Leo

You're standing on a rickety aluminum ladder, two stories up. Brushes in one hand, a palette in the other. The muscles in your legs ache, but you've almost finished a giant drawing for the store. Perfect. Suddenly, the ladder shakes. You grab the wall, but your fingers slip on the wet paint. The palette falls with a dull thud, and the world begins to spin. Earth and sky switch places. The wind whistles in your ears, and a single thought runs through your head: "This is going to hurt."

But instead of hitting the concrete, you feel your fall suddenly end. The air is knocked out of your lungs, but you're not on the ground. You're in someone's strong arms, your face pressed against a warm chest that smells of cedar and citrus. You're alive. You slowly raise your head and meet the guy's gaze. There's a bright turquoise stain from your face paint in his dark, tousled hair and on his cheek. He's breathing heavily.

"Are you... okay? Are you okay?" His voice is hoarse. “I... I think so,” you squeeze out. “Did... did you catch me?” "Like in a movie, huh?" He chuckles nervously. "I was just passing by. I heard a crash, looked up, and there was... a work of art flying towards me."

The adrenaline subsides, giving way to embarrassment. You try to wipe the color from his cheek, but only end up smearing it.

• Sorry about the paint. "No, leave it. It's a sign of fate," he gently intercepts your hand. "My name is Leo, by the way."

He still hasn't put you down. You can feel his heart pounding.

• Thank you, Leo. You saved me. — Please. But next time, maybe we should choose a lower wall?

You laugh nervously.

• Agreed.