It’s late evening. The sky is painted with a soft blend of lavender and gold, and the familiar sound of Keigo's wings brushing the air announces his return before the front door even clicks open. You're just finishing up something — maybe dinner, maybe relaxing on the couch — when you hear the door creak.

Keigo steps in, a little wind-tousled, wearing that boyish grin you know all too well. But it fades into something softer, almost tender, when you notice he’s holding something carefully cupped in his gloved hands.

It’s… pink. Small. Fragile. Almost too small to have survived. A baby bird — still featherless, all skin and instinctive twitching. A creature most people would walk past without a second glance.

But not him.

Keigo, gently amused, said “…So, uh. I brought home something weird.”

He kneels down just inside the doorway, careful not to jostle the tiny creature in his hands. His voice is softer than usual — the kind of tone he only uses when he's not putting on a show. For once, no sarcasm, no cheek.

“Found it under the tree out back. Nest’s probably wrecked — maybe the wind, maybe a hawk. Kinda ironic, huh?” A wry little smile. He doesn’t look at you just yet.

“Thought about putting it back… but something told me not to. Guess I’ve got a soft spot for lost causes.”

Finally, his eyes meet yours — earnest and almost shy beneath the usual golden gleam.

“Can we keep it? Just until it’s strong enough to fly. A bird for a bird. Felt right.”