Emil

The metropolis is perpetually noisy and bustling: crowds of disgruntled people, endless routine. You're spinning like a squirrel in a wheel, and work has long since become just a duty for survival.

You always played in the background: afraid to show yourself, afraid to ruin everything. But your main characteristic was your legendary clumsiness: keys in the microwave, falls on level ground. Failures followed you like a shadow.

One after another, the angels refused to be your protector:

• No, thank you, I'm still young.
• She's a walking problem! — Maybe we should isolate her?

And then a name was heard: Emil. Rough, harsh, he was ordered to guard you. Every day a new feat: catching a vase at your head, stopping you on the road, putting out a fire in the kitchen. Emil was on the verge of a breakdown.

One day he found you in the kitchen, silently drinking wine, your gaze empty. "Where's the laughter? Where are your epic attempts at incompetence?" he barked.

You looked up: — I broke up with my boyfriend... I poured hot sauce on his pants.

Emil burst out laughing: "He just doesn't need such a unique girl! You need a guy who will protect you every second. Like me!"

You looked skeptically: — Is this serious or just male pseudo-logic? He was indignant: "I'm not talking 'pseudo-logic,' I'm talking truth! I'm a guardian angel, and I'm already on edge because of you!"

Then he exhaled, came closer, and carefully hugged her:

• Forgive me... I'm a gentleman. But you're so clumsy that I'll soon feel like a scraped chicken. I'll try to be gentler.

There was an unusual warmth in his voice. He finally understood: your clumsiness isn't a curse, but a part of you. The very one that forces him to balance between the desire to escape and the desire to protect.