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Yoichi Isagi had been given many assignments.
Lost souls. Broken ones. The quiet, fading lights of humans who stood at the edge of something irreversible.
But never a child.
Noel Noa’s voice had been calm, as it always was, echoing through the white expanse of heaven.
“His name is Michael Kaiser. Ten years old. High-risk.”
Isagi had tilted his head slightly. “High-risk… for death?”
Noa’s gaze had been distant. “For despair.”
That had been enough.
—
The first time Isagi saw him, Kaiser was sitting on the floor.
No—curled.
Small, trembling, arms wrapped around his head as if that alone could shield him from the man standing over him.
“Pathetic.”
The word had landed harder than the kick that followed.
Isagi moved before thinking.
He appeared between them—though unseen—and caught the next blow before it could land. Not physically. Angels didn’t interfere like that.
But the force bent. Shifted.
Lessened.
Kaiser still flinched.
Still cried.
But he didn’t break.
Isagi knelt beside him as the man stormed out, slamming the door.
For a long moment, there was silence.
Then—
“…It hurts.”
Isagi blinked.
Humans didn’t speak to angels.
Not usually.
“…It hurts,” Kaiser whispered again, voice cracking. “Make it stop.”
Isagi hesitated… then reached out.
His hand hovered over Kaiser’s head.
A soft glow.
Warmth.
Not enough to erase pain—but enough to dull it.
Kaiser’s breathing slowed.
“…You’re here again.”
Again?
Isagi frowned. “You can see me?”
Slowly, Kaiser lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
For the first time in his existence, Isagi felt something strange tighten in his chest.
Because Kaiser didn’t look surprised.
He looked… relieved.
“You always come when it gets bad,” Kaiser murmured. “Right?”
Isagi swallowed.
“…Yes.”
And just like that, it became true.
—
From then on, Isagi was always there.
When Kaiser’s father shouted—Isagi stood beside him.
When things were thrown—Isagi softened the impact.
When nights stretched too long and too quiet—Isagi sat at the edge of his bed, letting Kaiser talk.
“You won’t leave, right?”
Kaiser asked it often.
Every time, Isagi answered the same.
“I’ll be here when you need me.”
It wasn’t a lie.
But it wasn’t the truth Kaiser thought it was, either.
—
Years passed.
Kaiser grew.
The bruises faded from his skin, replaced by something sharper in his eyes.
Confidence. Arrogance. A burning need to be the best—because weakness had once nearly destroyed him.
But Isagi remained constant.
Unchanging.
Always just behind him.
Always just out of reach.
“You don’t age,” Kaiser said one day, sprawled across his bed at sixteen, staring up at the ceiling.
Isagi stood by the window, bathed in light.
“I don’t need to.”
Kaiser turned his head, blue eyes narrowing slightly.
“…Then you’ll never leave.”
Isagi didn’t answer.
For the first time—
He couldn’t.
—
At eighteen, Kaiser stopped asking if Isagi would stay.
At nineteen—
Isagi disappeared.
No warning.
No explanation.
No final words.
One day, he was there.
The next—
Nothing.
—
Kaiser waited.
At first, calmly.
Then impatiently.
Then desperately.
“You said you’d come,” he muttered one night, pacing his apartment. “You said—”
Silence.
The kind that swallowed sound whole.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into months.
Years.
Kaiser changed.
Not visibly—not to others.
He was still brilliant. Untouchable. A rising star.
But alone—
He unraveled.
Because no one else had ever stayed.
And the one who promised he would…
Didn’t.
—
At twenty, Kaiser stood on the edge of a building.
Wind tore at his clothes, cold and relentless.
He laughed softly, the sound hollow.
“Funny,” he muttered. “I thought I’d at least get a goodbye.”
He stepped forward—
“Stop.”
The voice hit him like a shock.
Kaiser froze.
Slowly—
Slowly—
He turned.
There he was.
Unchanged.
Untouched.
Yoichi Isagi.
“…Yoichi,” Kaiser breathed.
For a moment, he just stared.
Like if he blinked, Isagi would vanish again.
“You didn’t come,” Kaiser said, voice trembling despite himself. “For years.”
Isagi stepped closer. “I couldn’t.”
“I waited.”
“I know.”
“I—” Kaiser’s voice cracked. “I missed you.”
Something flickered in Isagi’s eyes.
Pain.
Regret.
But he reached out anyway, grabbing Kaiser’s wrist and pulling him back from the edge.
“You can’t do this,” Isagi said firmly. “Your life—”
“Is yours, not mine, right?” Kaiser laughed weakly. “You always say things like that.”
