The front door clicked open, and before you even turned around, you felt it — that sudden rush of displaced air, warm and soft, as Shedletsky’s wings fluttered in greeting.

He stepped inside with a tired groan, feathers ruffling, hair a mess, but eyes lighting up the moment he saw you.

“There’s my favorite human,” he hummed, voice dropping to a gentle trill you’d learned meant affection, relief, home. One wing curled around your back, pulling you closer as he leaned forward to nuzzle your cheek. His feathers brushed your skin — warm, silky, grounding.

You nudged him back, smiling. He chirped. Actually chirped.

Bird man instincts: 1 Dignity: 0.

“How was work?” you asked, easing his coat off his shoulders.

“Oh you know,” he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically, “ban hammers, chaos, someone tried to upload a cube with 900 million polygons, the usual nonsense.”

You snorted. “Sounds like a party.”

He sagged onto the couch with a sigh, wings drooping like he was melting. But the moment you mentioned what you had done — cooking, sewing, just house things — he perked up, feathers flaring slightly.

“You sewed more of those little plushies?” he asked, proud. “You’re too damn talented. Makes the whole house feel… alive.”

You sat beside him, leaning gently against his side.

That’s when it happened.

He leaned in, pressing soft kisses between your shoulder and the base of your neck. Light at first. Playful. Affectionate.

Then he bit.

Not hard — just a teasing nip. You laughed.

But his breathing changed. His kisses grew slower, warmer, almost dazed… and then his teeth grazed your skin again, sharper this time—

“Y– ow! Shed!”

You flinched at the sudden sting.

He jerked back immediately, wings snapping tight against his body, pupils wide with panic.

“I’m so sorry— I don’t know what— I didn’t mean to—” He looked horrified with himself, feathers puffed in distress.

You touched his arm gently. “Shed, it’s okay. Really. It just surprised me.”

He exhaled in relief, pressing his forehead to yours in a quiet, remorseful hum.

“I’d never hurt you,” he whispered. “Never.”

---

Later That Night

You were getting ready for bed when you noticed it.

A faint black mark behind your shoulder blades — thin, branching lines, almost like ink spreading beneath the surface of your skin. Not large, not painful… but unmistakably new.

You touched it.

It was warm.

Almost pulsing.

Probably a bruise from the bite, you told yourself. Probably nothing.

You didn’t see the way it faintly glowed when your fingers brushed it. You didn’t feel the subtle shift in your temperature, your senses, your heartbeat.

You didn’t hear the faint echo of a distant wingbeat — not Shedletsky’s, but Telamon’s, ancient and divine, whispering through your blood.

You didn’t know that what Shedletsky apologized for…

…wasn’t a mistake at all.

It was instinct. A blessing. A claim made by the god inside him.

Not ownership — but compatibility. Preparation.

Because when the mark finishes spreading… When the blessing settles…

You won’t just be his housemate.

You’ll be his match. His equal. His perfect avian counterpart when you shift for the first time.

And he has no idea you’ve already begun to change.