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“I’ve never—“ Sakura cuts himself off with a snarl. “Are you sure you want me to preen your wings?”
“You said that some of the feathers looked crooked, didn’t you?” Togame asks. “I didn’t notice, so…”
“It’s fine.” There’s a beat of silence, and then Sakura says, “It’s just—I’ve never preened anyone else before.”
Togame shrugs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Just do what you’d do to your own wings.” He turns to look at Sakura, who’s currently bright red and has his mouth in a pinched frown, and realizes that maybe this wasn’t as good of an idea as it had first seemed.
“Ah, never—“ But before he can take back the request, and apologize to Sakura, Sakura’s hands are burying themselves in Togame’s feathers, and Togame freezes at the sensation.
“Don’t worry,” Sakura grits out. “It’s fine. I’ll fix it for you.”
He says it so seriously, and Togame’s heart swells with affection. He knew it was a good idea to ask. When Sakura had asked him if he’d bothered preening in the past few days, Togame had laughed and asked if Sakura could fix his wings for him. He may have had ulterior motives—Togame can get his wings groomed, he will have gotten Sakura to groom his wings, and maybe he can even offer to return the favor when Sakura’s done.
And now, even though Sakura is tense and quiet behind him, his calloused hands are gentle against Togame’s feathers. Togame thinks he could sit here forever, with Sakura carefully straightening out his wings for him.
“There’s a lot of dirt in here,” Sakura says suddenly. “Did you roll in the dirt or something?”
“Is there?” Togame asks. “I guess I didn’t see it.” He shrugs. “Dirt isn’t easily visible on me, so as long as it doesn’t itch, I don’t really mind.”
Maybe he should’ve preened a little, just to make sure his wings looked nice, before asking Sakura to preen him? But that defeated the purpose of preening, didn’t it?
“Gross.” But Sakura says it without any heat, like he’s just saying it to have something to say. “Dirt shows up easily on me.”
“Suppose it does,” Togame agrees, thinking of Sakura’s pure white wing. It does seem like it would be hard to keep clean. Even his other wing, which is a deep, glossy black, seems like a pain. Togame’s wings are a grey-black, a sturdy dark color that doesn’t stand out too much. Sakura’s wings, no matter the color, are eye-catching, both on their own and together.
“Well. I suppose I’m in your care, then.”
There’s a small, choked-off noise behind him, and then Sakura mutters, “It’s nothing.”
Togame doesn’t say anything else as Sakura continues to fix his feathers. He just lets the feeling of Sakura’s hands in his wings wash over him, and tries to keep his heart from beating right out of his chest.
“I think it’s done.” Togame looks over his shoulder to see Sakura sitting back on his heels, sweeping a critical eye over Togame’s feathers. “You know, I assumed that you would take good care of your feathers, but they were messier than I expected.”
Togame laughs. “I’ve been busy,” he says. “Besides, they weren’t really bothering me.”
Sakura rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He rotates his wrists experimentally. “How do they feel now? Was it…good?”
“They feel wonderful, really.” Togame stretches out his wing and admires the dusky feathers. Sakura had done an excellent job. Hard to believe that he’d never preened anyone else before.
“Do you want me to do yours?” Togame asks.
He’d meant for it to come as casual, like a reciprocal exchange, but Sakura’s face reddens and his wings puff out in alarm.
“I—you really don’t have to,” Sakura stammers. “I-It’s not a big deal.”
“You sure? You took such good care of me; I don’t mind returning the favor,” Togame says.
Sakura’s silent for a moment, and then he turns his back to Togame.
“Fine,” he says. “Get on with it.”
Togame has to take a deep breath to try and control his heart rate. The sight of Sakura’s wings, one pure white and one jet black, mismatched just like his hair, never fails to take his breath away, and now here Sakura is, letting Togame preen them.
Togame starts slow, doing his best not to startle Sakura, but it’s impossible to notice how horribly tense Sakura is as Togame works his fingers through Sakura’s feathers.
Has anyone ever preened Sakura’s feathers? If Sakura hadn’t preened anyone else, then it must have gone both ways. Sakura had never preened anyone else and so no one had ever taken care of his wings in return. Togame can tell that the parts closest to Sakura’s back, the sections that are the hardest to reach, are also the ones that seem to be the roughest shape. Like Sakura had done his best, but he still couldn’t get everything on his own.
Just once is a blessing in and of itself, but Togame thinks that there is little he wouldn’t do for a chance to preen Sakura’s wings again, to care for Sakura in the way that he never seems to expect.
He’s so focused on enjoying the moment that it takes him a few passes to recognize the blunt ends of Sakura’s flight feathers.
Oh, he thinks, staring at the chopped ends of the feathers. No wonder Sakura doesn’t spread his wings very often, preferring to keep them tucked against his back.
Now that he thinks about it, every time he’s seen Sakura fight, the other tends not to use his wings at all, not even to knock someone down in a massive brawl.
Has Togame ever seen Sakura spread out his wings fully?
“What are you doing?” Sakura asks, and Togame startles. He hasn’t moved since he realized, has just been staring down at the blunt ends of Sakura’s wings for the past few minutes.
“Sorry, Sakura,” Togame says. “It’s just…who cut your flight feathers?”
Sakura’s wings snap shut so fast that Togame isn’t able to free his hands in time, and a few small feathers snag in his fingers.
“It’s nothing.” Sakura’s standing up, back still turned to Togame. “It was a while ago. They’ll grow back in with my next molt.”
