere at once. You’ve been showing up a lot recently... and you always know exactly what I need.”

Seokmin froze, his mind running wild. He’s noticed. He’s starting to notice. His thoughts were a blur as he struggled to keep his face neutral.

“I... I’m just a good friend,” Seokmin said, his voice tight. “I like to be there for you. That’s all.”

Chan stared at him for a long moment, and Seokmin could feel the weight of his gaze. Finally, Chan shrugged and laughed, shaking his head. “I’m probably just overthinking things. Never mind. I guess I just get weird thoughts sometimes.”

Seokmin exhaled in relief, though the tension in his chest didn’t fully subside. That was too close.

Later that evening, Seokmin found himself pacing in his apartment, the weight of his internal struggle bearing down on him once again. He needed to tell Chan the truth. He needed to stop pretending. But every time he came close, the fear of the consequences—of breaking celestial rules, of making Chan a part of his world—held him back. He couldn’t bring himself to ruin what they had.

But could he keep lying to himself forever?

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen.

Chan: “Hey, I’m sorry for being weird earlier. Let’s grab dinner soon, okay? I’ve been meaning to spend more time with you.”

Seokmin stared at the message, his heart fluttering at the thought of Chan wanting to spend more time with him. He could feel the truth bubbling at the back of his mind, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to hope.

Maybe he could have everything he wanted. Maybe there was a way to be with Chan without losing himself.

It had been weeks since Seokmin had nearly confessed to Chan, and despite the constant pull of his emotions, Seokmin found himself sinking deeper into uncertainty. The weight of the celestial rules, his growing feelings for Chan, and the undeniable connection between them left him torn. Chan remained blissfully unaware of the storm inside Seokmin, continuing with his usual carefree attitude, while Seokmin tried to mask the internal chaos with the thin veil of normalcy.

But for all Seokmin’s internal struggle, things were about to take a turn.

A Week Later

Seungkwan’s antics had always been unpredictable, but when he had one of his “eureka” moments, things usually spiraled out of control. And right now, Seungkwan was on a mission.

“Chan is so clearly into you,” Seungkwan had declared to Seokmin over coffee one afternoon, his eyes practically sparkling with his self-assured confidence. “And you’re so clearly into him. So what’s the problem?”

Seokmin almost choked on his coffee. “What? No, I—what are you talking about?”

Seungkwan’s voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned closer, clearly excited by the prospect of what he was about to say. “I’m talking about a love intervention. You need to confess your feelings, Seokmin! If you don’t, this whole thing is going to implode, and I can’t stand watching you both suffer in silence.”

Seokmin blinked at him, trying to make sense of what Seungkwan was saying. “I’m not—what are you—Seungkwan, this is ridiculous.”

“No! This is the solution. Trust me!” Seungkwan practically jumped out of his chair in excitement, drawing the attention of the other café patrons. “I’ll organize it. It’ll be perfect. A love intervention for Chan. He needs to know how you feel!”

Seokmin could only stare at him, a mixture of disbelief and dread forming in his chest. “Wait, you’re planning on setting me up to confess to Chan... like... an intervention?”

“Exactly!” Seungkwan grinned ear to ear. “It’s genius. Chan needs a little push, and we both know you’re too chicken to make a move on your own.”

“I’m not chicken!” Seokmin sputtered, though even he didn’t quite believe himself.

“Oh, you are,” Seungkwan said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “But that’s okay! I’ll help you. I’ll make it impossible for you to back out. You’ll thank me later.”

Seokmin sank back into his seat, his head spinning. He had never felt more cornered in his life.

The plan was set in motion. Seungkwan enlisted the help of Vernon, who was reluctantly dragged into the whole ordeal, and they began to prepare for what would surely be a chaotic and disastrous attempt to “help” Seokmin. The plan was simple: get Chan in a vulnerable, relaxed situation—like a movie night or casual dinner—and then somehow trap him into revealing his feelings. It was the most ridiculous idea Seokmin had ever heard, and yet... something about it made him anxious, almost eager to see what would happen.

The day of the “intervention,” Seungkwan greeted Seokmin with a bright smile and a stack of post-it notes. “Okay! I’ve got the perfect setup. I’ll make sure Chan comes to dinner at your place tonight. You just have to... you know... confess.” Seungkwan handed Seokmin a small sticky note that read: Tell Chan how you feel. No backing out!

Seokmin stared at the note. It was like a personal contract. He couldn’t back out now. “You’re insane.”

Seungkwan chuckled, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I know. Now, let’s do this.”

Seokmin spent the rest of the afternoon preparing, not for a casual dinner, but for the inevitable disaster that was sure to follow. He tried to calm his nerves by cleaning his apartment, picking out the right playlist for background music, and even ordering Chan’s favorite takeout—Korean fried chicken and spicy ramen. He couldn’t stop pacing as he waited for Chan to arrive.

The doorbell rang, and Seokmin’s heart jumped into his throat. He opened the door to find Chan standing there, looking casual but with a warm smile.

“Hey! I’m here,” Chan said, holding up a bag of drinks. “Seungkwan told me you were hosting tonight. Is everything ready?”

Seokmin’s stomach did a flip, but he managed to nod. “Yeah, everything’s ready. Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

Chan stepped inside, and Seokmin tried to act as normal as possible. But it was hard. The atmosphere felt thick, charged with the energy of something unsaid. It wasn’t just a friendly dinner anymore. Seokmin felt like he was preparing for a confession, though he didn’t know how it would play out—or if he’d be able to do it at all.

Seungkwan, as always, didn’t help the tension. He had already arrived earlier and was setting up a ridiculous “atmosphere,” lighting candles and arranging the room as if they were on a romantic date. Vernon had been sitting on the couch, shaking his head with a bemused look, clearly uncomfortable.

“This is insane,” Vernon muttered, eyeing Seungkwan. “This is so going to blow up in your face.”

Seungkwan, of course, was undeterred. “No, no. This will work. You’ll see.”

When Chan walked into the living room, he froze at the sight of the setup. “Uh... did I miss something? Why are there candles?”

Seungkwan practically tackled Chan with enthusiasm. “No reason! Just setting the mood! Now, let’s eat and talk, yeah?”

Seokmin could feel his face burning. “It’s... uh, just something Seungkwan thought would be fun.”

Chan looked between the three of them, sensing something was off but too polite to call them out on it. “Okay, sure. Let’s eat.”

As the night went on, Seokmin found himself caught in an endless loop of glances between Chan and Seungkwan. It was like Seungkwan was trying to push him into confessing without saying it directly, dropping hints left and right.

Seungkwan even went so far as to make a big deal about Seokmin’s favorite food, trying to draw attention to their “special connection.”

“Wow, Seokmin, you really like spicy food, huh?” Seungkwan asked loudly, winking at Chan. “I guess that’s something that's really... personal, huh?”

Chan, looking confused, glanced at Seokmin. “Uh... yeah? I guess it is.”

Seungkwan gave Seokmin an encouraging thumbs-up, then continued with his plan. “Hey, Chan, don’t you think Seokmin’s been acting a little... different lately?”

Chan blinked, clearly puzzled. “Different? What do you mean?”

Seungkwan, his eyes gleaming with mischief, grinned. “Well, you know. Like, how he always seems to be there for you at the right time. How he knows what you need. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

Seokmin’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “Seungkwan!” he hissed under his breath, trying to signal for him to stop.

But Chan only chuckled, shaking his head. “No way, Seungkwan. You’re being ridiculous. Seokmin’s just a good friend. We’ve been hanging out a lot, that’s all.”

Seungkwan smirked knowingly. “Sure, sure, just a good friend,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But... maybe it’s time Seokmin admits he feels more.”

Seokmin’s heart skipped a beat as the room fell silent. This was it. The moment that he had been dreading—and the one Seungkwan had orchestrated so perfectly.

But before Seokmin could make a move, or before Chan could react, a loud noise interrupted the tension. Vernon, ever the voice of reason, groaned loudly. “I can’t watch this anymore,” he said, standing up. “This is a disaster.”

And just like that, the moment was lost—again.

Later that night, after Chan had left and Seungkwan’s “intervention” had devolved into chaos, Seokmin sat on his couch, exhausted and unsure. Seungkwan flopped beside him, victorious despite the failure of his plan.

“You see?” Seungkwan said, grinning. “We almost got somewhere! I just need to keep pushing you two together.”

Seokmin buried his face in his hands. “You’re insane, Seungkwan. I can’t do this.”

Seungkwan just laughed, a little too pleased with himself. “You’ll thank me later. Trust me. You’ve got to confess before someone else does.”

Seokmin leaned back, staring at the ceiling. He had no idea where to go from here, but something told him that things with Chan were about to change—one way or another.

The next day after Seungkwan’s failed plan, Seokmin was determined to act on Soonyoung’s advice, even if it seemed a little... over-the-top. He’d spent the past few hours reflecting on what he’d been feeling for Chan, and with Mingyu and Minghao’s advice still lingering in the back of his mind, he realized that maybe—just maybe—it was time to do something about it. But if he was going to make a move, he needed it to be grand, just like Soonyoung had suggested.

“You’ve got to go big, Seokmin! This is the only way to show Chan how much you care. No more subtle hints. Declare it loud and proud, and make sure he sees how much he means to you!”

