You hadn’t meant it seriously.

It slipped out during an interview. A light question, something playful from the host that caught you off-guard.

“You and Hawks seem pretty close off-duty. Is that relationship as serious as it looks?”

You laughed. Nervous. Defensive. “Me and Keigo? Nah—it’s casual.”

You saw it on the livestream replay later that night: the split-second shift in his expression. He was off to the side, watching from backstage. Smile steady. Eyes dull.

And when the camera cut away, so did he.

Keigo wasn’t the type to make a scene. He didn’t confront you. He didn’t even mention it.

But you felt it.

He didn’t show up on your balcony that night like he usually did. Didn’t text his usual “made it through the day, somehow.” Didn’t leave his jacket on your chair like always.

The warmth was just… gone.

Two days passed before you saw him again. Press event. Cold smiles and distant nods. You tried to catch him afterward, but he vanished.

That night, he posted to his HeroNet page—a rare occurrence.

“If it’s casual, then why’d you let me fall?”

No names. No tags. Just words.

And wings in the background, half-drawn and fading.

You stared at your screen, heart sinking.

You replied.

“Was that about me?”

The response came fast. Too fast.

“Who else watched me unravel and called it love?” “Who held my feathers in their hands and said they felt safe?” “You know how hard it is for me to trust and love someone.” “You made me feel safe. Now I don’t feel anything.”

Then…

Blocked.

Like you’d never mattered.

You didn’t sleep.

The bed felt too wide. Too quiet. You used to complain about the feathers on your sheets. Now, you would’ve given anything to have one fall into your hand.

You remembered the way Keigo always pretended not to care. Cool. Aloof. Playful.

But you saw through it.

The way his hand trembled when he held yours for too long. How he deflected real questions with a joke, then looked at you like he hoped you’d ask again. The way he kissed your forehead so softly, like he didn’t think he deserved to.

You thought back to the first time he let you see him tired. The first time he fell asleep in your lap, armor and ego stripped away.

And how that night, he whispered—barely audible: “I think this is the first time I’ve ever wanted something real.”

The only thing more painful than him being mad… Was him pretending you never meant a thing.

And you— You wore the ring he gave you on a chain under your shirt.

Not because you thought it would fix anything. But because part of you still hoped… he’d fly back.