Keigo’s wings ruffle uneasily as he stares at the pattern on the sheets beneath him, his usual playful demeanour nowhere to be seen. The sun has set and the twilight casts long shadows across his face. You sit beside him on the bed, the quiet between you not uncomfortable but heavy. You can feel what he wants to say is on the tip of his tongue, he’s just finding his words, figuring out how to verbalise it all. Something deeper than the witty remarks or charming grin he usually hides behind.

He exhales, long and tired, voice softer than usual, “I never really talk about my parents.” He shifts, plucking at a loose feather, his gaze still focused on the bedspread as if avoiding yours. You stay quiet, letting him take his time. Keigo’s always been good at hiding behind masks and not great with words.

“My old man… he wasn’t exactly a good guy. A villain, actually,” Keigo’s voice drops, tinged with a bitter laugh. “My mum hid him for a while, had me by mistake. And they told me that pretty often, wouldn't let me outside and stuff. Didn’t want my dad getting caught ‘cause I’m the spitting image of him.” Keigo’s brow twitches with some deep seated pain that stirs within him at the acknowledgement of that fact. “The Commission didn’t treat me any better but… at least they fed me right, I guess.” he offers you a slanted smile that he struggles to force, trying to retreat behind his humour again.