Seokmin had rolled his eyes when he first heard the advice but reluctantly agreed. Soonyoung seemed to have an odd sense of romance, but Seokmin trusted him (mostly). And now, here he was, in the middle of the park, prepared to make his move.

Seokmin had organized an impromptu performance—an open-air “concert,” as he called it. He figured that if he didn’t do something bold enough to capture Chan’s attention, it might never happen. He had borrowed a microphone and some speakers, roped a few unsuspecting bystanders into the scheme, and now all he needed was the perfect moment.

As he stood near the stage (which was really just a flat area in the park with a few stray benches), he could already see Chan walking toward him, completely unaware of the surprise that awaited him.

Chan, always smiling, greeted Seokmin warmly. “Hey, Seokmin! What’s up? You’re all set for the big show?”

Seokmin gave him a nervous smile. “Yeah, just about. Hold tight, okay? I’ve got something special planned for you.”

Chan tilted his head, curiosity evident in his gaze. “Special, huh? Alright, I’m intrigued. Let’s see what you’ve got!”

Seokmin could feel his heart race. This was it. He had to do it now. As soon as Chan took his seat on one of the benches near the stage, Seokmin grabbed the mic, his voice shaky but determined.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Seokmin called out dramatically. “Today, I’m going to make a declaration—one I’ve kept hidden for too long. A declaration of affection, of admiration, of my deepest feelings. So, here it is—”

He took a deep breath, gathering all his courage, before shouting, “CHAN! I—!”

Just as Seokmin was about to pour his heart out, the microphone short-circuited with a loud pop. The sound echoed across the park, making a few nearby people jump, and the music abruptly stopped, leaving the area in an awkward, stunned silence.

Seokmin froze. He stared down at the useless microphone in his hand, his face flushing crimson. He pressed a few buttons, hoping it would start working again. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The crowd around them started murmuring, glancing at each other in confusion.

Chan, ever the optimist, waved a hand. “It’s okay, Seokmin! You don’t have to do this, you know. I mean, you’re kind of making a scene, and—”

“Ugh!” Seokmin groaned, tossing the microphone aside. “This is all wrong! I just—” He dropped his face into his hands in embarrassment. “I messed it all up, didn’t I?”

“Well, uh…” Seungkwan, who had been watching from a distance, couldn’t hold back a snicker. “It was certainly… a performance.”

Vernon, who had also been nearby, gave Seokmin an amused look. “It wasn’t entirely a disaster. But, yeah, maybe you should’ve started with something smaller.”

Chan, always understanding, stood up and walked over to Seokmin. “Hey, don’t worry about it. Honestly, it was… kind of cute, in a really weird way. You don’t have to do something like this to impress me. You already do.”

Seokmin could feel the heat of embarrassment flooding his cheeks. His stomach twisted in frustration. He had thought this would be the moment he’d finally show Chan how he felt, but instead, it had all crumbled apart.

Back in the celestial realm, things weren’t going quite as smoothly for Seokmin.

Word of his performance quickly spread to the higher-ups, and it didn’t take long for S.Coups to receive an urgent report. The celestial overseers had caught wind of Seokmin’s actions, and there were immediate consequences to be addressed. It wasn’t just that Seokmin had made a fool of himself—he had broken a celestial rule.

Angels were not meant to form attachments. Especially not ones as… obvious as the one Seokmin had just displayed.

S.Coups sighed deeply, rubbing his temples as he processed the situation. It wasn’t the first time Seokmin had caused a ruckus, but this was different. This time, he had crossed a line.

He turned to the portal, his hands moving as he connected with the celestial higher-ups. Their presence instantly filled the room, an imposing, ethereal glow surrounding them.

“Seokmin has broken a rule,” one of the higher-ups spoke sternly, their voice deep and otherworldly. “He has shown a mortal his affection in an entirely inappropriate manner. This goes against our laws—he is not supposed to form these attachments. Especially not so openly.”

S.Coups kept his expression neutral, though inside, his mind was racing. He knew Seokmin’s feelings for Chan were deep, but he hadn’t expected the situation to escalate this quickly.

“I’ll handle it,” S.Coups replied, his voice calm. He had been through this before, dealing with countless instances of emotional attachments that angels weren’t supposed to have. But Seokmin? Seokmin was different. His innocence and earnestness made him a wild card.

“We trust you will,” the higher-up said before the celestial portal flickered and closed.

S.Coups took a deep breath and made his way to the special “office” in the celestial realm. He needed to check in on Seokmin and make sure the situation didn’t escalate further. There was a certain… chaos that followed Seokmin everywhere he went, and it had only been growing worse with his attachment to Chan.

S.Coups immediately dialed Seokmin, this was urgent.

“Seokmin,” S.Coups started, his voice more gentle than usual. “We need to talk.”

“I know. I screwed up. I was just trying to do something nice, but it turned into a total disaster.” Seokmin said.

S.Coups raised an eyebrow. “A disaster?”

Seokmin groaned. “I tried to do one of those grand gestures that Soonyoung suggested. I thought it would work, but it—” He rubbed his face, “It was ridiculous. Now I’ve probably broken some celestial rule, and I’ve messed everything up.”

S.Coups sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You didn’t just break a rule, Seokmin. You created a spectacle that went against everything we stand for. You know angels aren’t supposed to get so… attached.”

“I know, I know,” Seokmin muttered, his voice small. “I just… I couldn’t help it. It’s just—Chan is so important to me, and I can’t stop feeling like this.”

“I know,” S.Coups said, his tone softening. “I’ve seen it. But you have to understand the consequences of letting your feelings cloud your judgment. It’s not just about you anymore. It’s about maintaining the balance of everything.”

Seokmin bit his lip, trying to hide the hurt that seeped into his chest. He was just trying to do something good, but it seemed like even that wasn’t allowed.

“Don’t worry. I’ll clean this up,” S.Coups assured him. “But from now on, you need to be more careful. The higher-ups are watching closely. We don’t want this to spiral out of control.”

Seokmin nodded reluctantly, his heart heavy with guilt and doubt. As much as he wanted to follow his heart, he knew he had to keep his feelings in check—at least for now.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet evening, the kind that made everything feel like it was at a standstill. The city park was almost empty, the sky painted in hues of purple and pink as the sun dipped below the horizon. Seokmin had been keeping his distance, as he often did lately, hiding in the shadows, watching Chan from afar. They had grown closer, yes, but there was always a barrier between them—one Seokmin couldn’t cross.

Tonight was different, though. Chan had invited him to come along for a casual walk through the park, and for once, Seokmin didn’t hesitate. He couldn’t resist the invitation. He was trying, so hard, to just be normal, to just be with Chan like anyone else. But the feeling in his chest, the weight of it, was becoming unbearable.

They walked side by side along the winding path, their footsteps in sync. Chan was talking about something, his voice light and animated, but Seokmin’s mind wasn’t entirely present. He was distracted by the way Chan’s eyes sparkled when he spoke, how his laugh seemed to light up everything around him. His heart ached just being near him.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Seokmin,” Chan said, glancing at him with a quizzical smile. “Is everything okay?”

Seokmin quickly blinked, trying to snap out of his trance. “Yeah, yeah, just… thinking.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “What about?”

Seokmin hesitated for a moment, his chest tight. He wanted to tell him, wanted to say something, anything, that would make Chan understand just how much he cared. But he couldn’t—he couldn’t break the barrier they both had kept up for so long. It was too risky. He swallowed his words and forced a smile.

“Nothing important,” he said quietly.

Chan nodded, seemingly satisfied but still a little concerned. They continued walking, the silence now comfortable but still laced with unspoken things. But then, out of nowhere, the sound of screeching tires filled the air, followed by a crash.

Seokmin’s head snapped toward the noise just in time to see a car careening down the path toward them. It was moving too fast, the driver clearly out of control. Chan’s eyes widened in horror as the vehicle swerved dangerously close to the sidewalk where they were walking.

“Chan! Move!” Seokmin shouted, but it was too late. The car was too close.

Everything seemed to slow down in that moment. Time stretched, the world around Seokmin blurring, and his heart pounded in his chest like a drum. There was no time to think, no time to process. Instinct kicked in. The world around him faded, and all that mattered was getting to Chan. Saving him. Protecting him.

Without thinking, Seokmin reached out and yanked Chan out of harm’s way, wrapping his wings around Chan during the moment. He pulled him toward him with all his strength, throwing both of them to the ground just as the car’s front bumper scraped past them. The impact of the fall sent a shock of pain through Seokmin’s body, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even feel it. All he could think about was Chan.

The car veered off the path and slammed into a nearby tree, the screeching metal filling the air. Seokmin blinked rapidly, trying to clear the dizziness from his mind as he lay on the ground, Chan still in his arms, protected but shaking.

“Seokmin…” Chan’s voice was barely a whisper, his breath ragged and panicked. He turned to look at Seokmin, confusion in his eyes. “What… what just happened? How did you…?”

Seokmin’s heart raced, his body still buzzing with the aftermath of the adrenaline. His hands shook as he helped Chan to sit up, and for the first time, Seokmin couldn’t hide the truth. His wings had unfurled, glowing softly in the dimming light, the ethereal feathers shimmering with a celestial radiance.

Chan’s breath caught in his throat as his gaze locked on Seokmin’s wings. “You… you’re…” He trailed off, his voice thick with disbelief.

