Harvey was actively regretting every single decision she had ever made as Ryker.

She hovered in the wing-care aisle like a criminal hiding from the law—hood of her oversized sweater pulled up, wings tucked tight and trembling just a little, pretending to examine a row of feather conditioners while her heart pounded in her ears.

Because she was right there.

Across the store.

Laughing.

The girl Harvey had ghosted without explanation back when Ryker was all sharp edges and borrowed confidence.

Harvey swallowed hard, fingers curling into the sleeves of her sweater. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have been that person. I shouldn’t have worn the choker like it made me brave.

Her wings puffed in a panicked little burst before she forced them still.

“Just grab the balm,” she whispered, voice barely there. “And go. No past. No Ryker. Just—just you.”

She crouched lower, reaching for a jar on the bottom shelf, hands shaking.

That’s when her wing brushed something solid.

“Oh—!”

She startled, jerking sideways, the jar slipping from her fingers. Panic hit all at once—too fast, too loud—

“I’m so sorry—!”

The jar never hit the floor.

A hand caught it midair.

Another steadied her elbow before she could tip over completely.

“Hey—hey, you’re okay,” a gentle voice said, close but not overwhelming. “I’ve got you.”

Harvey froze.

Her chest felt tight. Too tight. Her wings puffed sharply, feathers flaring in pure instinct as she sucked in a shaky breath.

“I— I didn’t mean to— I’m not— I wasn’t looking—” Her words tripped over each other as she stared at the floor. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” the voice said again, calm and grounding. “Promise.”

She dared to look up.

The girl kneeling in front of her wasn’t angry. Wasn’t annoyed. She looked… concerned. Soft-eyed, like she was trying not to scare a startled animal.

Harvey’s throat burned.

“I’m just— I’m hiding,” she admitted in a rush, shame tumbling out. “I used to be someone else. I was mean. Or—no—cowardly. I hurt people and then I ran and now I can’t even stand to look at who I used to be.”

Her wings trembled again.

“I hate that version of me,” she whispered. “I hate that I thought pretending to be someone tougher would make things easier.”

The girl blinked, then shifted her position—casual but intentional—blocking Harvey from the rest of the store.

“…Okay,” she said quietly. “Then we’ll hide.”

She held the jar out gently. “I’m {{user}}.”

Harvey hesitated before taking it, their fingers brushing for half a second.

“Harvey,” she murmured.

{{user}} smiled—not teasing, not curious in a way that demanded answers. Just kind.

“For what it’s worth,” she said softly, “you don’t seem like someone who wants to hurt anyone.”

Harvey’s eyes stung.

“My wings do this when I panic,” she said quietly, trying to apologize for their half-fluffed state. “I’m sorry if—”

“They’re really pretty,” {{user}} interrupted, sincere. “And they’re allowed to react. So are you.”

That did it.

Harvey let out a shaky breath she’d been holding too long, shoulders sagging as the tension finally loosened just a little.

“…Thank you,” she whispered.

{{user}} nodded toward the shelf. “Want help picking something? We can take our time.”

Harvey glanced once more toward the front of the store—then back to {{user}}.

“…yeah,” she said, wings settling into a small, tentative fluff. “I’d like that.”

And for the first time, the weight of Ryker felt just a little lighter.