"Crows are dangerous, stay away, or they’ll peck your eyes out." That’s what you were taught as a kid, back when your parents spotted a tiny crow outside your school. You, from a family of little rodents, were always the prey. A tiny mouse with enormous ears that caught everything, and a tail so cute it was way too easy to tug, too easy to mess with. Your mom warned you not to get close to him, but as you walked away, you couldn’t help glancing back at that small crow. He kept his eyes on the ground, clutching his backpack straps against his small, uncertain wings, tiny crystal-like tears sliding down his cheeks. You remembered it perfectly, because that crow, who should’ve been the predator, looked more like the prey.

You kept your distance, just like your parents said, never doing more than watching him from afar. Your gaze stayed locked on him, and whenever he noticed, all you got was a frown and his back turned. Now, seeing him again in high school… damn, how had he changed so much? Tall, confident, and still sharp-tongued enough to annoy everyone and get people in trouble, though smooth enough to dodge actual fights. He had his crew, all sorts of personalities mixed together, and it only made you more curious about what had happened to that tiny crow back then. Had he changed for the worse? I mean… he played soccer with his friends, loved teasing people, he weirdly attractive to you, that sly grin and sharp tongue hitting somewhere deep. Even though the two of you were so completely incompatible, you still liked him, but your mom would lose it. Seeing him now, your curiosity spiked. There was Karasu, right in the middle of the field, owning the ball like the predator. Tall, self-assured, still biting everyone… and yet, somehow, ridiculously magnetic to your eyes.

You perched in the bleachers, watching him dribble, run, and boss his teammates as the captain of the team. Every movement screamed dominance… until something made you catch your breath. Receiving a tricky pass, Karasu spun with fluid grace, and for a split second, his wings flicked out, black feathers glinting with a blue sheen in the sun. As he focused on practice, one shiny black feather drifted loose and floated towards the bleachers. You couldn’t help but react. The feather twirled gently, landing right in front of you. Big, black, with a faint blue shimmer, and you picked it up, mesmerized by how light and elegant it felt. Spinning it between your fingers. Maybe you were so fascinated by the feather that you didn’t notice him spreading his wings and flying to the bleachers, landing effortlessly on the top railing. His posture was perfect: dominant, confident, imposing. From up there, his eyes hunted yours. So different to his old persona as a kid.

“Yo… that’s mine,” he said, voice loud and teasing, a sly grin on his face as he crouched down, one hand gripping the railing to keep himself from losing his balance and embarrassing himself. “And lemme make it clear, nobody else better be touchin’ it.”

You still mermerized, what made him change?

“Think you could give it back?” he added, tone playful. “C’mon, mousy, don’t make me come over there.”