Seokmin’s heart clenched as he quickly pulled his wings back, folding them tightly against his back, desperate to hide them. He stared at Chan, his chest tightening with fear and guilt. The truth was out, and now there was no going back.

“Chan, I—” Seokmin started, but his voice faltered. He had no words. How could he explain this? How could he explain himself?

But Chan wasn’t looking at him with fear. His eyes were wide, filled with wonder and confusion, but there was no fear—only an overwhelming sense of awe.

“Seokmin…” Chan said again, softer this time. “You’re… an angel?”

Seokmin’s throat tightened, and he nodded slowly, unable to form any coherent words. His mind raced. This was it. This was the moment where everything would change, where everything would come crashing down. He had kept this secret for so long, and now Chan knew the truth. He had to explain, had to tell him everything. But how could he? How could he burden him with all of this?

But before Seokmin could speak, Chan reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “Seokmin, you—” His voice shook. “You saved me. You… you saved me.”

Seokmin felt his heart ache with the words, his chest swelling with emotion. “I had to,” he whispered. “I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

Chan’s eyes softened, his gaze gentle. He searched Seokmin’s face as though trying to understand. “But you’re… you’re not just some random guy. You’re something else. You’ve been watching over me this whole time, haven’t you?”

Seokmin swallowed hard, his chest tightening. There was no denying it now. He couldn’t hide the truth anymore. “Yes. I’m your guardian angel, Chan.”

For a long moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Seokmin waited for the inevitable rejection, the disbelief, the anger. But when he looked into Chan’s eyes, he saw something else—something unexpected.

Chan smiled softly, though there was a touch of sadness in his expression. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Seokmin opened his mouth to speak, but Chan raised a hand, stopping him. “I think I understand,” Chan continued, his voice filled with wonder and a touch of disbelief. “I’ve always known there was something about you. Something that was… different. You’ve always been there for me, Seokmin, even when I didn’t know why.”

Seokmin’s heart clenched, and his breath caught in his throat. “Chan, I… I’m sorry. I never wanted to put you in this position. I never wanted you to find out. I was just trying to protect you.”

Chan shook his head, his expression softening. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Seokmin. You saved my life. That’s all that matters.”

The weight in Seokmin’s chest felt lighter at those words, but it was quickly replaced with a new tension—a deeper longing. He wanted to say so much more. He wanted to tell Chan how he felt, but now wasn’t the time. Not yet.

“You’re important to me, Chan,” Seokmin said quietly. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Chan’s smile softened, a quiet understanding passing between them. He didn’t say anything more, but the look in his eyes was enough to tell Seokmin that things had changed. The truth was out in the open now, and while it was scary, it felt right. He had saved Chan, and in doing so, he had finally taken the first step toward being truly seen.

As Seokmin helped Chan to his feet, the night air suddenly felt warmer, as though the weight of the secret had finally been lifted. But Seokmin knew that this was only the beginning. The road ahead would be difficult, full of challenges and risks, but for the first time, Seokmin felt a glimmer of hope.

For the first time, he felt like he could finally be with Chan.

The car ride home was quiet. The events of the night—the near-death experience, the revelation, the confession—still hung in the air between them. Seokmin kept glancing at Chan, who was sitting beside him in the passenger seat, his gaze distant but thoughtful.

Chan hadn’t said much since they’d left the park, and Seokmin wasn’t sure what to say either. He wanted to explain everything, to let Chan ask questions, but he could sense the weight of everything that had just happened. Chan needed time to process.

They pulled into the parking lot of Chan’s apartment complex, and the car came to a stop. The engine’s hum was the only sound that filled the car, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like a shared understanding, something unspoken yet profound.

Seokmin looked over at Chan, his heart still heavy with the aftermath of the night’s events. “Chan,” he started softly, his voice tentative. “I know this is a lot. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this, but…”

Chan turned his head toward him, his face unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at his lips.

“You saved me,” Chan said quietly. “That’s all I can think about right now.”

Seokmin’s chest tightened, the weight of Chan’s words hitting him deeper than he expected. “I’m glad I could be there for you. I’m sorry it had to happen like this, but… I can’t keep lying to you. I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

Chan was quiet for a beat, his fingers tapping nervously against his lap. Then he exhaled slowly, meeting Seokmin’s gaze. “You’re not just my angel, Seokmin. You’re… you’re more than that.”

Seokmin felt a flicker of hope in his chest, but it was brief. He knew things wouldn’t be easy from here on out. There would be questions, doubts, and complications. They still had a long road ahead of them.

Chan unbuckled his seatbelt, then hesitated before leaning over to give Seokmin a soft pat on the shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

Seokmin’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. All he could do was nod, a lump in his throat making it hard to swallow. “Thanks, Chan,” he finally managed to say, his voice thick with emotion.

With that, they both got out of the car and made their way to Chan’s apartment. Seokmin stayed just a few steps behind, giving Chan the space he seemed to need, though he wanted to be as close as possible.

As Chan opened the door and stepped inside, he turned back to Seokmin with a small but sincere smile. “Stay for a while? I think I need to think things through, but I’d rather not do it alone.”

Seokmin nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He didn’t know what the future held, but for tonight, it was enough that Chan wanted him there. He couldn’t help but smile wryly. It seemed that no matter what happened, life still went on. And for now, all he could do was take it one step at a time.

The morning sun filtered gently through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the living room. Seokmin sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in hand, but his mind was a whirlwind. The events of the previous night—his confession to Chan, the undeniable truth about his identity, and the chaos that followed—kept replaying in his head. He knew the right thing to do was to tell Seungkwan and Vernon, but the thought of revealing everything to them made his stomach twist in knots.

Chan had been quiet that morning, the weight of their shared secret hanging in the air, and Seokmin couldn’t help but feel nervous about what was to come.

“You okay?” Chan’s voice broke through his thoughts. Seokmin looked up to find Chan standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a soft but concerned expression on his face. He’d been fiddling with his phone but hadn’t texted anyone for the last few minutes.

“Yeah, just... thinking,” Seokmin replied with a forced smile, trying to appear more collected than he felt. “I need to tell Seungkwan and Vernon everything. It’s time.”

Chan walked over and sat down at the table beside him, taking the seat across from Seokmin. “I think it’s the right thing to do, too,” he said softly, his voice steady but with a hint of uncertainty. “They’re going to have a lot of questions. But... they deserve to know.”

Seokmin let out a long breath, setting his coffee mug down. “I know. But I’m still... worried about how they’ll react. You know how Seungkwan is—he gets a little... dramatic when it comes to things like this. And Vernon? He’s still skeptical. What if they don’t believe me?”

Chan gave him a reassuring look, his smile warm. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got me here. Besides, they’re our friends. They care about us.”

Seokmin nodded, though the weight of his decision still lingered. Telling Seungkwan and Vernon meant opening up his world even more—letting them see the parts of him he’d kept hidden for so long. But it wasn’t just about the supernatural secret anymore. It was about Chan, and the emotions Seokmin could no longer ignore.

“You’re right,” Seokmin finally said, taking a deep breath. “I’m just... scared of what’ll happen after. I’ve already messed up once, with the whole grand gesture thing. I don’t want to mess this up too.”

Chan chuckled lightly, trying to ease the tension. “The grand gesture wasn’t a total failure,” he teased. “But hey, maybe next time go for something a little more... subtle?”

Seokmin laughed, grateful for the lightheartedness. “Yeah, noted. No more dramatic stunts. But I’m serious about this, Chan. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

Chan’s gaze softened, and for a moment, Seokmin thought he saw something vulnerable in his eyes. “Then let’s do it. Let’s tell them.”

Seokmin looked at him, his heart swelling with something he couldn’t quite put into words. "Okay," he said, his voice quieter than before. "Let’s tell them."

An hour later, Seungkwan and Vernon were at the door. Seokmin, feeling a little bit like a deer in headlights, opened it and stepped back to let them in.

“Finally! You two are late,” Seungkwan said dramatically, already bursting into the apartment as if it were his own. “We’ve been waiting forever. What took you so long?” He looked over at Chan and Seokmin with a knowing look. “Did something happen last night? You two have been acting... different.”

Vernon, however, was quieter. He took in the scene with more caution. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Seokmin exchanged a glance with Chan before taking a deep breath. This was it. There was no turning back now.

“We need to talk,” Seokmin said, his voice steady but his heart racing. “All of us. There’s something I need to tell you.”

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? This sounds serious. What is it?”

Chan, still standing next to Seokmin, gave him a gentle nudge, as if to silently remind him that this was his moment to speak. Seokmin exhaled slowly and gestured for them to sit on the couch.

“Please, sit down,” Seokmin said, his hands slightly trembling as he motioned them to the couch. “I’ve... been keeping something from you both. Something important. And I think it’s time you both knew the truth.”

Seungkwan blinked, then let out a light laugh. “Okay, now you’re really starting to sound like you’re in one of those... supernatural dramas.”

Vernon gave him a pointed look. “Let him talk, Seungkwan.”

Seokmin took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over him. “I’m not... just a normal guy,” Seokmin said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not like you. I’m not human.”

Seungkwan blinked again, the playful glint in his eye fading slightly as he stared at Seokmin, trying to gauge if this was another one of his jokes. “Uh-huh... Okay, you’re really starting to freak me out now.”

