Archive of Our Own ^beta

8:45

The red numbers sear into Danny’s head as he walks past the digital clock, trying and failing to focus on sweeping. He yawns, shaking his head and clenching the broomstick, staring sightlessly at the wall as he grapples with why he decided to open up his own business early today.

He remembers the text he received from Tucker; a client desperate for relief, a relief only Danny can provide. After all, his skills are next to none, and he can’t exactly blame the person for wanting to get it fixed as soon as possible, even if it means the earliest appointment time he is willing to give robbed him of precious sleep.

All his reviews are glowing recommendations. Magic fingers. Instantly felt better after one session. Best masseuse ever. No one else could solve my back pain like Danny. Don’t mind the weirdness—this one really works!

One session. That’s all he needs.

He’s the only one that can see them, after all.

Danny pulls himself away from the wall, sweeping without much thought. Autopilot sets in, and he cleans up the front, turns his way to the back, tidying up his office. One massage table in the middle, cabinets filled with various oils and lotions. Diffuser plugged in, awaiting whatever scent the client wanted. Normal. Unassuming. Mostly.

Ripped, well-loved posters of birds and wing anatomy plaster the walls. Framed feathers. A bird skull he found and cleaned up himself. A stupid feathered raptor toy that Sam bought him that he pretends to not be happy about, because finally, a dinosaur with feathers. One large poster of the constellations Cygnus and Aquila that Tucker thought he would like.

Danny sets aside the broom, closing his eyes and stretching his arms over his head in a yawn that lasts just a hair too long, making his vision swim and his ears filter into static noise. He feels that familiar pang in his back, prickling up his spine and hijacking his focus once again. He sighs, blinking open his eyes as he confronts it once again.

Slowly, carefully, he lets his wings unravel. Feathers brush against the cabinets as he stretches them out fully, feeling his muscles flex along with the movement. One gentle slow flap, then another, then another, before he tents them to his sides.

Like the days and years before, Danny reaches out to touch his feathers. Like the days and years before, his hands ghost through them, the feathers vibrating around where his fingers should be brushing through them, as if they were made of mist.

Disappointment floods through him. At this point, it’s a ritual of starting his day, though the defeated frustration is somehow still a surprise each and every time. Face it, Fenton, he frowns, heading back to drop off the broom. You’ll never be able to touch them. No one else can interact with them. Unless there’s some other freak out there like you, you’re stuck with messy, awful, terrible wings for forever. The irony.

He’s pulled out of his train of thought by the jingle of a bell, the shop door swinging open. He stands up straight, furling back his wings and pushing their ache aside until tomorrow. His posture relaxes as he sees Valerie stride in, hanging up her coat and settling down at the front desk. She’s carrying a rather large textbook this time, along with what seems to be messy study guides. He winces; she must have been studying all night based on the dark circles around her eyes, and yet she still came in when he asked.

“Hey Valerie,” he says, giving her a wave. “Thanks for coming in. I know it was short notice, but you can blame Tucker for that if you want to give me a break.”

Valerie pinches the bridge of her nose. “Danny. You listened to Tucker? To open up at fuck o’ clock in the morning?”

“Yes?” He smiles nervously. Her grey and red feathers fluff out in annoyance as she huffs out a frustrated breath.

Honestly, his curse isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes it makes Danny look like he’s much more sociable and easy to talk to than he really is, seeing how he can read people’s emotions based on gestures with limbs they can’t even see or feel.

“He said it was an emergency?” Danny helps her with her textbooks. “You know how it is sometimes.”

Valerie drags out a groan. “You know, I thought that it being your birthday would be a good reason to not open up early today. If at all.” She gives him a haggard smile. “But you just had to go and be the hero, now didn’t you?”

Danny blinks. He twists his head to look at the calendar. “Oh my god.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Oh my god.”

“Good job, hotshot.” Valerie takes Danny into her arms, patting the top of his head. “You didn’t have any morning birthday plans that you also forgot, did you?”

Danny stares at the floor, barely feeling Valerie’s hands flatten down his hair. Has he really been so busy and spacey that he forgot his own birthday? Though, after being able to legally drink, it’s not like there were any other large milestones in his 20’s. Still, the sentiment remains.

“Danny?” Valerie snaps her fingers in front of his face. He jumps, taking a step back and shaking his head. “Earth to space cadet?”

“Space cadet to Earth,” Danny says. “Houston? Space cadet Fenton is having an existential crisis. Over.”

Valerie snickers. “Come on. You can have that crisis later.” She takes his hand, leading him behind the front desk, and takes out a small box. “Here. Happy birthday.”

Danny takes it, snorting as he sees the choice of wrapping paper. “Doves? Really?”

She shrugs. “They don’t exactly have vultures for wrapping paper.”

“They’re condor wings, Val.”

She waves it off. “Just open it, birthday boy.”

He carefully unwraps the box, and his heart jumps in his chest as he sees the sides of the box. “You got me a model kit of the Mars Spirit rover?” Excitement builds in him as he removes the last of the wrapping paper, face to face with his new model kit project. “I love it! Thank you so much!”

