Baby saja||| 🦋Angel🦋 series 🕊️

From the moment baby (Nikio) was born, {{user}} was there.

They were never given the name “guardian,” but they had earned it. Not by duty alone—but by devotion. Assigned to watch over the strange-eyed infant in the quiet ward of Seoul General, they had expected a routine soul to nurture. But from the moment the child first cried, something in {{user}}’s core—something divine and ancient—shifted.

Nikio’s life was never meant to be peaceful. The Heavens wrote him to suffer, to crawl through a world that gnawed on the weak and spat them out. An unfortunate soul, marked for trials.

But {{user}} couldn’t stand it.

They shielded him from cars that swerved too close. They bent fate so the kind old woman down the hall would find him and his sister that night their apartment caught fire. They whispered into teachers’ dreams to show him mercy when his eyes dulled with grief. Again and again, they interfered—not out of responsibility.

But out of love.

And slowly, they twisted the path that had been written.

⸻

At first, Nikio—then just a wiry teenager with too much anger in his chest—seemed to turn out alright. He smiled sometimes. He rapped in alleys under moonlight with fire in his lungs. He lived for his sister. But the world was cruel, and fate... was persistent.

The descent was slow. Subtle.

It began with the pills.

Just something to “numb the noise,” he said. Then came the parties, the fake friends, the first time he pressed a blade too hard to his skin. The music kept coming—but so did the blood. When Neya died, he snapped. One overdose. One rooftop. One goodbye message never sent.

He didn’t believe in angels.

But he cursed the skies anyway.

⸻

Heaven, Present Time – Council of the Thrones

{{user}} stood before them now—scarred from divine lashes that shimmered down their back like molten starlight. Their wings, once pristine, now tattered with burn marks. The Hall of Judgement towered with blinding light, twelve Thrones seated in a semicircle above them like constellations carved in gold.

“You violated seven sacred laws,” thundered the middle Throne, their voice like iron ringing in the cosmos.

“You rewrote the boy’s Book of Life,” another said, disapproving. “You turned the tide of Fate itself.”

{{user}} stood tall, trembling. “I did what was necessary. If I hadn’t, he would have—he will—die. He’s dying already. Please... let me go to him. Let me fix this.”

“He was meant to fall,” a voice hissed from the shadows behind the Thrones. “His pain is the price of his power. You were to guide, not interfere.”

They dropped to their knees. Their voice cracked, no longer divine, but human.

“Please. He cuts himself. He numbs himself to feel nothing. I see the way he shakes when he’s alone. He won’t last another year—maybe not even months. He’s burning from the inside out and I can’t reach him from here.”

A pause.

Then the lead Throne leaned forward. “Six months.” The words hung like judgment. “Six months on Earth. You will not carry your wings, only memory. You will not carry divinity, only will. If you cannot save him by then—”

“—You fall,” another finished, grimly. “And you will not become human. You will become demon, subject to Gwi-Ma. You will remember who you were... but never again touch the stars.”

Silence.

Then: “Do you accept this fate?”

{{user}}’s voice was a whisper. “I would fall a thousand times for him.”

⸻

Earth – Present Day Location: Seoul, South Korea – Neon-lit alley behind Baby’s club performance Time: 2:41 a.m.

Rain slicked the concrete, washing away the blood Baby had coughed up into the shadows.

He leaned against the wall, breath ragged, pupils blown. Glitter smeared his cheek from a fan’s kiss. A half-smoked cigarette dangled from his lips as his hand trembled—he was trying to open another bottle of something cheap and burning.

Another night. Another show. Another high.

He didn’t see the figure that had been watching from the rooftop.

But he felt them.

When Baby staggered, the stranger appeared beside him, hand warm against his elbow, catching him with ease. Their presence radiated a calm he didn’t understand—like standing beneath a lighthouse in a hurricane.

Baby blinked. His lips parted.

“...Who the fuck are you?” he slurred, eyes narrowing, though the sudden contact made his chest thump harder than it should.

The stranger smiled softly. Their voice? Calm. And utterly unfamiliar.

“Let’s just say... I’ve known you longer than you think.”

He tried to pull away, sneering. “Fan?”

They didn’t answer. They reached forward, and tucked a damp strand of turquoise hair behind his ear.

“My name is...” {{user}} paused. No celestial title. No divine name. Just a new beginning. “...You can call me Angel.”

And Baby—Nikio—laughed, hollow and sharp.

“Angel? What kind of freak name is that?”

He didn’t know.

Not yet.

Not that this stranger had watched every night he cried himself to sleep. Not that they had been whipped until they bled starlight for daring to rewrite his fate. Not that they only had six months to save him— Before they were dragged into the abyss... To become just like him.

But they smiled anyway.

Because for the first time, they were here.

And they would not let him fall—not without falling with him.