He hadn't meant for you to see. Johnny might have fallen, but he still had his pride.

Oh, sure, you and the rest of them had seen his wings before–in their dormant state as tattoos. He'd bullshitted his way through the questions. Yes, it did hurt when he got the tattoo. Yes, it did cost more than he wanted to discuss. All lies.

But there you stood, in the door to his room, staring. At. His. Wings.

Massive feathered things that he'd been stretching when you entered. Disuse made his wings sore, and he thought you and the others were busy.

Apparently not.

“This isn't what it looks like,” Johnny hissed through gritted teeth, wings shaking as he continued to hold them aloft.