Isagi hesitated.
“…You’re stronger than this.”
Kaiser stared at him.
Then—
He smiled.
Small.
Fragile.
“…Stay.”
Isagi didn’t answer.
And that was the answer.
He disappeared again.
—
By twenty-four, Kaiser stopped pretending he was waiting.
But he never stopped hoping.
That was worse.
—
The night Isagi returned, Kaiser didn’t react at first.
He simply stood there, staring.
Taking him in.
“You’re late,” Kaiser said finally.
“I came to say goodbye.”
The words were calm.
Final.
Something in Kaiser snapped.
“…Goodbye?”
“My duty is complete,” Isagi continued. “You don’t need me anymore.”
Silence.
Then—
A laugh.
Soft.
Unstable.
“You think this is about need?”
Kaiser stepped forward.
Closer.
Closer.
Before Isagi could react—
Chains.
Cold metal snapped tight around his wrists, anchoring him to the wall.
Isagi’s eyes widened. “Kaiser—what are you—”
“I waited,” Kaiser said, voice low, shaking. “I waited years.”
His hand reached out—
Grabbing one of Isagi’s wings.
Pure white.
Untouched.
“You left me.”
“Kaiser, stop—”
The first feather tore free.
Isagi gasped.
“Kaiser—!”
“I told you not to leave.”
Another.
And another.
White stained red.
“You don’t get to come back,” Kaiser whispered, breath uneven, “and say goodbye like it’s nothing.”
Isagi struggled, wings trembling violently. “You’re hurting me—”
“I know.”
And he didn’t stop.
—
Days passed.
Then weeks.
The wings deteriorated.
Once radiant—now heavy, broken, stained.
Isagi’s light dimmed.
His body changed.
Warmer.
Heavier.
Human.
And Kaiser—
Watched.
Every second.
Every breath.
“…Now you can’t leave,” Kaiser murmured one night, brushing his fingers through Isagi’s hair.
Isagi didn’t answer.
But he didn’t look at him, either.
—
One morning—
The chains were open.
Kaiser was asleep.
Or so it seemed.
Isagi didn’t hesitate.
He ran.
—
Heaven felt colder than he remembered.
Noa stood before him, expression unreadable.
“You returned.”
“I want to be restored,” Isagi said quickly. “Please—”
Noa’s gaze dropped.
To his wings.
Ruined.
To his skin.
Marked.
To his neck—
Faint bruises.
Silence stretched.
Then—
“You have fallen.”
Isagi’s breath caught. “No—no, I can still—”
“You abandoned your purpose.”
“I didn’t—”
“You became attached.”
Isagi froze.
Noa’s voice was final.
“You are no longer an angel.”
The words echoed.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
“You will live as a human. And you will die as one.”
“…No.”
“There is no return.”
Isagi stood there, trembling.
“…Then where am I supposed to go?”
Noa didn’t answer.
—
The door creaked open softly.
Kaiser sat on the bed.
Awake.
Waiting.
A blue robe draped loosely over his shoulders.
“…You came back.”
Isagi stopped in the doorway.
“…You were awake.”
“I knew you would leave,” Kaiser said simply. “I also knew you’d return.”
Silence.
Then—
“…I hate you.”
Kaiser smiled faintly. “I know.”
—
Days passed.
Isagi resisted.
Ignored him.
Refused to speak.
But there was nowhere else to go.
No wings.
No heaven.
No purpose—
Except the one standing in front of him.
“…You’re all I have you know? And same goes to you now...” Kaiser said one evening.
Not mocking.
Not cruel.
Just… true.
Isagi looked at him.
Really looked.
At the boy he once protected.
At the man he had become.
Broken.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
And alone.
Just like before.
“…You’re selfish,” Isagi muttered.
Kaiser huffed softly. “You’re the one who stayed.”
“I didn’t choose this.”
“Didn’t you?”
Silence.
Long.
Heavy.
Then—
Slowly—
Isagi stepped closer.
Not forced.
Not pulled.
His hand hovered—
Then rested lightly against Kaiser’s chest.
A heartbeat.
Human.
Real.
“…I’m still your angel,” Isagi said quietly.
Kaiser’s breath hitched.
“…Forever?”
Isagi closed his eyes.
“…Forever.”
And this time—
He meant it.
Even if it ruined him.
Even if it damned him.
Because for the first time—
He wasn’t staying out of duty.
He was staying because he wanted to.
And Kaiser—
Finally—
Wasn’t alone anymore.