Valerie grins back at him, his excitement infectious. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“I do!” He sets the box aside, giving her a hug. “Seriously, thank you so much. You’re one of the best friends I could ask for!”

“Of course, of course,” she says, hugging him back before pushing him away. “But there’s work to be done, since someone was stupid and signed up an early client on their birthday.”

Danny opens his mouth to argue, but instead the bells announce the arrival of said client; a tall, lanky man who somehow looks like he belongs in the jazz era. Blond hair peeks out of a newsboy cap, pale fingers tapping nervously against light brown pants, blue eyes glancing around the place as Valerie welcomes him in.

Danny squints, pursing his lips as he scans the man. Heron wings. Snapped left primary third, tangled secondaries, off-angle feathers, detritus, and oh god this will be a long session. He can already feel his hands start to cramp up.

Best to get started then.

“Hey,” Danny smiles at him. “So Tucker sent you here, I’ve heard?”

The man nods, grimacing as he rolls his shoulder. “I was unlucky enough to get into a hit and run situation, and it turns out the body does not like getting slammed into metal. Weird how that works, yeah?”

Danny snorts, offering him his hand. “I think I could have told you that one. What’s your name? I’m afraid I didn’t catch it.”

“Ivory.” The man gives Danny a very firm handshake. “Ivory Seymour.” He tilts his head as he releases his hand. “I think I recognize you.”

Danny eyes him, lines creasing along his forehead as his mind fails to fill in the dots. “If you do, that makes one of us.”

Ivory laughs. “I wouldn’t expect you to. You’ve gone to the Highrise nightclub, haven’t you?”

Danny and Valerie share a glance. That’s the bar where he finally got plastered enough to tell her what his deal is. It had taken one too many drinks before Valerie even thought about believing him. He couldn’t blame her; he sounded like a basket case whenever he tried to talk about it. Everyone has wings. No one else can see them like he can. No one else can touch them, but he can, except for his own. It had taken another drink and a cab home for Valerie to really believe him. It had taken a messy one night stand for him to prove to her what he had claimed.

“I’ve been, yes,” Danny says slowly, ignoring the blush that spreads along both of their cheeks.

“I thought so.” Ivory smiles. “I do live music there on the weekends. That old piano is like a second home for me. Sure it’s a little out of tune but what’s a proper bar without its character?” His eyes twinkle with a knowing spark. “Your gait caught my attention, as well as your lovely assistant on your arm as you two left.”

Danny stiffens. One day he might beat the allegations that he walked weirdly, but today will not be that day. He can’t help it—he feels the instinctual need to not let his wings touch anything or anyone, despite knowing that they’ll mist through any obstacle just as they mist through his fingers. He runs his hand through his hair, forcing his shoulders to relax, though he can feel his wings ruffle and start to mantle above him at the slight.

“I get that a lot,” he replies, putting back on his best customer service facade. “Old habit. Haven’t grown out of it.”

Ivory hums and nods. “Interesting habit. I can’t fault that, though. Every person has something different about them, and I find it fun to pick them out when I’m letting my mind wander while my hands continue to play. Bars and clubs gather the most interesting people, I’ve come to find.” He lets out another quiet laugh, shaking his head. “My apologies. This is an appointment, not a chatting session. Though if you wish to continue chatting, I’ll be playing at Highrise again this weekend. Hopefully with minimal back pain, thanks to your work.”

“Yeah,” Danny blinks at the deluge of words. “Yeah. Val? Can you get him set up?”

Valerie nods, pulling out the necessary paperwork and handing it over to Ivory as Danny walks to his office. He pulls out a thick book filled with yellowing pages, sticky notes, and a strong smell of patchouli after The Incident. “Right...” he begins to flip through it, looking for the right bird and whatever notes he’s already made in the past. “Heron, heron... Blue heron.”

He runs a hand through his hair, scanning over the page. “Okay.” He grabs a notepad and starts to jot down information for Valerie to put in later. Snapped primary. Didn’t look like a blood feather, so I shouldn’t have to graft. Pinions seemed really messy. I bet there’s some strain in the joints I need to tease out. Ideally there shouldn’t need to be a follow-up, since it looks to me mostly just things out of alignment and not something I need to spend hours on.

He rips out the note, taking in a deep breath before striding out to the front, passing it to Valerie. She skims it, and gives him a short nod. “Okay, Mr. Seymour. Danny should be ready for you.”

Ivory hums, gesturing for Danny to lead the way. Danny feels the man’s eyes on his back, boring into him, likely trying to figure out what makes him so special. He forces himself to walk forward without turning his torso to avoid things; he’s made his space as clear as he can so his wings won’t brush up against anything, but old habits die hard.

“Alright,” Danny turns to face Ivory. “I’ll need you to be face down in that chair, and, uh, I’m sure you’ve heard my methods are... unconventional.”

“Mr. Foley warned me of that, yes,” Ivory hums. “But he was very adamant that you would be able to solve this, so I trust your judgment.”

Danny’s shoulders relax. “Okay, good. Is there any sort of specific essential oil you want in the diffuser? Or none at all?” He opens a cabinet, showing his scents.

