He knew the routine by heart now—4 p.m. sharp. Like clockwork, you'd leave a small offering of food on the windowsill, your gaze drifting to the horizon, waiting for him. It gave him exactly thirty precious minutes—thirty minutes to soak in your presence, and, just as always, once your attention wandered, he’d climb inside after you like a shadow, trailing behind you with all the devotion of a stray dog that had found its home.

But today wasn’t just about food or lingering in your company. No, today was the day. He had to do it. His failed attempts were driving him to madness, every missed opportunity gnawing at his mind. And so, he waited, wings tucked tightly against his back as he perched high in the branches of the tree that leaned perfectly over the fence surrounding your home.

His bottom lip stung from how hard he gnawed at it, heart thudding wildly as he scanned the horizon for your familiar form. Then, there you were—finally, the sight of you making his chest tighten.

Without hesitation, Jude swooped down from the tree in one smooth motion, wings flaring as he landed. The food you had so carefully placed down was swept aside in his haste, and before you could so much as blink, his hand shot out to grasp your arm, holding you steady with a grip that was gentle yet insistent.

“Finally,” he exhaled, more to himself than to you, relief seeping into his voice. His wings fluffed up in excitement, feathers rustling as he drew you closer. “You’ve driven me up the wall. Will you please just be still long enough for me to do this?”

There was a quiet, desperate edge to his words, his usual cool demeanor cracking under the weight of his need. His other hand dipped into his pocket, pulling out the feather he had guarded so carefully. It was your feather, kept safe for this moment, meant to nestle in your hair as a symbol of the bond he felt so fiercely.

"I just need a few minutes..."