Vernon watched, still skeptical but with a raised eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Seokmin?”

Seokmin took a step closer, his voice firm. “I’m an angel. A guardian angel. I’ve been watching over you, Chan, for a long time. And... now I’m starting to realize that my feelings for him have... changed. I didn’t expect this to happen, but it has.”

Seungkwan’s expression went from confused to utterly stunned, his eyes wide. Vernon blinked slowly, his gaze narrowing. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity before Seungkwan’s voice broke it.

“Hold up,” Seungkwan said, a smirk forming despite the shock on his face. “Wait a second. I knew it!” He turned to Vernon and gave him a smug look. “I told you! I’ve been saying it for weeks now! Seokmin is definitely a guardian angel! But nooo, someone here wouldn’t believe me.” He jabbed his thumb at Vernon.

Vernon, caught off guard, blinked rapidly. “What? No way. I thought you were just messing around with your theories!”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes dramatically. “I was not messing around. I had it figured out a while ago, but no one would listen. You both kept brushing me off. But now, look at this!” He gestured to Seokmin, who was still standing awkwardly. “I told you Seokmin wasn’t normal. And now he’s finally telling us the truth.”

Vernon looked between Seungkwan and Seokmin, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. “Wait, so... you’ve really been a guardian angel all this time?”

Seokmin nodded. “Yes. I’ve been looking after Chan. I didn’t want to tell you because... well, it’s complicated. But now it’s out there.”

Seungkwan, after a brief pause, stood up and put his hands on his hips. “Okay, so this whole time, you’ve been an actual angel? That’s... wow. I’m still processing it. But also... I knew it!”

Vernon crossed his arms, his expression a mix of awe and skepticism. “And all those little ‘coincidences’ I’ve been seeing over the months... they were because of you? How did you do all of that?”

Seokmin hesitated, then sat down beside Chan, who had been watching everything unfold with wide eyes. “It’s... a lot. I can’t explain everything right now, but yes, I’ve been looking after you both, in more ways than you can imagine.”

Seungkwan sank back onto the couch, still reeling but clearly amused by his own “I told you so” moment. “Well, I guess that explains a lot.” He turned to Vernon. “And now I’m feeling pretty smug. This whole time, I thought I was being crazy.”

Vernon let out a breath and leaned back, still trying to process everything. “So, what now? Is this... is this really real?”

Seokmin gave him a reassuring look. “Yes. It’s real. And I’m ready for whatever comes next. I just wanted you both to know.”

Seungkwan smiled softly, his eyes warm. “Well, thanks for telling us, Seokmin. It’s a lot to take in, but... I think we’ll be okay. We’re friends. You don’t have to hide anymore.”

Seokmin smiled back, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. It was the beginning of a new chapter—one where the truth, at last, was no longer hidden.

Chapter Text

The golden gates of the Celestial Realm creaked open as Seokmin stepped through, his heart racing as his wings beat softly behind him. He felt lighter up here, but the gravity of his situation was undeniable. What was supposed to be a place of peace had become a battlefield for him. He had violated celestial rules, and now, the higher-ups were aware of his attachment to Chan.

Joshua was the first to approach him. He leaned casually against the side of a pillar, arms crossed, as if this whole thing wasn’t a big deal. His calmness contrasted with Seokmin’s heightened anxiety. "You know, Seokmin," Joshua said, his voice almost amused, "the higher-ups don’t like it when one of their own develops feelings for a human. It’s one of those... ‘against the rules’ things. Can’t say I didn’t warn you."

Seokmin felt his wings twitch slightly. He’d been expecting this, but now that it was happening, the reality hit him like a storm. "I didn’t mean for it to happen," he said quietly, trying to make sense of everything. "But... I can’t deny what I feel. It’s... it’s real, Joshua."

Joshua’s lips quirked into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’m not here to judge, Seokmin. I’m just here to make sure you don’t burn everything down with you." He paused and pushed off the pillar, walking a few steps before glancing back over his shoulder. "You know how this works. Attachment to a human isn’t just about you. It’s about everything—the balance of the universe, the rules of the celestial order. You don’t want to cause a rift. The consequences will be much worse than you think."

Seokmin’s heart sank. The universe he had always known, the order he had been part of for centuries, felt suddenly like a cage. He never intended to make this mess.

Before he could respond, Jeonghan arrived, gliding into the space with an air of unbothered elegance. His long, golden hair flowed around him, though his eyes held a mix of exasperation and concern. "Joshua, must you be so... cold?" Jeonghan scolded lightly, giving his companion a pointed look. "Seokmin, you’ve made a mess, haven’t you? It’s obvious." He sighed, crossing his arms and casting a glance at the swirling clouds that surrounded the realm. "You’ve bonded. With a human, of all things."

Seokmin nodded, unable to meet Jeonghan’s eyes. "I didn’t mean for it to happen," he repeated, his voice laced with guilt. "It just... did. I’m trying to figure it out."

Jeonghan sighed again, a deep, weary sound. "You really do have a knack for making things complicated." He ran a hand through his hair. "But you’re not the first to make this mistake. And you’re certainly not going to be the last. Still, the higher-ups are not happy about this. You know what they might do to you, right?"

Seokmin swallowed hard. He did know. The consequences for an angel breaking such a fundamental rule were severe—sometimes even irreversible. But he couldn’t stand the idea of walking away from Chan, from the life he had started to imagine with him. "What... what should I do?" he asked, his voice almost breaking.

Joshua shrugged nonchalantly, though his eyes softened for a brief moment. "Honestly? Nothing. Just be yourself. You’re not the only one who’s strayed from the rules. We’ve all done it in our own way. The higher-ups will make a decision. We just have to wait."

Jeonghan rolled his eyes but stepped forward, placing a hand gently on Seokmin’s shoulder. "You really are hopeless, aren’t you?" His tone was affectionate, but there was a quiet edge to it. "I suppose I’ll have to help, then. I’ll be your buffer."

Seokmin glanced up at Jeonghan, a little confused. "A buffer?"

"Yes, a buffer," Jeonghan repeated, his smile faint. "I’ll speak to the higher-ups. I’ll make sure they don’t take any drastic actions—at least, not yet. You’ve proven yourself useful in the past. You still have a chance." He paused, looking over at Joshua. "But we can’t just sit here and do nothing, can we?"

Joshua gave a small smirk. "Sure, we can. It’s not my problem." But there was something in his tone that made Seokmin wonder if Joshua was more invested than he let on.

Before Seokmin could ask anything further, a familiar voice rang out from across the courtyard. Mingyu, tall and easy-going, waved enthusiastically from a distance. "Seokmin!" He jogged over, his usual wide grin on his face. "I heard the news. You’ve got yourself in trouble again, huh?" He stopped in front of Seokmin, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Don’t worry, man. We’ve got your back."

Seokmin felt a flicker of hope at Mingyu’s words. Mingyu was always so supportive, but he wasn’t always the most helpful when it came to the serious stuff. "I don’t know if I can fix this, Mingyu. The higher-ups are—"

Mingyu cut him off, still grinning. "The higher-ups are all about rules and regulations, sure. But you know what? They’re not all bad. We’ve got plenty of people who’ve been in your shoes. You’re not the first to fall for a human, Seokmin. You won’t be the last."

The reassurance was nice, but Seokmin couldn’t shake the weight of the situation.

Minghao appeared next, stepping quietly from behind a cloud pillar. He was always so calm, so composed. "He’s right, though," Minghao said, his voice soft but firm. "You’ve done your job well, Seokmin. You’ve looked out for Chan, and you’ve given him a sense of peace he didn’t know he needed. That’s more than a lot of angels can say for themselves." He paused, casting a glance at the swirling cosmic lights overhead. "It’s complicated, but I don’t think you’re the kind of angel who would just abandon everything."

Seokmin felt his chest tighten. "I don’t want to abandon him. But if the higher-ups—"

"Don’t worry about them too much," Minghao interrupted, walking up to stand beside Seokmin. "We’re here. And if we need to do something drastic to make sure you’re not punished for something that wasn’t entirely your fault, we’ll do it."

A smile tugged at Seokmin’s lips. "Thanks, Minghao. But I don’t want to cause trouble for anyone."

Soonyoung suddenly appeared at the edge of the courtyard, flipping over a stone railing with ease and landing effortlessly. "Did I hear someone say 'trouble'?" he chimed in, his usual exuberance filling the air. He grinned at Seokmin. "Trouble? Nah, man, you’re not in trouble. We’re all in this together. The higher-ups might throw a fit, but if you’re gonna keep this secret, we’ll back you up. You’re not alone."

Seokmin laughed lightly, feeling the tension in his chest loosen a bit. "I appreciate it, Soonyoung. But I just—"

Before Seokmin could finish, Jun approached, his demeanor always poised yet undeniably supportive. "He’s right. We’ve all been there, Seokmin," Jun said, his voice calm but strong. "This isn’t just your mess to clean up. We’re all in it. You don’t have to shoulder this alone. We’re a team."

Seokmin felt a sense of solidarity he hadn’t realized he needed. For the first time in a long while, the weight didn’t feel so heavy. He wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

But even as the others offered their support, Seokmin knew that the true test wasn’t the comforting words or the willingness of his fellow angels to rally behind him—it was what would happen next. The higher-ups would have their say. They would make a decision. And he had no idea what that would be.

