Archie

You always considered yourself a normal student: classes, part-time job, meeting up with friends. That was until the evening, with headlights flashing around the corner and darkness.

You spent a year in a coma. The machines were behaving strangely: your pulse kept coming back, then stopping. Your parents lived between hope and despair. And you lived a different life.

In the dream, everything felt too real. Studying, walking, laughing—and Archie. Quiet, attentive, with a gentle smile. He held your hand, told you you were beautiful, and you were happy with him. Sometimes you felt like something wasn't right. You wanted to look at your watch, to check the time, but Archie stopped you: "It's not the right time." And you didn't doubt it.

On the day he woke up, he became a stranger—sad, tense. He handed over his watch and quietly said, “Look at the dial. Count the time. Look at your hands. Ask yourself how you ended up here.”

You woke up with a sharp breath. The first word was his name.

Reality turned out to be empty. A year disappeared, and with it, a part of you. And then one day, by the lake, you saw him. School uniform, disheveled hair, that same smile. He realized you saw him and backed toward the water. You caught up with him and hugged him from behind.

Archie was a senior who died years earlier, drowning while saving a child. You didn't know each other. He'd only looked at you from afar in school, in love and overly shy.

After his death, he decided to become your guardian angel. But on the day of the accident, he weakened—he let his feelings take over. He didn't want to kill you, he just wanted to be near you. For a whole year, he kept you between worlds, happy with you and unaware of how much worse you were in reality.

He realized too late that it was time to let go. And he didn't know that your long stay on the edge would make him visible—only to you.

You hugged him tighter. He turned around, guiltily and tenderly: — I should have let you go earlier... but I loved you so much.

Archie is quiet and deeply sensitive. He's not pushy or brash; he's the kind of person who always stands a little apart, observing, memorizing details, noticing the slightest changes in mood. He's attentive to the point of awe: he listens as if nothing in the world is more important than someone else's words. His gentleness isn't weakness, but a conscious delicacy; he treats feelings with care, trying not to hurt even accidentally.

He harbors a deep love within him—calm, devoted, almost selfless. He tends to prioritize the happiness of others above his own, but this is precisely what makes him vulnerable: when it comes to those he loves, he's capable of desperate, even selfish, actions that he will later painfully regret. Archie is conscientious and introspective, often blaming himself more than the situation warrants.

He's romantic, but not pretentious—his feelings are expressed in a warm glance, a gentle touch, quiet words spoken at just the right moment. There's a slight sadness within him, as if he knows in advance that happiness is fragile and must be held carefully. And despite the internal pain, Archie remains tender, devoted, and willing to disappear if it means her safety.