#muse-wing

Tagged by: @flamecarrier for the twins

@a-girl-named-angel (Kind of feels like something he would say to Angel too)

Wing’s ears go pink the instant he finishes reading it.

He tries to play it cool—spirits know he tries—but his voice cracks just a little as he clears his throat and looks anywhere except her face.

“…That’s… uh… that’s a lot to just say to a guy, you know.”

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes shifting toward the floor, then to her, then away again. His calm is nowhere to be found. Instead he’s fidgeting with the edge of his bicep band like he has absolutely no idea what to do with his hands.

“But… I— I get it. I mean, I… I notice the little things too.” His voice softens, genuine now, almost shy. "When you lean on me it just feels right. Like I don’t have to think about anything. Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be."

Wing chuckled under his breath, a little bashful as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Heh… you’ve been paying that close attention, huh?” He shifted his stance, a bit of that performer’s confidence slipping in as he rolled his shoulders.

“I mean—yeah, flexibility’s kinda my thing. It’s my style and, y’know, not wanting to wipe out in front of a crowd.” His tone softened as he looked at Angel, a smile settling in as he reached out, lightly nudging her with his shoulder.

Still, by opening night, everything had come together.

The seats were filled, and Angel’s guest of honor had arrived, taking his spot. After some last-minute adjustments, Angel moved into position.

The show began with a metal flower unfurling, and like a seed bursting to life, Angel—dressed in a stunning costume with her makeup perfectly done—used her enhanced jumping ability to ascend onto an aerial hoop.

With a gentle gust of air, she began circling the stage, soaring gracefully above the other performers, who continued their routine on the ground.

As the hoop was slowly lowered by one of the benders, Angel propelled herself with another gust of air, gliding right up to Wing, their faces barely inches apart.

The routine would’ve ended there as Angel was too nervous to go further in front of such a large crowd. But caught in the moment, she couldn’t resist. She leaned in and placed a light, tender kiss on his lips before gravity gently pulled her back into the waiting arms of the other performers, signaling the performances conclusion.

Wing had been trying—failing, really—to sit with the composed posture expected of a Beifong. From the moment the lights dimmed, his attention had locked onto the stage, eyes following every movement like the world beyond it didn’t exist.

And then she rose.

His breath caught when Angel burst into the air, heart thudding harder with every graceful arc of the hoop. Pride swelled in his chest so fiercely it almost hurt. That was his girlfriend—brilliant, fearless, and radiant. Commanding the sky as if it had always belonged to her.

When she glided toward him, close enough that he could see the faint tremble in her hands and the courage behind her smile, everything else faded. The crowd, the music, the expectations—gone.

The kiss landed soft and fleeting, but it hit him like a lightning strike.

Wing froze for half a heartbeat, then instinct took over. He leaned forward just enough to return it, a quiet, breathless laugh escaping him before he could stop it. His hand lifted on reflex, stopping just short of touching her before she was already being carried away again.

As the performance ended and the applause thundered around him, Wing finally stood, clapping harder than anyone else, a wide, unapologetic grin on his face.

When he finally got the chance to speak to her later, his voice would be low and warm, eyes shining with emotion.

“…You know,” he’d say softly, leaning in close, “you just stole the whole city’s breath.”

Then, with a smirk that was pure charming Beifong—