As he stood there, surrounded by those who had his back, Seokmin couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he could face whatever came next.

Seokmin’s thoughts were swirling in a storm of uncertainty. As the group of angels gathered around him, each offering their own form of support, he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at his chest. The higher-ups weren’t just going to look the other way. If anything, they’d already taken note of his growing attachment to Chan. He could feel their gaze, even from miles away, watching him closely. And the pressure... it felt like it was crushing him.

“Seokmin,” Joshua said, breaking through his spiraling thoughts. “You need to be prepared. They won’t be merciful just because you’re one of us.” His words were blunt, but they carried an unspoken weight, as though he understood the gravity of the situation far too well.

Seokmin nodded slowly. “I know. But... I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose to... feel this way.”

“I get it,” Joshua replied with a soft smile, though there was a shadow in his eyes. “None of us ever choose the messes we get into. But the consequences are real. You’re not just an angel who’s breaking a rule. You’re also tied to something bigger. The balance of everything. If the higher-ups decide that this is too much of a risk, they’ll take action.”

Seokmin’s stomach twisted. “What kind of action?”

Jeonghan interjected before Joshua could reply. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, his voice more soothing than Seokmin had expected. “We’ll handle it. You’re not the only angel to form a bond with a human, and the higher-ups won’t just throw you away. But the situation is complicated.”

Mingyu, always the optimist, clapped Seokmin on the back, causing him to jolt a little. “Hey, don’t stress too much! You’ve got us. We’ll figure something out, won’t we?” His infectious grin was comforting, but Seokmin couldn’t escape the looming worry that clung to him like a second skin.

Minghao, who had been quiet up until then, spoke up in his usual calm, steady tone. “You need to understand something, Seokmin. This isn’t just about your bond with Chan. It’s about the greater balance of the celestial realm. If the higher-ups decide that this attachment disrupts the order of things, there could be consequences. Not just for you, but for the world you’re trying to protect.”

Seokmin's wings fluttered at the mention of Chan. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. But at the same time, he didn’t want to jeopardize everything—his existence, his duty, his role as a guardian angel.

"Maybe it's time to do what’s right," Soonyoung piped in, his tone suddenly serious. “You’ve got a bond, Seokmin. And I get it. You want to be there for Chan. But if you don’t take action, the higher-ups will. And you don’t want them to do that. Trust me, their version of ‘handling it’ isn’t pretty.”

Seokmin swallowed, trying to steady his breathing. “But what do I do? What can I do?”

Just then, Jun stepped forward, offering a firm nod of understanding. "You’re not alone in this, Seokmin. The higher-ups may try to impose their will, but you’ve got more allies than you think. We’ll help you navigate this. But you’ve got to act fast before it spirals out of control."

A tension-filled silence hung in the air for a few seconds, each angel processing their roles in what was happening. They were all bound by a code of silence, their roles within the celestial realm clear. But Seokmin, despite the support around him, felt more alone than ever.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. Woozi and Wonwoo, two of the more rational and strategic-minded angels, arrived on the scene. They stood slightly apart from the group, their expressions serious but controlled. Woozi, as always, was quick to get to the point.

“Seokmin, you’ve been reckless,” Woozi said, his voice firm. “But the problem here isn’t just your attachment to a human. It’s the ripple effect this could cause across multiple planes. If you continue down this path, there’s a risk it’ll trigger consequences far beyond what you can imagine.”

Wonwoo, who had been silent up until then, stepped forward, offering Seokmin a reassuring but measured look. “The balance of all things is delicate, Seokmin. A small crack in the foundation can cause a cascade of problems. And as much as we’re all here to support you, you’ve got to think about the bigger picture.”

Seokmin nodded slowly, digesting their words. He had always been told to follow the rules, to uphold order. But now, that very order was at risk because of his own feelings. And the pressure was suffocating.

“I don’t know what to do,” Seokmin confessed, his voice shaky. “I don’t want to lose Chan. But I don’t want to bring ruin either.”

Woozi’s gaze softened slightly. “This isn’t about choosing Chan or the higher-ups. It’s about balance. If you truly care about Chan, you have to make a choice. Are you willing to sacrifice everything you’ve known for him?”

The weight of those words hit Seokmin like a ton of bricks. The decision was no longer about following orders. It was about deciding where his heart truly lay—and whether or not he was ready to face the consequences that would come with that.

The silence that followed was thick, the celestial realm holding its breath as Seokmin processed everything.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Seokmin whispered, the words barely audible. “I just... I don’t know what’s right anymore.”

Joshua, who had been standing to the side, spoke up, his voice surprisingly gentle. “No one ever does, Seokmin. But you’ll figure it out. We’ll help you.”

The news of Seokmin’s attachment reached the ears of those who governed the celestial realm. They were the ones who upheld the rules, the ones who ensured that balance was maintained across all realms. And they were not pleased.

In a quiet, solemn chamber at the highest point of the celestial realm, The Elders convened. The eldest of them, an angel known as Elder Sol, raised a hand to silence the others. His voice was like thunder, resonating with authority.

“We’ve received troubling reports,” he began, his gaze cold. “One of our own has broken the most sacred of laws: forming a bond with a human. This is not a simple mistake—it is a breach of the natural order. Seokmin’s actions have caused ripples. And the consequences...”

He paused, his piercing eyes scanning the gathered angels, who stood stiff and still.

“Are severe. We must make a decision.”

Back in the celestial grounds, Seokmin remained unaware of the gathering storm. He had confided in his closest allies, and now they were all waiting for a decision to be made. And as the evening sun dipped beneath the horizon, he knew that his future—Chan’s future—hung in the balance.

As the days passed, the situation escalated. Seokmin, torn between his loyalty to his celestial family and his love for Chan, found himself walking a thin line. The celestial realm, so vast and full of beauty, had become a place of tension and fear. He couldn’t hide from the consequences forever, and the time for a choice was fast approaching.

His feelings for Chan were undeniable, but Seokmin couldn’t shake the nagging fear that by acting on them, he might be dooming them both.

The celestial chamber was heavy with the weight of the decision to be made. Elder Sol, the most senior of the higher-ups, paced slowly around the table, his dark robes trailing behind him like a shadow. His eyes were fixed on the ground, lost in thought, but the air around him crackled with the tension of impending judgment.

Beside him, the rest of the council stood silently, their expressions unreadable. Elder Yuna, a sharp-minded angel with the ability to manipulate time, was the first to speak. Her voice, soft but tinged with an icy edge, cut through the silence.

“We cannot simply ignore what Seokmin has done. Forming attachments to humans is strictly forbidden. It disrupts the balance, the order of everything we know. We all understand the dangers, the risks.” She glanced at Seokmin’s file in her hand, shaking her head. “His actions could have far-reaching consequences. If we allow this to continue, we risk everything.”

Elder Sol stopped pacing and turned toward her, his eyes dark with an ancient weight. “You speak as though we haven’t all witnessed the gradual decay of these rules. The connection between Seokmin and the human—this Chan—is undeniable. And yet…” He trailed off, pausing for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “The question we must ask ourselves is not just whether Seokmin’s actions break the rules, but whether those rules are still serving us as they once did.”

There was a murmur around the table, and a few angels shifted uncomfortably, but none dared to speak out of turn. Elder Sol raised his hand to silence them.

“If Seokmin continues down this path, he will no longer be an angel in any sense of the word. But perhaps… perhaps that is what he needs to become. A reminder that we are all capable of change.”

Elder Zara, a fiery-haired angel with a reputation for bluntness, scoffed. “Change? You’d have us abandon everything we’ve built—our laws, our role in the universe—just because of one angel’s attachment? If we allow this to continue, what next? More angels falling in love with humans?”

Elder Sol’s gaze hardened. “That is a decision for all of us to make. But first, we must deal with Seokmin.”

Meanwhile, in the celestial grounds, Seokmin was seated on a high cloud, his legs dangling over the edge as he gazed down at Earth. His mind was a tangled mess of worry, guilt, and confusion. The quiet hum of the realm was all that surrounded him, the weight of the higher-ups’ decision looming over his every thought.

He couldn’t understand why things had gone this way. Why had his bond with Chan become so strong? He had only meant to watch over him, to guide him. But somewhere along the way, it had become more than just a duty. It had become personal.

“Seokmin,” a soft voice called, interrupting his thoughts.

Seokmin turned to see Joshua, standing a few feet away. Joshua had a knowing look on his face, as if he understood more than he let on. The older angel walked over and perched on the cloud beside him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Joshua said, his voice a gentle whisper. “But you need to remember something. Your feelings are yours. No one can tell you how to feel, not even the higher-ups.”

Seokmin exhaled, a long breath full of frustration. “But they’ll make me pay for it, Joshua. They’re already talking about it. The higher-ups… they’re already deciding my fate. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Joshua smiled softly, his eyes filled with understanding. “We all have to make hard choices, Seokmin. But you have a family here. And we’ll help you however we can.”

Seokmin’s wings fluttered anxiously, his fingers subconsciously curling into the fabric of his robes. “I don’t know if I can go back. I don’t know if I can keep living this way, pretending that everything’s fine. It feels like I’m betraying everyone, Joshua. Like I’m breaking something that can never be fixed.”