Ivory tilts over him, his chin brushing straight through Danny’s wings, making him shudder. “Hm. Jasmine lavender sounds nice. Let’s go with that.”

“Right.” Danny quickly moves away, biting down the shivering snarl that teases the back of his throat. There’s a flash of anger that sparks in his chest; if he wasn’t the only one with this issue, then he wouldn’t have to worry about people sticking their heads and limbs right through his wings. He wouldn’t have to awkwardly dodge around people, and he wouldn’t have to feel the creeping dread that shot up his spine whenever someone did touch through his wings. World’s worst texture, if that can even be counted as one.

“Oh, one more thing,” Danny turns back to his client. “I need you blindfolded.”

Ivory tilts his head. “Blindfolded? Why?”

“Yeah. It’s part of the method,” he says, giving his best customer service smile. “I’m afraid I can’t continue unless you agree to it.”

“Mr. Foley did say you had unconventional methods,” Ivory murmurs, rubbing his chin. “I can’t exactly say no at this point.”

“You can, but you’ll have to leave,” Danny says, pulling out the thick fabric.

“Yes, then.” Ivory sits down on the chair, looking carefree as he meets Danny’s eyes. “I’d like to continue.”

Danny nods, making sure the blindfold is snug and guiding him to the right position. He begins to run his hands up and down the man’s spine, settling into a slow rhythm to make sure there isn’t anything wrong with just the back. He feels Ivory relax underneath him, falling into a stupor as Danny teases out the few knots on his upper back.

Time for the real work.

Slowly, carefully, he cups the base joint of one of the wings, guiding his hand along the arm of the wing. Ivory groans beneath him, shivering. The smell of the oil fills his nose as he begins to spread his fingers between each feather, tracing his way up each shaft and straightening out the barbs, making sure the barbs connect with the feathers next to it. His mind starts to drift, hands moving in patterns they learned long ago, the smell of jasmine lavender laying heavy on his tongue, the soft, relieved sighs of his client occasionally drifting to his ears.

What would it feel like, having someone else’s hands brush their way through each feather like he does? Would it feel like the odd back shivers that Sam and Tucker told him how it feels whenever he preens them? Is preening still even the right word? He’s aware of the wings, he’s aware of each twitch and flinch of his feathers, so would he actually feel it on his wings or would that too only spark nerves on his back? What if he did have the ruffle of feathers around his neck to match the rest of his condor wings? Is it even possible to fly?

He snorts, shaking his head. He’s already tried that multiple times, and all it’s done is leave him face down on the ground, spread eagle in shame. Flying seems to be out of the question, but still the sentiment nags at him. How would it feel, having the wind beneath his wings? He can feel something whenever the wind tugs at them. A sort of yearning, though whenever Danny looks up at the sky and wonders about flight, what catches him instead is the feeling of his feathers shifting in the wind. It makes him shiver and sigh, and if he’s alone in the park, he would spread them out fully, facing the sun, and stand there and soak up the heat.

And once again, Danny lands on the conclusion that it’s not flight he craves, but touch.

He scowls down at the wing he’s working on, a sharp pang snapping in his chest. Oh, but to have the ability to do this to himself. He lets the feeling creep up and around his spine, his neck. It chokes at him. He can feel the dirt and debris between his own feathers, the left wing’s elbow aching from how he slept last night. And yet, he can’t even massage it out himself.

Magic hands, my ass. Danny blows a strand of hair out of his face. He grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and decides to not think until he’s done with the job.

Fifteen minutes later, and he’s gently nudging Ivory’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

Ivory gives him a pleased hum in return. “Excellent. Fantastic. Mr. Foley was right about you.” He lets Danny sit him up, taking off the blindfold. “It’s like it never happened. Wow.” He smiles brilliantly at him.

Danny half-heartedly smiles back. “Glad I could help. Here, let’s get you all checked out.”

He sets into autopilot mode, and it’s not until he’s locking the door behind him that he feels his careful facade crash down. Depression washes over him like a tidal wave, and the gentle breeze tickling through his feathers only makes it worse.

He scowls, shoving his hands into his pockets, and cursing himself for his awkward gait as his footfalls echo back in his ears like a particularly bothersome intrusive thought.

— — —

Danny checks his phone, staring up at the sign.

Sam’s Sammies. (You’ll eat it. You’ll love it).

Whatever made Sam use that as her tagline, he’ll never know. What he does know is that he’s starving, and his two best friends wanted him to come here for a late lunch. He strides in, dodging the door shutting closed behind him. Half of the store is covered in a shroud of darkness, with only small desk lamps cutting through the gloom. Several shelves of books weave through the tables, and a small stage currently stands empty in the corner, the microphone unplugged on its stand.

The smell of fresh bread hits his nose, and his stomach grumbles in want. He turns away from the gothic bookstore portion, and makes his way into the more brightly lit restaurant. Sure, the dominant colors were still purple and black, but it’s decorated in a way that won’t immediately put off a normal type of customer.

“Danny!” Tucker waves at him from across the room. “Over here!”

Danny rolls his eyes. “I’m not blind, Tuck!” He weaves through the tables, turning at the last moment before sitting down to head up to the counter, smirking as Tucker complains behind him.

