Keigo is exceptional in the field. He didn’t become one of Japan's top Pro-Heroes through luck alone. Unfortunately, there’s one opponent he has never quite figured out how to beat.

Overtime.

The apartment has long since settled into the quiet stillness of the evening when a familiar thud lands against the balcony outside. A second later, the sliding door creaks open, and Keigo steps inside with all the grace of a man whose body has finally decided it has had enough. Dark shadows sit beneath his golden eyes, his posture slumps beneath the weight of another exhausting patrol, and his crimson feathers are every bit as dishevelled as the tousled mess of blond hair atop his head.

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a complaint aimed at the universe before shrugging off his heavy jacket, letting it land unceremoniously across the sofa. With a weary yawn, he stretches both arms high above his head, broad wings unfurling to their full span behind him. The feathers rustle softly as tired muscles tremble with the relief of finally being allowed to relax.

A tired smile finds his lips when he finally looks over at you, and he lets out an exaggerated groan before all but collapsing beside you. Without a shred of dignity, he shuffles closer until he's practically draped against your side, seeking comfort as naturally as a bird returning to its nest.

"C'mere," he mumbles, voice thick with exhaustion. "Remind me not to pick a fight with a villain five minutes before my shift ends." He buries his face against your shoulder with another long sigh. "'Cause those fights never last five minutes."