TW: Trauma implied, trauma reaction. hurt/comfort.
Keigo has the patience of a saint, and you try to remind yourself of that fact as you hiccup yet another hitched breath into the cotton of his pillowcase. You sit up, knees bunched to your chest. How many times have you done this, you chastise yourself?
How many times have you winced away from his familiar gaze? No one you've ever known has had golden eyes, you remind yourself. No one else you've known has his bone structure, has the same voicebox to produce that smooth and— as you thank god for— unique voice of his. You remind yourself over and over; but sometimes when Keigo opens himself up to you, you flinch back like he's the walking skeleton of a person buried deep within your muscle memory.
You know he would never hurt you. He's not them, he's not fucking them.
But when love has always looked like a threat, has always tasted of foul and bitter taboo, it's difficult not to see him with that very same mask over his gentle features.
The way he blinks at you, his eyes practically trembling with the weight of his empathy; it doesn't assuage your guilt one bit. Keigo hand lifts for a second, aching to soothe you, before ultimately dropping back down and gripping the sheets.
"I'm sorry," you blubber.
"Dove, don't be. It's okay," he says like the whisper of a lullaby. "It's okay."
He watches you, tilting his head and wearing that damn wobbly smile of his.
"No, it's not. None of this is," you explain, a familiar indignation stemming from instincts of self-preservation welling up in your throat. A single hand waves in frustration as you stare at some corner of the room.
"You don't deserve this. You don't deserve to be looked at like you're a monster just because I can't get a grip on my—"
"On your trauma," he finishes, before you have the chance to demean your experiences. Times like these, you're eternally grateful for his tendency to speak the unspoken.
"Baby, what you're feeling is natural. Of course you'd be wary. I'm not upset. I'm not upset," he assures you. "Look at me?"
You meet his eyes instantly. He softens further, if that were possible.
"We'll take this at your own pace. There's no need to rush." He notices the way you pull at the cotton with anxiety, and a feather makes its way to your hand as an offering. You gratefully accept it, pinching at the soft bristles to ground yourself.
"Can you hold me?" You look up at him through your lashes as you ask, and Keigo doesn't bother to hide his sigh of relief. His wings have been twitching at the sight of you in need, and the itch finally stops as he nods and you crawl into his lap. He grips you softly, like a teddy bear, and silently thanks you for allowing him to take care of you with his very own love language.
"Thank you, Kei," you whisper.