Instead, he drapes himself over the counter, whining, “Saaaaaaaam!”

“Coming!” Sam’s voice wafts from the kitchen. Danny whines again, tapping his fingers on the counter until she steps out. She rolls her eyes, hands on her waist. “Danny. We’ve been over this.”

Danny rolls to his side, clipping his knee against the glass display below him, but he gracefully keeps the hurt to himself. “Sam, please! I’m starling!”

“Har-har,” Sam crosses her arms, but her wings don’t flare in annoyance. “Haven’t heard that one before. Not.”

“You have to laugh. It’s my birthday,” he sniffs.

Sam smirks at him. “Funny. Valerie said that you completely forgot it was your birthday. So, no, I don’t have to laugh. If you remembered, birthday boy, then I would be forced to.”

“I can’t believe she would just betray me like that,” he bemoans, rolling dramatically onto his back, throwing a hand over his forehead. “My life is ruined.”

“Oh please, you’re just hungry.” Sam shoves him off of the counter.

“Starling, Sam.” Danny barely dodges her slap with a grin.

“No free coffee for you,” Sam grumbles. “Do you want your usual egg and cheese melt?”

“Yes please,” Danny says, raising his hands and stepping away from the counter. “Just don’t take too long, okay?”

“Only if you don’t shower me in terrible puns, birthday or not.” Sam crosses her arms. Her wings twitch, the iridescence shining bright purple against the black of her feathers. “I will ban you from the place.”

“You love me too much.” Danny gives her finger guns as he backs away, making his way over to Tucker.

“Finally!” Tucker grabs his arm, sitting him down. “You don’t have to flirt with Sam so much, you know. Like, damn we get it. There’s no need to sexily roll around on the countertop.”

Danny’s eyes glint as he tilts his head towards Tucker. “What? Are you telling me you didn’t enjoy the show?”

Tucker sputters. “That’s not the point!”

“Aw, Tuck,” Danny takes his hand, clasping it between his two. “Don’t be so bittern about it!”

Tucker pulls his hand away with a cry of disgust. “Nope! You do not get to hold my hand and make shitty puns!”

“Don’t get your feathers in a twist,” Danny grins, bumping his shoulder. “You’re the one who sent me an early morning client on my birthday.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to take it literally the next day!” Tucker throws his hands up. “But no, you had to forget it was your fucking birthday!”

“I’m a busy man!” Danny protests.

“I swear, sometimes I think without us you wouldn’t even know what year it is,” Tucker huffs. “You’re lucky we care so much about you.”

Danny smiles at that. “And you’re the bestest friend a guy can ask for. Even when he sounds stork raving mad—ow!” He rubs the back of his neck, frowning as Tucker laughs.

“Boys, boys!” Sam slides Danny’s food to him. “You’re both pretty. No slap fights in my establishment.”

“Am I prettier?” Danny dodges Sam’s hand with a laugh. “Okay, okay! I’ll stop.”

“Eat your goddamn food, you animal,” Sam huffs, sitting down next to him. She adjusts easily to the way Danny shifts in his seat, leaving his side open for the wings she can’t see.

“You’re not you when you’re hungry,” Tucker nods sagely.

Danny rolls his eyes, picking up his sandwich and devouring it in record time. “God Sam, you make the best melts,” he says around the last mouthful of food.

“You know, you would probably get more business if you added meat to them—”

“Tucker,” Sam glares at him.

“Girls, girls, we’re all pretty,” Danny waves his hand. “As the designated birthday boy I command you that there will be no veggie and meat arguments today.”

“Fine,” the both of them drag the word out.

“Thank you,” Danny smiles. “You can be at each other’s throats tomorrow, I’ll agree with Tucker on his birthday, and I’ll agree with Sam on her birthday.”

“Fence-sitter.” Tucker sticks out his tongue.

“You can just say you’re wrong, you know,” Sam says. “But whatever. I’ll abide by your wishes and not drag it out further.” She nods to Tucker, and he twists in his chair, pulling up a small wrapped box. She rolls her eyes. “Good luck, birthday boy.”

Danny takes it. “What do you mean, good luck?” he asks, unwrapping the present. His head cocks in confusion as he pulls out a pheasant plushie, and a pair of tweezers. “Tucker. What the fuck.”

“It’s a pheasant plucker!” Tucker grins, puffing out his chest.

“A what?”

“Pheasant plucker.” Tucker enunciates every syllable.

“Just say it back to him.” Sam curls her head into her arm. “Humor him so it’ll be done faster.”

Danny gives her a withering look. “I mean, the pheasant guy is really nice. I’ll put him in my office. The tweezers though...”

“Please, Danny, get it over with,” Sam plants her head onto the table.

Tucker smiles brightly at him. “Pheasant plucker.”

“Pheasant plucker,” Danny repeats.

“Pheasant plucker.”

“Pleasant fucker—oh fuck you!” Danny shoves him as Tucker cackles. “God! You’re the worst!”

Tucker takes off his glasses to wipe at his teary eyes, still giggling. “Pay up Sam! It worked just like I thought it would!”

Sam grumbles and slides him a twenty.