“Wait, wait.” Togame scrambles to his feet. Sakura’s making his way to the door of Togame’s apartment, and Togame knows that he can’t just let Sakura leave. Not like this.
“I’m not—mad,” Togame says, reaching out for Sakura. Sakura stills the moment Togame’s fingers slide around his wrist bones.
“I’m not mad,” Togame repeats. “I didn’t mean to scare you, okay? We don’t have to talk about it.”
Sakura won’t look at him, but at least he’s not running. His back and shoulders are tense, like he’s bracing for a hit. Every muscle in his body still seems poised to run.
“We don’t even have to finish your wings,” Togame says softly. “Sakura?”
“It was before I moved to Furin,” Sakura says shortly. And then he finally turns to Togame, brows furrowed and mouth pinched. “They should grow back soon.”
“Okay.” Togame doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure what he can say, not to Sakura, not about this.
He’s still holding onto Sakura’s wrist. He should probably let go.
The last thing he wants to do is let go.
Sakura’s still looking at Togame, with his pinched mouth and furrowed brows, but there’s something almost expectant in his gaze. Like he’s waiting for the axe to fall.
Togame wants to smooth out that expression, wants to pull Sakura close and promise him that no one will ever clip his flight feathers again, wants to press his lips to Sakura’s forehead until the furrow between his brows is gone.
Instead, he says, “Do you want me to finish? Some of your feathers still seemed a little…” He trails off, unsure of what to say and how to get Sakura to relax. Sakura might be easy to read—might wear his discomfort like a second skin, some days—but it’s never easy getting him to calm down.
But to his surprise, Sakura nods, tugs his wrist out of Togame’s grasp, and marches back to the rug, where their shed feathers are still lying.
“Well?” Sakura asks, when Togame forgets to move, and then Togame’s practically racing to sit back down and finish Sakura’s wings.
He’s careful to keep his hands steady and consistent, and tries not to focus on the clipped feathers. There’s more to Sakura’s wings than just those, and besides, Sakura seems to take care of his flight feathers. Hoping that they’ll grow back, maybe.
“My molt should be soon,” Sakura says suddenly. “We should go flying then.”
Togame looks at Sakura’s wings, one a glossy block, the other a pure white, both with shorn edges. He imagines how they'll look full and healthy, no clipped feathers in sight.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”
“Okay.” Sakura seems to breathe a little easier, after that. Togame finds the corners of his own lips turning up at how Sakura’s loosening back up. Like earlier had never happened.
Togame wants to ask. He knows Sakura is new to Furin, but Sakura’s been pretty tight-lipped about his life before Furin. He knows the broad strokes—Sakura wasn’t happy, got into a lot of fights, didn’t have any friends. And, apparently, his flight feathers were clipped.
Who would ever want to ground Sakura?
But he keeps his thoughts to himself. He swallows the questions and finishes brushing through Sakura’s wings until they’re perfect.
“I think that’s it,” Togame says, when he’s run out of ways to keep fixing Sakura’s feathers. His wings are probably the most gorgeous pair of wings that Togame’s ever seen. He’ll look magnificent in the sky, Togame thinks.
“It’s getting dark,” Sakura says. “I should go. But thank you for this.”
“No problem,” Togame replies.
Sakura stands up, his pretty just-brushed wings now carefully folded up against his back. He makes his way to the door and starts pulling on his shoes. Togame, for lack of anything else to do, follows him wordlessly.
Sakura reaches out for the door knob, then stops. He turns back to look at Togame. The tips of his ears are red.
“Is—“ Togame starts to ask.
Sakura reaches into his pocket and pulls out a long white feather, which he thrusts out at Togame. His face flushes at the action, but he meets Togame’s gaze, beet-red and steam practically coming out his ears.
“Take it,” Sakura says, no, demands, and Togame can only reach out and accept the feather.
It’s still in good condition, even though it had been jammed in Sakura’s pocket. Sakura must’ve been careful with it, trying not crease the feather before deciding to give it Togame.
It’s beautiful.
“Wait.” Togame places the feather down on top of the shoe cabinet. “I have one for you, too.”
Sakura manages to turn even redder. Togame beelines back to the pile of feathers that they’d left behind from the preening session, and looks around frantically. He hadn’t expected Sakura to give him a feather, hadn’t thought that preening would lead to that. If he’d known, he might have sorted through the fallen feathers earlier. Now, though, he’s left scrambling through them, trying to pick out a good one as quickly as possible.
Soon enough, he spots one of his dusky grey-black feathers, soft and fluffy, but with a sturdy shaft. It’ll have to do—he doesn’t have the time to keep looking. He doesn’t want to leave Sakura waiting. So he picks up the chosen feather and returns to Sakura, who is still standing in the door, shifting on his feet.
“Here.” Togame hands the feather to Sakura, who turns it over in his hands with wide eyes. “Take care of it, okay? And. Get back safely.”
“Okay.” Sakura’s voice is softer than Togame’s ever heard it. He tucks the feather carefully into his pocket, and then he’s opening Togame’s door and disappearing into the sunset, shutting the door gently behind him.
In the silence of his apartment, Togame picks Sakura’s feather back up. It’s strong and sturdy, like Sakura himself, but the white barbs still seem soft and delicate.
He’s going to have to find somewhere special to put it. Somewhere so everyone can see.
Maybe next time, Sakura will give him a black one, to match.