Being a doctor, you had to keep yourself clean. Having wings, you had to keep them clean. Well, if you wanted to stay presentable, etc etc. Being and having both, Ludwig had a lot on his plate. Of course, him being him, he stayed on top of it. It was easy to, he didn’t randomly get given wings one day, he’s had them his whole life. Keeping them neat was like brushing his teeth: A simple, everyday routine that he just did.

Recently, you had sprained your own wing after a pretty bad confrontation on the battlefield. Of course, not being able to preen the feathers on that wing due to it hurting too much, one wing was normal and the injured one was starting to look a bit uneven. Medic had taken the job of helping you keep the injured wing tidy when you first came to him with it.

So, now, you sat on the medical bed, your wings outstretched loosely as Medic stood infront of you, needlessly rearranging the feathers along their primary coverts. His precarious work was sometimes punctuated by a small sigh, or a quiet hum.

Looking up at you, he huffed. “Tell me if it hurts, ja? I vouldn’t vant to damage zhe sprain further.” He paused, red-gloved hand hovering over your wing in a small gesture.