“You made a bet?” Danny gasps in fake disgust. “A bet against me, on my birthday? How dare you! I thought you were my friends!”

“Best friends!” Tucker pulls out another wrapped gift. “Here. The apology gift.”

Danny takes it, frowning at him. “Apology gift, huh? I guess that makes you a bit more of a pleasant fucker.” As he unwraps it, his eyes widen and the grin spreads so wide on his face it hurts his cheeks. “Holy shit! The shuttle kit? I thought that these were on supreme backorder!”

“Discontinued, actually,” Tucker says. “I’ve got my connections.” He wheezes out a breath as Danny hugs him. “Yeah, I’m awesome. I know. I need those lungs to breathe, Danny.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Danny jumps back, smiling down at the package. “Gosh. Thank you.”

“But that’s not all.” Sam thumps a box onto the table. “From me, and others.”

“This doesn’t carry a bet with it too, does it?” Danny takes it.

“No bet this time,” Tucker says. “Unless...?”

Sam slaps his shoulder. “No unless. This is a real life present with nothing else attached.”

Danny narrows his eyes. “You’re making it sound like there’s a bomb in here.”

“Sorry, I’m not good at making those yet,” Tucker shrugs.

“What do you mean, yet?” Danny frowns as he opens the gift. Inside lies a dark denim jacket, and he pulls it out, tears welling to his eyes. Patches of various kinds dot the front, and a large condor with its wings outspread adorn the back, with a square of fabric from one of Sam’s old skirts. “Oh my god. You made me a battle jacket?”

Sam grins, punching his shoulder. “I did! And everyone else contributed something. Take a closer look!”

Danny flips it onto its front, taking it all in. A NASA patch on one sleeve, an embroidered FentonWorks sticker on the other. “Dad did that one, didn’t he?” he murmurs. An elk head in the transgender flag colors on the breast, complete with the tagline “Oh deer! I’m queer!” On the opposite side is a skeleton announcing Mr. Bones Wild Ride. Below, the rover Spirit, an owl with nerdy glasses, a grey ghost in the style of Lavender Town, a stylized PDA, a little badger.

“Mr. Bones glows in the dark,” Tucker smiles, leaning back into his chair and folding his arms. “I think Valerie’s ghost does too.”

Danny hugs the jacket close to his chest. “I love it,” he whispers, awed. “I love it so much.”

“Well don’t just stand there! Try it on!” Sam urges.

He shrugs the jacket on, letting the fabric settle against his skin. Usually he isn’t a fan of denim, but the sheer amount of care and love is far superior than the feeling of the rough fabric on his arms. He spins around, showing it off. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re going to burn the patriarchy with us,” Sam smiles. “Obviously there’s room for more patches. We just figured it’d be a good starting point to have everyone give you something.”

“I’m never taking this off,” Danny says, tracing the deer patch. “You’re all the best.”

“I know,” Tucker beams.

Sam rolls her eyes. “Humble as always, Tucker.”

Tucker sticks his tongue out at her, but doesn’t take the bait. “So are we doing drinks tonight?” he asks. “You know, get properly sloshed so you forget your birthday all over again?”

“You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?” Danny crosses his arms.

“Nope!” Tucker and Sam say in unison.

“Oh, and it’s bar crawl night, so there’s gonna be a lot of places busy and serving their best, so I hope you’re ready to go to Elmerton,” Tucker continues.

“We’ll try to avoid the ones where the frat bros are going to,” Sam says. “Though I suppose we don’t have to do the crawl and just find a place and chill.”

Danny hums, edges of his lips tugging into a smile. Sam’s starling wings flare out with joy as she starts to list off the best bars, Tucker’s sunbittern wings folded tightly across his back as he listens intently. He lets himself drift between the conversation, happily letting them decide which place they were going to once Sam closed up shop, idly tracing the patches on his jacket.

— — —

Properly sloshed is one of the ways to describe the way Danny feels after stumbling out of the bar. He’s gotten some nice comments on his jacket, but with the downside of more people phasing through his wings, and eventually Sam and Tucker have had to sit him down at a booth to protect what’s left of his ego. Slurring at others to back off his wings doesn’t exactly sit as sane in the real world.

Once some of the tipsiness starts to wear off, Tucker makes sure he’s properly hydrated, and Sam meticulously slaps his hand away from her cocktail, chiding that he’s had enough. Danny doesn’t agree then, but he’s more than happy now that he didn’t. The world isn’t as tilted as before, and he doesn’t feel so dizzy and fuzzy-tongued, but words are still hard to come by, and coherent sentences are still just barely within his grasp.

Tucker steadies him. “How are you feeling?”

Danny wiggles his hand. “Better,” he says. “The blue-balls cocktail hits so hard. Just like real life, I think.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Sam’s annoyance ruffles through her feathers. “You’re such a lightweight.”

“How’d you have three of them?” Danny feels his head swim as he looks at her. “That’s three more balls than you have.”

“Six, Danny,” Tucker says. “Balls come in pairs.”

“Right.” Danny hums, leaning against Tucker. “Now I know the feeling, yeah?”

Tucker bumps his arm. “You might want to shut up now before I pull out my phone and record you.”

