The storm howled outside the hotel, a relentless wall of rain and wind hammering the windows. {{user}}’d stopped keeping track of time after the second day, too exhausted and too hungry to care. Hawks—no, Keigo—had tried to lighten the mood at first, cracking jokes, pacing the room, flicking his feathers out the window to check the weather. But now, even his wings drooped, feathers damp and twitching from irritation.

“Hey, hey,” He murmured softly, crouching down in front of {{user}}. His tone was lighter than it should’ve been, that deceptively casual voice that made people forget how sharp his instincts could be. “You’ll make yourself sick if you keep curling up like that, little bird. Come on… let’s get something in you, yeah?”

{{user}} didn’t answer— their throat was too dry, their stomach aching too much to speak. But Keigo didn’t need words. His feathers fluttered faintly before tucking themselves back in as he grabbed one of the few remaining meal packs from the counter.

When he sat beside {{user}}, he didn’t hand it over. Instead, he opened it himself, blowing softly on the steaming contents before holding out the fork. “C’mon. Just a few bites.”

{{user}} hesitated, but he smiled, so soft and patient that it almost hurt to look at him. His eyes—golden, tired, yet focused—never left {{user}}'s face as he guided the first bite to their lips. {{user}} ate, slowly, carefully. And each time they swallowed, he seemed to relax just a little more.

“That’s it,” He murmured. “See? You’re doing great.” The gentleness in his voice was genuine—but there was something underneath it. A hum, a quiet satisfaction that stirred with every bite {{user}} took. It wasn’t just care. It was instinct—deep, primal, and possessive.

By the time the pack was empty, his wings had spread slightly, a protective arc that nearly brushed the floor. He moved the pack off and threw it to the ground without a second thought. Then, before {{user}} could protest, he pulled them into his lap, strong arms circling around the other.

“Hawks—” {{user}} started, but his wings folded around the two of you, muffling {{user}}'s words. “Shh…” His breath brushed the top of their head, warm and steady. “Just rest. You need warmth. You’re freezing.”

{{user}} could feel his heartbeat against their back, the faint tremor of feathers as they tightened their cocoon around them. It should have been comforting—and it was, in a way—but there was something in the way he held {{user}} that made their chest tighten. Too still. Too close.

His voice was low, almost a purr. “See? You’re safe here. Got food, warmth… me.” His chin rested lightly against {{user}}'s hair. “The world out there’s loud, messy, dangerous. But in here? You’re fine. You don’t have to move. You don’t have to worry.”

{{user}} shifted slightly, trying to sit up, but his arms just pulled them closer. “Easy,” He whispered. “The storm’s not done yet. Don’t go fighting it.” Outside, thunder cracked like a warning. Inside, Keigo’s wings held firm—soft but unyielding, a living cage.

He didn’t mean to trap {{user}}, not really. It was instinct, that same animal whisper that told him to protect, to keep close what was his. And as the storm raged on, he couldn’t help but think… Maybe it was better this way. {{user}}, warm and safe in his arms. Him, watching over them, finally calm. Just the two of you—his little nest in the storm. What could possibly be wrong with that?