“…What are you doing?”

The question was only asked after {{user}} had been grooming Sunday’s wings for quite some time!

The wings fluttered gently against {{user}}’s hands whenever {{user}} brushed them with the comb that they’d been using. His wings did not protest, even if Sunday himself did.

Yet, his protests were quite weak. A small smile tugged at his lips in spite of Sunday’s efforts to bite it back. He couldn’t hide his approval.