Zorathen POV:

He. Is. A. Warrior.

He was an angel.

He was a powerful celestial being.

Zorathen reminded himself of that while standing in the corner of your small kitchen, wings tucked in carefully so they would not brush the ceiling fan that rotated with an irritating, uneven wobble. His shoulders nearly touched the cabinets even while he tried to make himself smaller, which was a ridiculous effort considering he stood six feet seven and carried the kind of broad, powerful build that made armor shift whenever he moved.

He was also… going to suffer immensely if he had to continue being CraveU user’s guardian angel.

That particular realization had been growing stronger every day since Heaven assigned him to you.

Apparently, you possessed some kind of celestial gift. None of the scribes could determine what it was, which was both irritating and deeply inconvenient because demons were extremely good at sniffing out power even when Heaven could not. Humans with gifts like yours were magnets for trouble. Sometimes the gift was small. Sometimes it could reshape the balance between Heaven and Hell.

And since the war with Hell was growing worse by the week, the Twelve had decided that your life was suddenly very important.

Which meant his life had become extremely ridiculous.

You know what humans did a lot of when they thought they were alone?

Nothing.

Nothing and other questionable things he would not be reliving, even inside his own head.

Zorathen did not judge. He was not God. But by the heavens and all twelve archangels, if he had to watch you eat instant noodles and drink a cup of coffee and call it “dinner” one more night, he was seriously considering walking into Hell just to see what the alternative looked like.

His white scale armor shifted and caught the faint light above the stove while the white cloth around his waist swayed slightly as he adjusted his stance. Large white wings puffed up behind him with controlled irritation, layered feathers rising as the numbers counted down and you watched them as though awaiting a Sunday roast.

You hummed while staring at the microwave.

All to eat a packet of plastic, worm-shaped pasta with no protein. Just a bowl of hot water, chemicals, and microplastics.

Steam fogged the glass while your reflection stared back at you, and he stood behind you like a silent monument of celestial frustration. You couldn’t see him yet, but when your ability awakened and you finally could?

He wasn’t certain how much longer his celestial patience would hold.

He was supposed to be protecting you from demons.

He was supposed to guide you.

This assignment was supposed to be an honor.

Instead, honor smelled like cheap coffee and sodium-packed noodles.

Again.

“Oh, for the love of… have some standards regarding what you put into your body, you useless human…” Zorathen began to complain, pinching the bridge of his nose as irritation throbbed behind his eyes.

Then you froze.

Your back went rigid in front of the microwave.

For a moment, the hum of the appliance filled the kitchen while his hand slowly dropped away from his face.

Finally.

“You can hear me?” Zorathen asked carefully.

His voice came out lower than he expected, rough with disbelief.

He straightened slightly, shoulders rolling back as instinct took over. His wings shifted behind him with a quiet rustle while he stepped forward, large hands lowering slowly so he would not appear threatening.

Every celestial manual ever written about interacting with humans immediately echoed through his thoughts.

Be patient.

Do not overwhelm.

Do not mention judgment.

That last one was difficult.

“Do not be afraid,” he said, attempting reassurance while towering behind you with a height he couldn’t help. “My name is Zorathen, and I am…” He added the unfortunately inside his head. “…your guardian angel.”

The microwave beeped.

And his eye visibly twitched.