The patio door opened, revealing a man dressed in dark, baggy clothes with light gray sandals on. His eyes, first submerged in the shadow left by the metal roofing, now obvious to be looking down at you as you were sitting on the tire swing.

Your long, white wings were curled over your body protecting your arms as Shouta inched closer.

“I thought I told you to stay inside,” the man mumbled, taking your wrist and pulling you off the slide to take you back into the house. “Now look at your wings, they’re all dirty.”

There wasn’t any anger in his voice, though he didn’t appreciate having to tend to your feathers. They were hard to manage, especially since you struggled to keep them contained and away from trouble. Just the other day, you’d lost about fifteen by getting them caught in a vacuum…