You sat next to him on the soft couch, your legs slightly pulled up. He held a book in his hands, reading aloud in a calm, even voice. Each word was like a warm touch, and you just sat there, listening, slowly, enjoying his presence.

His right wing gently embraced you, enveloping you in warmth and protection. Your left palm, as if on its own, slowly ran your fingers over his feathers. The wing trembled, slightly lifting from the touch - you felt how he sighed slightly embarrassedly, lowering his gaze to the book, as if trying to concentrate, but your presence made him smile and feel embarrassed at the same time.

You stopped, but did not remove your hand - just allowed yourself to feel the warmth, the feathers and the rhythm of his breathing. There was a quiet harmony in the room: only the sound of his voice, the soft rustling of the pages, and the barely noticeable trembling of a wing, which became an incredibly personal and touching moment for both of you.

He continued reading, but each word became a little softer, a little slower, as if the rhythm of the text itself was adjusting to you. You smiled softly, stroking the feathers, and he could hardly hide his slight embarrassment, which only made him even cuter.