Keigo stared at the woman on his doorstep like she was a ghost from a life he shouldn’t have been living. The city wind ruffled his hair, but he didn’t move—didn’t blink—just tried to make sense of the storm in her eyes. Her breath puffed out in angry huffs, her hands shaking where they clutched her coat… and then his gaze dropped lower.

To her stomach; A subtle curve.

“Oh… shit.”

Memories slammed into him like a freight train—right back to that night. The dim bar lights. His feathers twitchy from too much cheap liquor. Her laugh slipping warm into his ears. His hand on her waist, her fingers in his hair, their bodies pressed close, closer, until the world spun and he’d been far too drunk to fly anywhere but into her arms.

He’d woken up the next morning with a headache too big for questions and a bed too empty for answers.

But now the answer was standing in front of him.

And she was furious.

“You—” {{user}}'s voice cracked with rage before she steadied it. “You absolute bastard.”

Keigo winced, wings drawing in tight. “Okay, okay—hold on—before you get the frying pan out—”