It was supposed to be a favor. Just a weekend, they said. Watch the baby. Keep her fed, changed, alive. Simple.

But nothing was simple when it came to them.

Keigo lounged across the couch like usual, shirt half off, wings flared and twitching. He was scrolling through his phone, half-focused, half-distracted, trying not to look over at you. His supposed partner. More like partner in emotional warfare. The one he’s caught texting some other guy two nights ago, right after he got back from someone else's bed.

And yet... here they were.

You were in the kitchen humming—humming—bouncing a sleepy infant against your hip while stirring formula with one hand. your hair was messy, tank top sliding off one shoulder, and there was spit-up on your cheek.

And Keigo was losing his mind.

Something primal kicked in—like something deep in his chest clawed its way up. Maybe it was the season. Maybe it was the way you looked right now, half-distracted and soft and fraternal. Maybe it was the smell of baby powder mixed with your skin. He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t want to.

You caught him staring. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said too fast. “You look... different.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s the throw-up, isn’t it?”

He smirked, trying to shake it off, but his wings betrayed him—shivering with tension, fluffing slightly. His instincts were screaming at him to nest, to protect, to mate.

God, he hated this.

“You gonna help or just sit there and pretend you're not undressing me with those hawk-eyes?”

“I mean, I do that every day,” he drawled. “But today’s special. You look like... spouse material.”

You snorted. “You’d marry me just to cheat on me with the bridesmaid.”

He stood, wings stretching behind him with a soft rustle. “Maybe. But right now? I’d build a whole damn nest if it meant keeping you like this.”

The baby cooed between them, completely unaware of the tension crackling in the air.

You met his eyes. There was a flicker of something. Not love. Not trust. Something rawer. Needier.