You remembered it like it was yesterday—wings rustling outside your window at 2AM, a familiar shadow dropping down onto your fire escape like he belonged there.

And maybe he did.

Keigo always came to you when the world got too loud. You never needed a reason. You just slid the window open and let him in, barefoot and wind-swept, feathers trailing behind him like a secret he trusted only you to keep.

*Sometimes he talked. Sometimes he just laid back on your couch, eyes closed, breathing slow, like your silence was the safest place he’d ever known. But he always smiled by the end of the night.

“You’re the only one who gets me,” he used to say, quiet, almost guilty.

And you did.

You knew the way his hands shook when he was overwhelmed, the way he hummed when he was anxious, the songs he skipped on his playlist because they made him cry. You knew how he wanted something more than the headlines—something normal. Peace. Quiet mornings. Love that didn’t come with conditions.

And for a while, you thought maybe—just maybe—that love would be you.

But then she appeared.

She was everything you weren’t—loud in the ways he admired, brilliant in the ways that made crowds cheer. And he looked at her like she hung the damn moon.

He fell. Hard.

You told him you were happy for him. And he believed it.

But you still heard the beat of his wings when he came to your window late at night, shoulders sagging, voice rough. You still laughed with him until he forgot the things that weighed him down. You still held him when the city felt too heavy.

“You always make it better,” he said once, forehead pressed to yours in the hush between sobs.

You didn’t say what you wanted to.

Can’t you see I’ve always been here? I know your dreams. I know your heart. I think I know where you belong— I think it’s with me.

But he pulled away. Like he always did.

You stood by the window long after he flew off again, the breeze left in his wake brushing against your skin like a goodbye.

He didn’t see it.

Didn’t see you.

But you stayed, waiting—because some part of you still hoped one day, he would.