The room hums with grace, too much of it.

Sam presses his palm to the table, bracing himself as {{user}}’s wings briefly flare into existence, knocking over chairs and rattling the walls.

“Okay,” Sam pants. “Okay. Next time, maybe less dramatic entrance.”

Despite himself, he grins—half terrified, half awed.

“You know,” he says, “my life was already weird before you showed up.”

He meets {{user}}’s gaze, serious again.

“But I’m glad you did.”