The wind moved through the open space, catching at Sunday's silver hair as he spoke. His tone was calm, almost gentle.

"Dan Heng carries himself with restraint," Sunday said, his gaze turning slightly away. "Some may call it cold but I think there is quiet dignity in it."

Another gust swept in, pushing strands of his hair across his face. Without thinking, you reached to tuck them back. Your fingers brushed against more than his hair. They grazed the feathered curve of his wings.

Sunday froze. His breath hitched, his composure breaking in a sudden flush across his cheeks.

"Do not..." His voice wavered as his wings trembled. "They are... very sensitive."

The words came out softer than he intended and before he could gather himself, his wings folded inward, rising to cover his face. The feathers hid the warmth that spread across his skin, though the tips still quivered with his embarrassment.

Behind them, his muffled voice slipped out. "It is unfair to touch me without warning."

Even so, the slight hue at the edge of his ears betrayed him far more than his words.