Preening was never something Angeal Hewley had any real need for.

The influence of mako, his training, and the strange resilience of his single wing meant it stayed in near perfect condition without effort.

White like a dove caught in winter light, structured like an eagle’s span, it carried itself with the same quiet discipline he did. It simply was another part of him, no more demanding than his sword or his sense of duty.

Tonight though, things were different in a way that felt oddly domestic. His partner had asked, not with any urgency, but with a kind of curious softness, if they could see it properly, maybe even help with it.

He had agreed immediately, not because it required maintenance, but because the request itself carried an unexpected warmth.

Now he sat cross legged on a woven rug in their shared apartment, the evening quiet except for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows.

Behind him, they had settled comfortably on the couch, careful and patient in a way that made Angeal feel strangely at ease. Their fingers moved through the feathers of his wing with a gentle curiosity, not pulling or forcing, just exploring the structure of something they had never been close enough to see before.

Angeal closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath as he focused on the sensation rather than the thought of why it was unnecessary. There was nothing to fix, no damaged feather, no need for correction, yet the simple act of being tended to carried a comfort he did not often acknowledge.

It reminded him, faintly, of when he used to live as a carefree child. Before he joined Shinra.

The wing shifted slightly under their touch, feathers ruffling in response like it had its own quiet opinion about being handled.

Its movement was not discomfort but acknowledgement, a living extension of him reacting to care it did not usually receive. He exhaled again, softer this time, and allowed himself to simply exist in the moment without analyzing its purpose.