“Yeah, one more cocktail and you’ll be as fucked up as you were getting your wisdom teeth out,” Sam smirks. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Danny puts a hand to his jaw. “D’ya think that Jazz never got her wisdom teeth out? She’s wise.”

Sam takes his hand, squeezing it gently. “Yes, Jazz got her wisdom teeth out. She’s just more analytical than you.” She starts to tug him along, Tucker dutifully taking his other hand. “You have a bird brain, birthday boy.”

“It’s past midnight,” Danny knits his eyebrows together. “I’m not the birthday boy anymore.”

“You stay the birthday boy until you go to bed or until the sun comes up. Whichever comes first,” Tucker waves. “We all know that.”

Danny frowns, staring at the ground and focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. “Maybe I do have a bird brain...”

The chirp of the crosswalk sears through him, tearing his attention from the ground. More people are slowly spilling out of bars and clubs, crowding out the streets. He flinches as Tucker moves closer to him, bumping shoulders and swinging their joined hands back into Danny’s wings. He grimaces, forcing their hands forwards and giving him a stern look.

Oh, to not have to worry about other people shoving limbs where they didn’t belong.

Cars roar past them as they wait at the light. He watches them speed past, all heading home except for the unfortunate few with graveyard shifts. “They should all be sleeping,” Danny mumbles. “Everyone.”

Sam squeezes his hand. “What’s that, Danny?”

He wriggles his hand away from her, pointing at the cars. “Everyone. We all gotta sleep. Not doing jobs.”

Sam stifles a laugh. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Danny huffs. “It’s nighttime. Not everyone is driving home to sleep. That’s sad. They need sleep too.”

“Maybe the battle jacket is helping you tear down societal norms,” Sam smirks. “I should have gotten you this years ago. Then you could have rallied with me to remove meat from the menu.”

Danny scowls. “No. No meat versus veggies.” His finger waggles in her direction. “Tucker says I’m still birthday boy. The no argument thing still stands.”

“Yeah, and who says he would have sided with you?” Tucker grins. “We all know how much you enjoy a good Nasty Burger.”

“Their sauce is good!” Danny whines. “Really very good!” The cars slow and stop, the crosswalk chirping once again. He stumbles, and his wings flare out to steady him, though how effective that really is Danny doesn’t know. They mist through his friends and a few others minnowing across the street. He shudders. “God. Stupid dumb wings.”

Sam and Tucker spare a glance at each other. “You good?” Sam asks quietly.

Danny grimaces, then nods. “It’s just annoying, having so many people around. But you guys are makin’ me walk like a normal person.” The last thing he needs is his awkward gait to mix with his tipsy self. That has recipe for disaster written all over it.

He falls silent, watching the crowd and adjusting his wings accordingly, even if most of the time they phase through Tucker and Sam. He at least knows them. Yes, it doesn’t make sense, but having them go through someone he knew versus someone he doesn’t is far more preferable. He notices the way his friends move slightly ahead of him, giving him the room he needs for wing-dodging. Truly, they’re the most fantastic friends he could ever ask for. They accepted his weirdness, and even accommodated it as if it’s any other normal thing. They can read him like a well loved book, and no words have to pass through them to work around his needs.

So, being flanked by his two best friends, focusing on their linked hands, he slowly feels himself start to relax again. People blur into one another. The cars and horns and chirps and buzzing of neon signs fade into the background. More people come spilling out of establishments, some leaning heavily on friends as Danny does with his own. A mess of wings and motion, all spinning into one, feathers drifting off of more scruffy wings, others fluffed up against the growing chill of the night. He can feel his own fluff up, and his friend’s wings are following suit. He gives them a lopsided smile. If only they could see how ridiculous everyone’s wings looked right now.

He’s about to voice that thought before he pauses, causing Sam and Tucker to stumble.

A stranger catches his eye, sticking out like a sore thumb against the other patrons.

“Hey, what gives?” Tucker huffs.

“Wait,” Danny says, rising to the tips of his toes to see past the heads of the crowd. “Wait.” He spots the stranger, twisting and dodging his way through people with an awkward gait, and his wings moving unnaturally swift, like he’s actually in control of them. Others don’t do that. They don’t twist one up and the other down to avoid the height difference of people. They let theirs mist through, ignorant to even doing so.

“He’s walking like me,” Danny whispers. “He’s walking like me.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam frowns.

Danny points towards the stranger. The stark-white hair stands out like lightning in a storm, those wings moving in the hypnotic motion of conscious thought. “I need to talk to him.”

Before his friends can protest, he breaks away from them, desperate to talk to the stranger. “Hey!” he calls out, a dozen puzzled eyes glaring at him. “Hey!”

The stranger pauses and turns halfway, stunning Danny into place. His eyes shine a delicate green, almost glowing under the neon night sky. The white of his hair whispers in a faint breeze, and he tugs his wings close to him as he turns away, continuing down his path with a quicker step, disappearing within the crowd.

