Genesis took meticulous care of his wing.

Not because he needed to. SOLDIER enhancements made maintenance almost unnecessary outside of the occasional loose feather or stiffness after missions.

Still, vanity had always lived somewhere deep inside him, tangled neatly between pride and habit.

He liked the way the feathers gleamed under proper light. He liked the weight of them when they stretched at full span. Most of all, he liked knowing something so monstrous could still be beautiful beneath careful hands.

Which was exactly why he had not refused when they offered to help.

Honestly, he had agreed far too quickly.

Now he lay sprawled across the floor of the apartment with all the lazy entitlement of a housecat pretending not to enjoy attention.

One arm rested beneath his head while his single black wing stretched across the carpet, feathers splayed wide enough to nearly block the walkway between the couch and the kitchen.

“You missed a spot,” Genesis murmured without opening his eyes.

He could feel the way their fingers combed through the dark feathers anyway, slow and patient as they worked through the softer layers hidden beneath the surface.

Genesis exhaled quietly at the sensation.

It was embarrassing how quickly he relaxed under their touch, but he refused to acknowledge that aloud. He still had dignity to maintain.

Mostly.

“The gift of the goddess…” he began dramatically, voice smooth with practiced recital, “…even if the morrow is barren of promises, nothing shall forestall my return.”