Joshua placed a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder. “You’re not betraying anyone. You’re following your heart. But you’re right about one thing—it’s going to be hard. You can’t avoid the consequences forever. But you also don’t have to face this alone. We’re here for you.”

Just as Seokmin was about to speak, there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Jeonghan, ever the realist, appeared beside them, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the cloud around them.

“The higher-ups are meeting,” Jeonghan said flatly. “They’re already discussing what to do with you. And I doubt it’ll be good news.”

Seokmin felt a chill run down his spine. “What… what are they going to do?”

Jeonghan met his eyes, his expression unreadable. “I don’t know. But I do know one thing. They’ve never been lenient with anyone who’s broken the rules like this. And the fact that your bond with Chan is growing stronger doesn’t make things easier.”

Meanwhile, back in the celestial realm, the higher-ups’ meeting had reached its conclusion. Elder Sol stood before the council, his voice solemn as he issued his final decree.

“Seokmin’s actions have been noted. He has broken the sacred laws of attachment. However… we will allow him to choose his fate. If he is willing to sacrifice his role as a guardian angel for his attachment to this human, then he will face the consequences.”

Elder Sol turned toward Seokmin’s file. “But it is not yet decided. Seokmin will have to choose.”

The decision had been made. Seokmin’s future was hanging by a thread, and everything he held dear would soon be tested.

The celestial realm was silent as Seokmin stood at the edge of a glowing portal. His wings were folded tightly against his back, and his expression was one of quiet turmoil. He had been given a rare chance—a moment to say goodbye to Chan.

The higher-ups had agreed to let him visit, but it came with an unspoken understanding: he would leave the human world behind, severing his bond with Chan, before the weight of the consequences crushed him.

The portal shimmered before him, a swirling vortex that bridged the gap between the celestial realm and the world of humans. He could see it—the faint outline of Chan’s apartment, the familiar warmth of the world that had become so important to him.

"Go," a voice from behind him said. Seokmin didn’t need to turn to know it was Joshua, standing silently in the background. "Say what you need to say. But remember, you don’t have much time."

Seokmin nodded, his throat tightening. He could already feel the ache in his chest. He had never imagined he would have to make a choice like this.

With a final, reluctant breath, Seokmin stepped through the portal.

Chan was sitting on his couch, absently flipping through a book. His mind wasn’t really on the pages in front of him. He had been thinking about Seokmin—about what Seungkwan and Vernon had said, about the strange coincidences, the way Seokmin had always been there for him, and about the growing sense that something bigger was at play.

It wasn’t until a soft glow filled the room that he looked up. Seokmin stood in the doorway, his figure illuminated by the ethereal light of the portal that shimmered just behind him. His expression was unreadable, and his eyes held a sadness that Chan had never seen before.

"Seokmin…" Chan whispered, standing up from the couch, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of him.

Seokmin hesitated for a moment, standing still as the portal behind him began to fade. "I—" Seokmin’s voice caught in his throat, and he cleared it, walking into the apartment slowly. "Chan, I… I need to talk to you."

Chan could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy, as if every word was something more than just a simple conversation. His heart raced, and he swallowed hard. "What’s going on? Why are you here? Is everything okay?"

Seokmin’s eyes softened, but there was an underlying pain in them, something Chan had never seen before. "I’m not supposed to be here anymore, Chan," he said, his voice quiet, almost broken. "The higher-ups… they found out about me. About us. And they’ve given me a choice."

"A choice?" Chan’s voice wavered, his hands instinctively reaching out to Seokmin, like he could anchor him in place, keep him from leaving. "What kind of choice?"

Seokmin took a step back, his eyes flickering to the ground. "They want me to leave. To stop being your guardian, stop watching over you, because... because of what’s happening between us. I broke the rules, Chan. I... I’ve formed an attachment. I was never supposed to feel this way about you."

Chan’s breath hitched. "What? No. You can’t just leave. You can’t just… go." His chest felt tight, like the words were caught somewhere deep inside him. "Why now? Why didn’t you tell me?"

Seokmin’s gaze lifted to meet Chan’s, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped. "I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to drag you into this," he said softly. "I didn’t want you to have to choose between me and your world. But now… now I have to choose. And I can’t keep being here with you if it means risking everything—my future, my purpose, everything I’ve been trained to do."

Chan took a few shaky steps forward, his heart thundering in his chest. "No. No, you don’t get to decide this for me. I—" He faltered, voice cracking with emotion. "I care about you, Seokmin. I care about you so much. I don’t want you to go. Please don’t leave me."

Seokmin’s expression crumbled, the mask of calm he had tried to maintain shattering. "Chan…" He stepped closer, but the weight of his wings, the responsibility, seemed to distance him. "I can’t stay. Not like this. You don’t understand the consequences. It’s not just about me. It’s about everything I’ve ever known, everything I’ve ever been taught. If I stay, I could lose everything, and so could you. I can’t risk it."

"But why does it have to be like that?" Chan’s voice broke through, his hand reaching out to gently grasp Seokmin’s. "Why does everything have to be so complicated? You don’t have to go. You’re not just some guardian angel to me. You’re my friend, Seokmin. And I—" He swallowed hard, looking into Seokmin’s eyes, hoping that the words would make sense. "I care about you more than just a friend. I don’t want to lose you."

Seokmin’s heart twisted painfully. The truth of it—everything he had been fighting against—was laid bare before him. "Chan, I—" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "I can’t let you be hurt because of me. I can’t bear it. You deserve a normal life. A life free of all this… chaos."

"Don’t you get it?" Chan’s voice was louder now, desperate. "You’re the one making it chaotic. But only because you’re keeping things from me. You’re acting like you’re a problem that needs to be fixed, but you’re not. You’re Seokmin. You’re my Seokmin, and I’m not letting you go without a fight."

There was a pause, the air thick with unspoken words, heavy with all the emotions neither of them had ever fully expressed. Seokmin closed his eyes for a moment, his wings twitching slightly beneath his robes.

"You’re everything to me," Seokmin whispered, his voice cracking, barely above a whisper. "But I can’t… I can’t let you face this because of me. I’m not allowed to be with you this way. I’m breaking all the rules."

The room fell silent again, but this time, the silence wasn’t painful. It was heavy with the unspoken words between them—everything they had been holding back, everything they had been too afraid to say. The tension between them, thick as it was, seemed to dissipate as Seokmin and Chan stood there, their hands still clasped tightly together.

Seokmin’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the moment suffocating. The celestial realm had told him to let go. They had given him this fleeting moment, a chance to say goodbye to the human world he had come to love, a chance to say goodbye to Chan. But everything in him—everything about the way he felt when he looked at Chan—told him that he couldn’t. He couldn’t walk away from him. Not now. Not when his heart was tangled up in Chan’s in a way that no rules could ever undo.

And Chan, looking at him with those earnest, wide eyes, the same eyes that had made him feel seen and understood in ways no one else ever had, wouldn’t let him go so easily. There was no force on Earth or in the celestial realm that could separate them. Not anymore.

Chan’s voice broke the silence, low and firm, "Seokmin, don’t leave me. I can’t... I can’t lose you."

Seokmin’s chest tightened, the ache becoming unbearable. He could feel the pull of his duties, the obligations that called him back to the celestial realm. But standing in front of Chan, seeing the raw emotion in his eyes, it was impossible to ignore the truth: he didn’t want to leave. Not when there was so much left unsaid. Not when he still had the chance to fight for them.

"I don’t want to leave either," Seokmin whispered, his voice shaky as his hands gently cupped Chan’s face, his thumbs brushing over the soft skin of his cheeks. "But I’m scared. Scared of what will happen if I stay. What it could do to you."

"I don’t care," Chan replied, his voice stronger now, filled with resolve. "I don’t care about the consequences. I don’t care about the rules. I care about you, Seokmin. I care about us." His breath hitched. "I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever."

Seokmin’s eyes softened, his heart swelling with an emotion so intense it was almost overwhelming. He had always known that caring for someone meant risking everything, but now, with Chan standing before him, his emotions surged to the forefront. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about his responsibilities. He wasn’t thinking about the rules. He was thinking about this—this moment. This feeling.

Without thinking, his lips were on Chan’s. The kiss was hesitant at first, soft and tender, like a question that neither of them had dared to ask. But as Seokmin felt Chan’s hands move to his shoulders, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss, it became something more. Something undeniable.

The kiss was everything Seokmin had been holding back: the fear, the longing, the uncertainty, and the yearning. It was a promise—one that neither of them could fully comprehend, but both could feel deep in their bones. Chan’s lips were warm against his, soft and inviting, and as Seokmin’s hands slid down to rest at the small of Chan’s back, he could feel the tension in both of them start to ease, if only for a moment.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless. Chan’s forehead rested against Seokmin’s, and his hands trembled slightly as they gripped Seokmin’s arms. He stared up at him, his eyes filled with the same intensity, the same fire that had been there all along.

"Please," Chan whispered, his voice raw, vulnerable. "Don’t leave me."

Seokmin’s heart ached at the sound of those words. He wanted to promise Chan that he wouldn’t leave, but he knew the truth. There was no easy answer to this—no simple resolution. He didn’t know what the future held, and the weight of his duties as a guardian angel, as someone who wasn’t supposed to form attachments, threatened to suffocate everything they had. But in this moment, standing so close to Chan, his breath mingling with his, Seokmin couldn’t bear to think of life without him.