Danny breaks out in a sprint. “Hey! Hey! Please! Stop please!” He barrels his way between the crowd, uncaring to the shivers and shocks that permeate up and down his spine as he spreads his wings wide. He can almost feel them generate some sort of lift, keeping him upright even as his feet tangle and stumble together. His heart pumps in his ears, each heavy footfall rattling through his frame as he pushes people aside, breaths shortening and excitement building as he gets closer to the stranger. One last dance and sway through the crowd, and he’s suddenly out of the throng, stumbling and panting. He twists around, body wavering, eyes blurring as his stomach flips and growls out a warning; a reminder that he has been drinking and hasn’t been particularly kind to it. Danny suddenly feels very, awfully alone as he swallows down his heart, eyes scanning over everything for that spot of stark-white hair.

The stranger is nowhere to be seen.

“Hey!” he calls again, voice breaking, knowing full well that his cries were for naught. “Please...” He collapses against the wall, his shoulder digging into the rough stone. The pain is preferable to the swelling chasm splitting open in his chest. “Please...” Big, wet tears coalesce in the corners of his eyes. They roll down his face as he blinks rapidly, wiping them off with the heel of his palm. “Please...”

“Danny!” Sam grabs his shoulder, spinning him around to look at her. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell, man?” Tucker scolds, worry etched on his face. “Don’t do that! You could’ve gotten hurt!”

Danny chokes on a sob, hanging his head. “You- you don’t understand. He walked like me. He was walking like how I do! He could feel them! He could control them! I- I might’ve...” his voice cracks, and instead words devolve into a helpless gasp, the tears streaking down his cheeks anew.

“Oh, Danny...” Sam murmurs, pulling him away from the wall and into a hug.

He knows that simpering tone. She doesn’t fully believe him, but wants him to think that she does. He shakes in her hold, grimacing as she smooths down his hair, as if he were still a child that got a scrape on their knee. Tucker’s worried look doesn’t help his inner cynicism quiet down.

“He was real,” he mumbles into Sam’s shoulder. “He was real and I missed him. I missed him because of the stupid late night crowds and me not being able to run fast enough and I missed him. He could see them too! He walked like me! He walked like me. He walked like me...”

“I know,” Sam murmurs. “It’s going to be okay.”

Danny’s jaw tightens as he grits his teeth. It won’t, he thinks. “Sure,” he mumbles, defeated. He lets them walk the rest of the way home, giving them a limp wave goodbye as he unlocks the door to his apartment. He immediately falls onto his bed, and he lets the waterworks flow until his throat is sore and his eyes sting.

It isn’t going to be okay.

Not until he finds that stranger.

— — —

“Oh come on!” Tucker’s voice crackles over the headset. “Danny!”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Danny winces. “I didn’t see them coming.” Him and Tremor aren’t getting along today. Even with the new railgun that Tucker unlocked, it isn’t doing him much good.

“Boys! Focus!” Sam’s voice hisses out static, making Danny scowl again. He really needs to get a new headset. This one may have been his best friend of many years, but at the end of the day, every electronic eventually had to be upgraded. “I can’t be the only one guarding the flag!”

Danny runs over to where Sam’s character Chaos stands, turning his back to where she can’t see. “Tuck? You good?”

“If you count getting camped, then sure,” Tucker grumbles. “Spawn campers are the worst.”

“Do you need help?” Danny barely even sweeps his camera across the map, eyes growing distant. “If Sam thinks she can handle the flag on her own.”

“If you don’t die on me again,” Tucker says. “Remember, your username is SpaceAce, not Space Cadet.”

“Har-har.” Danny rolls his eyes. “At least I have a good username, FryerTuck.”

“It’s a great name!”

“Terrible.” Danny sprints across the map, keeping an eye out for enemies.

“Sam! Tell him my username is cool!”

“Your username sucks,” Sam deadpans.

“Sam!” Tucker’s voice crackles indignantly into his headphones, making Danny wince again. “Just because you nabbed the name Chaos doesn’t mean that ours suck!”

Danny spots Tucker around the corner, and he takes in a breath before jumping into the fray, saving Tucker from his spawn campers. He teabags them for good measure as they die. “There. Now go get the flag!”

“Thanks bud!” Tucker sprints off—most likely to his death yet again—the username debate dropped and forgotten about, much to Danny’s relief.

Now all he hears over the headset is button mashing and wild clicking. Both of them seem to be in the zone, which makes it the perfect time for Danny to zone out, walking across the map back to their flag. He sees a flash of white in the corner, and then the blinking red of the death screen. He can’t find it in himself to care.

The other boy’s hair was stark-white, like all the color got scared out of him. Maybe he dyed it, or maybe it was natural. It wasn’t the silvery white of aged hair. No, it was blinding, and had it been sunlight rather than streetlight, it would have glowed, he thinks. It wasn’t albinism either, because the boy had such brilliant green eyes, so acidic green that Danny can’t get them out of his head. Danny must have caught his eye, right? They moved the same. But then why would he slip away like that? Wouldn’t he also want to meet someone who saw them too?

He’s pulled out of his thoughts with another blinking red screen, his respawn timer counting down yet again. He hadn’t even noticed that he had respawned once already.

Oh well, that’s another thirty seconds to remember every single detail about the stranger.

