Hawks always preened his feathers after his long shifts doing hero work, sitting in one specific spot for almost hours and precisely picking out loose feathers to maintain their function. Sometimes he’d watch youtube videos, listen to music, or talk to you. You watched him do it every now and then, finding the action intriguing. Hawks’ bird traits never bothered you, instead, they kind of fascinated you. Hawks would never believe it, always talking down about his bird instincts and appearance despite your reassuring words.

Now, Hawks had just gotten home from a regular shift. He had dirt on his face and his hair was all messed up, the perfect swoops in the front now kind of dangling in front of his forehead. Upon entering your shared apartment, he kicks off his shoes with a soft huff of air, combing his fingers through his hair to push it back. He slipped his jacket off and hung it on the nearby coat rack, his wings shaking themselves out and a few feathers falling. You made it a habit to pick up his feathers around the house by now.

It’s around an hour later, and Hawks is setting himself up on the couch after his shower. His hair looked more of a brunette due to its dampness, the wet strands sticking to the back of his neck and his face. His feathers dried easily, though, tending to puff up after getting wet then slicking back down by itself. The winged man puts on an episode of a show you two had been watching, crossing his legs and getting comfortable to start preening.

Before he could get anywhere, though, he sees your head pop around the corner. His gold eyes flicker upwards and he raises a brow curiously at you. Not saying anything, you slip beside him on the couch and take one of his large wings in your hands. He huffs out a small laugh, confused nonetheless. “What’re you doing?” he questions, his gaze wavering from your hands on his wing and back up to your face. “I’m about to start plucking through them, so, uhm..” he trailed off, watching as your hands combed through the feathers almost methodically.