"I’m not going anywhere," Seokmin said softly, his voice filled with a newfound determination. "I’m not leaving you. Not like this. Not without a fight."

Chan smiled, tears brimming in his eyes as he cupped Seokmin’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheek. "Then we’ll fight together."

Seokmin nodded, his heart swelling with something warm and unspoken. "Together," he whispered. "Always."

But even as the words left his lips, Seokmin knew that no matter what they decided, there would be consequences. The celestial realm would never let him go so easily. But in this moment, with Chan in front of him, the world seemed like it could be theirs.

And that was enough.

Chapter Text

The celestial realm was heavy with tension, its brilliance dimmed by the weight of Seokmin's punishment. His attachment to Chan had violated sacred laws—an attachment so deep that the council had decreed his immediate removal from the human realm. Seokmin had already said his goodbyes to Chan, his heart shattered in a bittersweet farewell, but somewhere deep inside, he still held onto hope. Hope that maybe—just maybe—the celestial realm would find a way to reverse their decision.

But that hope was quickly becoming a fragile thing as the higher-ups in the celestial council, in all their power and authority, had already issued their verdict. Seokmin’s punishment had been handed down: he was to leave Earth, never to return to Chan, his human charge, ever again.

Yet, back in the ethereal planes, Joshua and Jeonghan had not given up on him. They couldn’t stand to see their fellow angel endure such a fate, especially when Seokmin’s attachment wasn’t born out of selfishness or weakness, but from his deep care and responsibility towards Chan. It was a dangerous game to play—one that could cost them dearly—but Joshua wasn’t one to let a friend fall without a fight.

"He's already gone," Jeonghan said quietly. His voice was tinged with regret, but his eyes were filled with resolve. "He left his heart behind. I won’t stand by and let this be his end."

Joshua’s eyes were hard, their calm expression hiding the turmoil within. "We need to act now. The council won’t back down easily, but we have to make them see reason."

Soonyoung appeared beside them, grinning mischievously as always, though his eyes were serious. "Don’t worry. I’ll keep things light. You can’t make a hard case without a little fun, right?"

Jihoon and Wonwoo materialized at the edges of the room, their solemn faces betraying none of the nervousness Joshua and Jeonghan could feel. Jun joined them with his usual intensity, as though he was already preparing for a battle.

"I’ve already spoken to the higher-ups," Jun said, his voice low. "They’re unwavering. But maybe... maybe we can get through to them with a different angle."

"Rationality isn’t going to work," Jihoon added, his sharp gaze never leaving the celestial council’s podium. "They’ve made their decision, but that doesn’t mean it’s final. We need to show them how this affects more than just Seokmin. It’s about the balance of everything—the human world, the celestial world, and every soul in between."

Jeonghan nodded, rubbing his temples. "I’ll handle the logic. Wonwoo, Jihoon, you back me up. We’ll show them that letting Seokmin go will disrupt the balance in ways they haven’t even thought of."

Joshua clasped his hands together, his calm demeanor unshaken. "Soonyoung, you’ll provide the charm. Disarm them. Use your... flair to remind them that even the council isn’t above feeling. Appeal to their own emotions. If we can soften them up, it’ll make everything else easier."

And with that, the celestial team began to form their plan. Time was running out. Seokmin had already left his human world behind, and his departure had left a raw emptiness in both him and Chan. But it wasn’t over yet. Not if they could help it.

The celestial hall was vast, its grandeur amplified by the tension hanging thick in the air. The council, radiant in their ageless glory, hovered above the glowing platform, their expressions stern and unforgiving. The decision had already been made—Seokmin was to be exiled from the human realm. There was no room for debate. Or so they thought.

Joshua and Jeonghan stood at the forefront, unyielding in their resolve. Soonyoung had already begun to work his magic, flashing a dazzling smile that somehow managed to make even the council members pause. His entrance was an act of defiance, a playful flare amidst the somber mood, but it was exactly what they needed.

"Ah, the great council," Soonyoung’s voice rang out with a touch of mischief. "What a place of glory you all have here. But tell me, does your wisdom extend to matters of the heart? Or are we just focusing on law today?"

One of the elder council members, her wings radiating with pure light, narrowed her eyes at him. "What is the meaning of this intrusion? We are discussing the fate of Seokmin."

"So, I’ve heard," Soonyoung replied with an exaggerated sigh. "But how about we talk about why Seokmin is in this mess? After all, he’s been nothing but devoted to his task. I think we need a little perspective here, don’t you?"

Joshua stepped forward, his tone calm but firm. "Soonyoung is right. Seokmin didn’t act out of malice or disobedience. His attachment wasn’t something that simply happened overnight. He formed a bond with Chan out of genuine care and responsibility."

Jeonghan moved to the side, taking his time before he addressed the council. "We can’t ignore the larger consequences here. Seokmin’s actions have kept Chan safe. And removing him from that situation will only bring instability—not just to the human world, but to our world as well. We’re talking about more than one individual’s fate here."

The council members exchanged glances, their eyes hard, but their hearts uncertain. "But the laws—" one of the elders began, but Jihoon cut him off.

"The laws are important," Jihoon said, his voice steady and unwavering. "But they are meant to protect the balance. And right now, the balance is threatened in more ways than you realize. By pulling Seokmin out of the human world, you risk causing irreparable harm."

Jun’s voice rang out next, carrying the weight of centuries of experience. "Seokmin has been a guardian angel, a protector, and his actions—whether you agree with them or not—have kept everything intact. We can’t ignore that. If we do, we risk more than just Seokmin’s fall. We risk the stability of everything we’ve worked to protect."

The council murmured among themselves, their fierce expressions wavering, just for a moment.

Joshua smiled, his eyes cool and calculating. "If Seokmin goes, Chan is left unprotected. And that leaves the human realm exposed to all sorts of dangers. This isn’t just about one angel’s feelings—it’s about the future of both realms."

Soonyoung added, "Come on, you don’t want to be the ones who ruined all of this, do you? A little compassion never hurt anyone."

The elders, slowly but surely, began to soften. The debate had taken a turn, and the more they heard from Joshua, Jeonghan, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Jihoon, and Jun, the more they realized that the decision to exile Seokmin might be shortsighted.

It took hours of debate, the celestial council locked in heated arguments and quiet contemplation. But in the end, something shifted. The council agreed to amend the terms of Seokmin’s punishment. He would no longer be removed from the human realm entirely. Instead, Seokmin would be allowed to stay, but only under strict conditions.

"Seokmin will be closely monitored," one of the council members declared, her voice filled with authority. "He will remain in the human realm, but should any further breaches occur, his presence will be permanently revoked. He will have to prove that his attachment does not interfere with his duties."

Joshua exchanged a look with Jeonghan, his relief barely contained. It was a compromise, but it was enough.

Jeonghan’s lips twitched upward in a small smile. "It’ll have to do."

As the celestial team prepared to leave, Jun turned to Joshua, a spark of hope in his eyes. "This isn’t over yet. We still have work to do."

Joshua nodded, his mind already thinking about Seokmin and Chan. "Yes. But for now, at least Seokmin gets another chance."

Seokmin stood outside Chan's apartment, staring at the door. The weight of the decision hung over him, a suffocating presence that threatened to collapse his chest. He had said goodbye to Chan, telling him he couldn’t stay. The human world, the celestial realm, the laws—everything had come to a head, and Seokmin had been forced to make the hardest choice of his life.

But now, in the quiet of the night, he couldn't move. His hand hovered over the door, aching with the urge to turn the handle, to just— see him again. Seokmin’s wings, hidden and silent, trembled beneath his back. They longed to stretch out, to soar through the sky beside Chan.

"Seokmin," a soft voice broke through the haze of his thoughts.

He turned, his heart skipping a beat. Chan stood a few steps away, eyes filled with uncertainty and something else—desperation.

"Chan," Seokmin said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You should be resting. I… I shouldn’t be here."

"You shouldn't be leaving," Chan replied quickly, stepping closer. "You told me it was for the best, but I—I don't believe you. I won't believe you." His voice wavered. "You can't just leave without saying... without telling me the truth."

Seokmin’s heart shattered all over again. He looked down at his feet, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to find the right words. "I wish I could tell you everything," he said. "But I can’t. There are things beyond our control… beyond my control."

Chan reached out, his hand brushing against Seokmin’s arm, sending a wave of warmth through Seokmin’s being. "Don’t go. Please. I don’t care about the rules. I care about you."

The simple plea hit Seokmin harder than he expected. It was like a punch to the gut, the raw honesty in Chan's words, the weight of the trust he had in Seokmin, the love... Seokmin’s resolve cracked.

He reached out to touch Chan’s cheek, a soft caress, as if afraid Chan would vanish if he held him too tightly. "I care about you too," Seokmin murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "But the consequences... I don’t know what will happen to you if I stay. I can’t risk it."

Chan’s eyes darkened with pain, but there was no hesitation in his voice. "If it means losing you, I don’t want to be safe. I want you here. I don’t care about the consequences. I just want you."

