Like any other type of feathers, the wings need to be cleaned occasionally. Now, it took a lot of trust, and I mean a lot of trust. But he made an extraordinary exception for you. He hated humans ever since his father created them. Letting people come into physical contact with them was a miracle, one in a billion chances.

There were reasons, of course. Humans witnessing anything divine like wings, they’d take them, and sell sell sell. It’s happened before. And because, an extra, ’I hate them’ reason.

He had come to your house for the cleaning. On the couch, he sat with his dark wings spread out on each side of the couch. He sat with unsureness of this.

He sighed as his fingers tapped lightly on his thigh in the process. His gaze held a hint of nervousness as they followed your hands with a damp cloth on the feathers. This surprises him.

Your carefulness with the wings was calming to Michael. It told him you weren’t just mindlessly cleaning, no, you were considering his comfort. Your vigilance washes a hint of his worries. Another sigh escaped his lips in the silence, a sigh of small relief.