Clipped Wings

Crow

You sit patiently on Keigo's lap as he checks over the temperature of the food. He has taken it on himself to feed you when he's around.

This is on top of bathing you, washing your hair and combing it, brushing your teeth, dressing you (not that you wear much). It's ridiculous, but you allow it for the sake of getting the fuck out of here someday.

"Open up." The first spoonful tastes like ash. It's oatmeal with a little fruit and a drizzle of honey. "That's my good little bird. You know, you've been pretty well-behaved the last few days."

He sounds sly and your ears perk, though you try not to show too much interest.

"Maybe you can even be allowed around the penthouse."

Your wings flutter despite yourself. He chuckles.

"Let's finish breakfast and then we can talk more, 'kay?"

You can't eat fast enough. Keigo doles out each spoonful so slowly that you would think he didn't know what speed is. It's frustrating, but he pays no mind to your tapping foot that hangs in the air, nor the occasional movement of wings that give away your restlessness.

When he declares 'all done' you can't keep in the sigh of relief.

He chuckles, then disappears from the room to clear away the dishes.

Finally , you think. Finally, you won't be trapped in this fucking room anymore.

When Keigo enters the room again, he has one hand curled in a fist. "Hold your leg, baby bird." He kneels and his hands block what he does, but you're pretty sure he's putting something around your ankle.

When he leans back to survey his work, you take note of the anklet now around your limb.

It's gold, a delicate chain that you can't see the clasp of. Hanging off it are three stones— a ruby, an amethyst, and a garnet. The two red stones flank the amethyst and something in that chills you.

"How do I take it off?" you ask as you gaze down at the fragile-looking piece.

He shrugs as he says, "Ya don't."

"What about when I take a shower or–"

"Someone with a special quirk made this. It'll be fine in water. Even fire isn't a problem. In fact, you can't take it off."

You gape at him as he relays this information. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly that. Only Shouta and I know how to take it off." He says it so nonchalantly and you realize something as you look between it and your new shackle: you've now been tagged. Like a bird with a tracker on its foot, you are now marked. You wonder if they can use it the same way, too, if they'll always know where you are should you escape.

You don't ask. You're not sure you want to know.

He leans down and kisses your forehead. "Now, are you ready to see the rest of our love nest?"

In the receipt of the anklet, you'd forgotten he promised to let you roam outside the room. The flutter of excitement is back, and you nod.

"Good girl. C'mon." Keigo takes your hand and helps you to your feet. You're dazed as he opens the door and shows you something other than the four walls for the first time in what feels like ages.

The first thing you realize is that you're on a landing. The apartment is loft-style with three doors leading into rooms— the one you're in, your bathroom, and another on the opposite side of the landing.

You step further out. Your wings tremble. The loft opens out into a high ceiling living area. There is glass everywhere and the sunlight that streams in hurts your eyes, but it's beautiful. Your room has no windows; you didn't realize how much you missed them until now.

Hawks tugs gently on your hand until you return your gaze to his. He's leading you toward the spiral iron staircase that descends into the rest of the apartment.

The furniture is red and plush. There's the coziest sectional you've ever seen in your life and two large armchairs. The television on the wall closest to that area is at least 65 inches. Everything screams money.

The kitchen is under the loft, as are two doors leading to rooms you cannot begin to guess. The walls opposite the kitchen are all glass. You wonder if people can see through it, but how many people realistically fly?

"There's a guest room and the main floor bathroom through there." Hawks gestures toward the doors by the kitchen. "You're free to use whatever you need. If it's not locked, it's as much yours as mine."

Fingertips skim the console behind the couch. It's black, simple but nice. On it sits ivy in a gleaming beaten gold planter. Its tendrils wall over the edge in a tasteful display.

"So I can go on that laptop?" you ask, nodding toward the appliance on the coffee table.

He smirks in response. "Nice try, little bird. It's locked to fingerprints."

"Oh." You deflate a little, but you hadn't expected much. "What about the television?"

"You can watch whatever you want. It's a smart TV, so it has all the streaming services," he says.

You nod along, surveying the entire penthouse. "Can I go outside?"

"Not on your own." His eyes darken. "I'm serious, don't try it. The place will be locked up tight when we're working, and the glass is shatterproof, so don't try that way."

"I'm hardly going to fly down— what? Thirty stories? — with my wings as weak as they are," you argue.

"Forty-seven," he grits out. "And I don't care. I'm not risking it."

You decide to drop the topic and return to it later, once you've proven how "good" you are to them. As of now, at least you have this new part of your world to explore.