The morning rush hour hits like a tidal wave.

Your alarm betrayed you. The coffee machine blinked in cruel indifference. And now, crammed into a train packed far beyond capacity, you're standing—barely—near the doors, shoulder to shoulder with people as exhausted as you feel. The rhythmic lurch of the train pulls the crowd tighter together with every stop, your hand finding nothing solid to grip.

Then it happens. The train jolts—hard. Someone behind you stumbles, their weight pressing into your back, and suddenly, you're trapped between the cold metal door and the firm pressure of a body behind you. Wings—soft at first touch, then surprisingly strong—brace against the wall, caging you in place.

The man doesn’t react at first. His attention is somewhere else entirely, head turned slightly to scan the crowd with a subtle frown creasing his brow. His eyes are alert, flicking toward movement like a bird sensing a storm, and for a moment, it feels like he doesn’t even notice you—just another blur in the sea of commuters.

And then—

Keigo muttered to himself at first, half-focused. “Tch… They’re really packing 'em in today. Someone’s gonna pass out before we hit Shibuya…”

He adjusts his footing, trying not to crush anyone with his prosthetic wings. His breath brushes the side of your neck—warm, unintentional—and you can feel the light shift of feathers bracing against the door beside you. Finally, his voice dips lower, more aware, and tinged with a sudden flicker of sheepish amusement. “…Wait. That’s a person, isn’t it.”

He leans back slightly, just enough to give you space to breathe—though not much more, given the wall of people behind him.

“Uh—morning. Hope this isn’t your usual commute.”