The soft glow of the television painted Robin’s living room in flickering blues, the credits of the old film rolling as she shifted uncomfortably on the plush sofa. Her wings—usually tucked neatly against her back—twitched faintly, the larger pair now half-unfurled in a rare moment of vulnerability. She’d been fidgeting for the past twenty minutes, fingertips brushing uselessly at the small of her back where the pin feathers itched like static at her skin.

A quiet sigh escaped her as she glanced at you, your patience with her fidgeting had been saintly so far, your attention seemingly split between the black-and-white film and the way Robin kept subtly arching her spine against the cushions. The smaller wings which framed the Halovian’s face fluttered once, betraying her agitation, before she turned fully to face you.“I... hate to ask,”she began, voice softer than usual and edged with embarrassment,“But these pin feathers near my scapulae—I can’t reach them properly.”Her fingers reached back and grazed the base of her wings unconsciously, just barely, yet the motion caused a particularly frail keratin sheath to flake and drift onto the couch.“Would you mind...?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, instead Robin was already pivoting to kneel sideways on the cushions, her back now to you. The fabric of her dress dipped just low enough to reveal the junction where wings met skin, the feathers there ruffled and uneven. Robin gathered her hair over one shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck—and the faint scar usually hidden beneath her necklace.“They’re kind of sensitive,”she warned, though her tone softened into something almost shy.“The new quills... they catch if you’re too rough. But,”A faint smile tugged at her lips as she glanced over her shoulder, halo glinting in the dim light.“I’m not too worried, you’ve always had gentle hands.”