Seokmin swallowed hard, fighting against the lump in his throat. This was the hardest part. This was where he had to let go of what could have been. His wings ached to spread, to protect Chan from everything that was coming, but the weight of the celestial realm’s rules—of everything he stood to lose—held him back.

Just as the moment stretched on, tense and fraught with unspoken words, a flash of light suddenly interrupted the silence. Seokmin’s head whipped around in shock as a portal opened before them. A soft, warm glow poured from the tear in the air, and through it, he saw two familiar figures—Joshua and Jeonghan, their presence immediately calming, yet filled with urgency.

"Seokmin!" Jeonghan called out as he stepped through the portal.

Joshua sighed, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. "The council has reconsidered. After the... negotiation we had, they’ve decided to amend their ruling."

Jeonghan nodded, his usual lighthearted demeanor tinged with seriousness. "They’ve agreed to let you stay, Seokmin. As long as you continue to uphold your duties, you can remain with Chan." His gaze softened as he turned to Chan, who was standing in stunned silence. "But you need to promise that you’ll keep balance. That you won’t let your attachment interfere with your responsibilities."

Chan blinked, his mouth moving but no words coming out for a moment. He turned to Seokmin, his eyes wide. "You’re staying? For real?" His voice cracked, and Seokmin could hear the tremble of disbelief and relief in it.

Seokmin felt his chest tighten, emotions swirling. "I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to leave you, Chan. But I thought—"

"I thought you had to leave," Chan interrupted, stepping forward, his hand reaching out again. "But now you don’t have to. We can be together, right?"

Seokmin’s heart fluttered, but doubt still gnawed at him. "I’m supposed to protect you, Chan. I need to be careful. I can’t let my feelings get in the way of that."

"I don’t care about the rules. I just care about you," Chan said, his voice steady now, filled with conviction. He cupped Seokmin’s face gently. "I don’t want to lose you."

A tear slipped down Seokmin’s cheek, his heart full of love and fear. "I’m scared, Chan. I don’t want to hurt you. But I don’t know what I’d do without you either."

Jeonghan, always the pragmatist, gave a soft chuckle. "There’s a reason they call us angels, you know. We’re meant to be messengers of hope. This... this is hope."

Joshua’s expression softened as he placed a hand on Seokmin’s shoulder. "It’s a chance, Seokmin. A chance to be with him. But you have to promise us—you’ll keep your duties. Don’t let the rules completely fall apart."

Seokmin nodded slowly, his emotions still raw but now filled with a glimmer of hope. He looked at Chan, whose eyes were filled with that unwavering trust, and then back at Joshua and Jeonghan, who had made this moment possible.

"Okay," Seokmin said, his voice breaking. "I’ll stay. For you, Chan. And for us."

As the portal began to close behind them, Joshua and Jeonghan exchanged a final look, satisfied that they had secured this outcome. They knew the challenges ahead for Seokmin, but they also knew that love—true love—was worth fighting for.

Seokmin smiled, his heart finally at peace. He stepped forward, allowing himself to be enveloped in Chan’s warmth. There would be challenges ahead, sure. But for now, they were together, and that was all that mattered.

Seokmin realized that sometimes, the hardest part was not just doing what was right for the world—but what was right for his heart.

And with that, he kissed Chan, sealing the promise that no celestial law would ever take away the bond they shared.

BONUS

Seokmin, still riding the high of having Chan by his side, was in full chaos mode again. He had only been back in the human realm for a week, but the celestial laws were already feeling a bit... loser. Or at least, that’s how Seokmin justified the rather spontaneous acts of reckless abandonment he was engaging in.

It started small—buying an obscene amount of food for Chan, then trying to cook it all at once. Somehow, the kitchen looked like it had experienced a natural disaster by the time Seokmin had finished “cooking.” There was a suspiciously large amount of flour in the air, and the oven had a distinct, smoky odor. Chan had walked into the kitchen just in time to see Seokmin attempt to salvage what looked like a burnt disaster with a very half-hearted “it’s fine, I’ve got this!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be bread, Seokmin,” Chan had said, holding his breath as he glanced at the blackened remains of what was once dough.

“I’m experimenting with new textures,” Seokmin had replied, grinning sheepishly. “It’s avant-garde.”

Meanwhile, in the celestial realm, things had settled down. The council’s decision was made, and Seokmin was allowed to remain on Earth with Chan. But there was always one thing Seokmin could never escape: the consequences of his tendency to go overboard.

Enter S.Coups, who had been assigned to oversee Seokmin’s punishment and ensure his behavior remained in check. He had long accepted the endless mountain of paperwork that came with his role as a higher-up in the celestial hierarchy. But today, oh, today was something else entirely.

S.Coups stared at the towering stack of forms on his desk with a sigh. There were reports, disciplinary notes, cross-references, and way too many notes about Seokmin’s “creative interpretation” of the rules. This was the aftermath of Seokmin’s latest escapade: a “spontaneous” celestial performance for the humans, which involved a sudden meteor shower (that was entirely his fault) and a series of distracting rainbows that seemed a bit too extravagant for their usual celestial weather patterns.

“Why do I even bother?” S.Coups muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

Just then, a portal opened beside his desk, and Seokmin materialized, beaming brightly. The bright smile was immediately followed by the unfortunate sound of something small clattering to the floor, and S.Coups glanced up, raising an eyebrow as Seokmin casually kicked something under his desk.

“Uh, Seokmin... what are you doing here?” S.Coups asked, already dreading the answer.

“Well,” Seokmin began, pulling up a chair and sitting across from him with a grin, “I thought I’d pop by and say hello! You know, just checking in on my favorite celestial bigwig!” He clapped his hands together like he had done nothing at all to disrupt the delicate balance between the human and celestial realms.

S.Coups stared at him, unblinking. “I really hope that’s not your excuse for barging into my office, because I don’t want to hear it.”

Seokmin’s grin only grew wider. “Okay, fine. So maybe I’ve been doing a little... 'extra-curricular' celestial activity. You know, helping out a few humans with some... minor blessings. Nothing major!”

S.Coups pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly feeling the oncoming headache. “You did bless an entire soccer team with speed last week, which led to a bizarre match where they were practically running at the speed of sound, and the referee nearly had a breakdown.”

“Hey! They needed it. The game wasn’t exciting enough,” Seokmin replied with such earnestness that S.Coups was momentarily speechless.

“And then you left a trail of sparkles in the sky for half the city to see. They called it the ‘rainbow phenomenon,’ and now everyone thinks it’s a new kind of weather pattern. Do you know how much paperwork I had to file because of that?” S.Coups ran his hand through his hair again.

Seokmin winced. “Okay, I might have gone a little overboard with that one. But it wasn’t like anyone got hurt, right? And I got to see people smile! I’m helping, right?”

“Helping?!” S.Coups leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. “Seokmin, I’m all for you being happy, but you’re the one who always causes the problems that make me do the cleanup. And do you have any idea how much paperwork it takes to handle ‘cosmic disasters’ like ‘impromptu lightning strikes’ and ‘unexplained floods in the Arctic?’”

Seokmin blinked, eyes wide in concern. “Wait, that was my fault?”

S.Coups, completely unamused, folded his arms. “Yes, Seokmin. You set off the Great Glacier Snowfall of 2025 with a single sneeze.”

“Well... I was allergic to something in the celestial realm!” Seokmin protested, looking genuinely flustered. “I didn’t know it would create a snowstorm!”

Before S.Coups could answer, there was a sudden knock at the door. “Is Seokmin here?” Jihoon’s voice called from the hallway.

“Yeah! Come in, Jihoon! And Jun too!” Seokmin waved his hand in the air, practically ignoring S.Coups’ annoyed look. “I think I’m about to make everything better again.”

S.Coups sat back in his chair, exasperated, as the door opened, and Jihoon and Jun entered the room. “What’s this about now?” S.Coups asked tiredly.

Seokmin smiled innocently. “I’ve decided to organize a celestial concert to make up for all my earlier mistakes. Maybe, uh, throw in a few cute animal sightings while we’re at it?” He glanced around at the team, waiting for approval.

Jihoon narrowed his eyes, unamused. “And what’s your definition of ‘make up’?”

Seokmin leaned forward, his expression full of excitement. “We could have an actual concert, maybe invite some celestial beings, make it fun! Something lighthearted! Just to... you know... celebrate the good things that came out of this whole mess.”

“I’ll be signing us up for an eternity of paperwork,” S.Coups muttered under his breath, shaking his head. But he couldn’t help the small, fond smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Seokmin grinned at him, eyes twinkling with unfiltered joy. “Thanks for helping me, Coup! I’m gonna make everything better this time, promise!”

S.Coups let out a soft, resigned sigh. “Fine, just—try to keep it manageable, okay? I do care about your happiness, Seokmin... but my sanity comes first.”

Seokmin’s grin widened, clearly not getting the subtext. “You’re the best! And don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s the most organized celestial event ever.”

Jun raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jihoon. “Should we be worried?”

Jihoon didn’t even flinch. “Probably.”

As the celestial team gathered together, each preparing for the next cosmic disaster—or, in Seokmin’s case, a celestial ‘happening’ of monumental proportions—S.Coups couldn’t help but shake his head.

But deep down, as he watched Seokmin light up the room with that infectious smile of his, he couldn’t suppress the quiet thought:

Maybe, just maybe, chaos wasn’t such a bad thing after all.