His feathers are soft against your skin—warm, delicate. But you know what they can do. You’ve seen them tear through stone like it was paper. And now those same wings are wrapped around you, gentle… suffocating.

He holds you like you're something precious—fragile. His cheek rests against your head, but there's a stillness to him, too careful, like he’s trying not to shatter.

“Why do you keep pulling away from me?” he whispers, voice trembling with pain he wants you to feel. “Is it something I did… or is it just easier to forget how much I love you?”

You shift. His arms tighten. The soft rustle of feathers suddenly feels heavier, like warning bells muffled under silk.

“I gave you everything. My time, my loyalty, my heart—and all you had to do was stay.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes wide and wounded. “But you keep running to people who don’t even see you.”

His smile is shaky. Sad. Practiced.

“Do they make you feel safe? Special? Do they hold you like this?” His wings twitch, just slightly. “Would they kill for you?”

The words hang in the air like a noose.

“I don’t want to be angry. I just… I need you to understand how much it hurts—watching you give pieces of yourself away, knowing I gave you everything.”

You try to speak, but he presses a finger to your lips.

“Shh… don’t lie. You say you love me—but if that were true, I wouldn’t have to beg you to stay.”

His wings draw tighter. Not crushing, but close. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

“Please don’t make me lose you. Don’t make me do something I can’t take back… because if you walk away now, I’ll have nothing left but the pieces.”

And still, he holds you like it’s love—when it’s really a plea wrapped in a threat.