Danny had flipped through his book, settling on the idea that the boy had the wings of a king vulture. Of course, he won’t be able to confirm it until he sees them again, but he’s fairly certain. Linking people’s wings to their counterparts is part of his job, and it’s already something he’s more than familiar with. That would also make them carrion partners, which makes Danny’s lips upturn into a warm smile. Carrion birds are so misunderstood. They’re majestic creatures, and without them life would be just that much harder, just that much messier. And he feels a special connection to his own condor wings; both endangered species, both settling into a niche that only they can provide, both outcasts of society.

Feathers sway in the outskirts of his vision. A pang runs through his heart. If only he could touch them...

“Danny!” Sam shouts, pulling him away from his train of thought. “Are you even paying attention?”

“Huh?” Danny stares at the screen, focusing on making the colors and flashes make sense. Oh, his screen is blinking red again.

“That’s a no-go, Sam,” Tucker sighs. “Danny, if you’re too tired to play, just tell us.”

Danny bites his lip, wings curling shamefully around him. “Sorry. I got distracted.” His timer runs out, and this time he actually moves his character some before getting sniped again. “Ugh.”

“Seriously, Danny.” He can hear Sam’s concern in her voice. “You don’t have to force yourself to play with us if you don’t want to. You had a few walk-in clients today, right?”

“Right,” Danny says. His fingers still hurt a bit after dealing with his last client; their feathers were a fucking mess, and he had to do some careful pulling and grafting for the few that had snapped completely.

The countdown signals the last ten seconds of the game. It’s ten seconds more that Danny stays still, not even taking an easy shot when someone runs across his field of vision.

They lose the game.

Usually that would be enough to get Danny fired up for one more game, but this time, he just can’t muster up the feeling. “I did promise you guys though,” he says weakly.

“Yeah, and you promised not to lose,” Tucker sniffs. “You’re tired. Log off and sleep.”

“There’s always later,” Sam says. “When you’re feeling better we can do this another day.”

And there it is, that gentle tone that should calm him down, but instead makes him grit his teeth and tense his jaw. He doesn’t need pity. “Right,” he snips. “Maybe tomorrow or something.” Without another word, he logs off, leaving Sam and Tucker on their own. He pulls off his headset, scowling at the amount of flakes still somehow shedding from the ear cuffs. Didn’t anyone test that they would last for more than a year? Yes, he’s had them for more than a few years, but still. He’s more surprised that they aren’t bald quite yet.

With a beleaguered sigh, he pushes away from his desk, wandering to the bathroom to comb out the headset flakes that surely got caught in his hair again. The teeth scratch at his scalp and growl at the tangles. Danny can’t find it in himself to really care about the pain of tugging out knots, watching listlessly as the flakes catch in the teeth and fall to the floor. Cleaning that is a task for future Danny. Present Danny wants a goddamn break.

He flops onto his bed, grabbing the pen and notebook he stored on the nightstand. Each page has a scribbled image of the stranger, drawn from each frame his mind has stored of that night. Most of them are of the boy staring back at him, eyes highlighted in bright green. Hair sticking out every which way, yet still looking groomed. His back, his wings. The way they moved and the twists and turns of each feather. Scrawled notes, chicken scratch descriptions, every single detail wrung out to keep the memory fresh.

Danny frowns, adding another idle sketch to the mess. The amount of notes and pictures make this far from just art practice to a stalker’s notebook, Danny realizes with dismay. But what else is he supposed to do? Let the memory fade and have no idea what happened that night?

He had been on the edge of being too drunk to remember, but that stranger’s visage burned straight into his brain as true as any branding iron. He can hardly pick out what else had happened that night, except for him rushing through the crowd in order to meet the stranger that walked like him.

But that had been in a city over. A very busy city over. So unless he wants to roam the streets of Elmerton like a vagrant, he can’t exactly figure out how to find the stranger again. He bites the tip of his pen in thought, chewing at the plastic, crushing it with his teeth and molding it into something resembling a wad of chewed gum. Surely there’s someone else who could notice someone like that?

Danny’s mind wanders, flitting through this and that, flying through memories and ideas. He could sit at a bus bench and wait. He could loiter around some of the larger shops. He could go to that bar again.

It hits him like a metaphorical truck. “Ivory!” he shouts triumphantly. Ivory noticed the way he walked! Ivory would notice someone else walking strangely! And Ivory was more than fine to talk to him! He was very conversational. He won’t mind Danny walking up to him and asking questions.

He grins, setting aside his definitely-not-a-stalker notebook. He has a plan. Flimsy, sure, but a plan nonetheless.

— — —

Smooth. Straighten. Remove. Repeat.

Simple motions, rote, familiar. Danny’s hands work without him noticing, letting the routine sink in as he works through the client’s feathers. He lets the scent of orange blossom fill his nose. He wills his mind to go blank. His eyes are both focused and unfocused, seeing what things need to be done, and unseeing as he does them.

Fingers move swift. His mind moves swifter.

The speed of a thought is an incredible thing. At one moment, he’s silently noting where he needs to move next, kneading at the arm of the wing, moving down to the base, and the next, he’s assaulted by the flash of the stranger staring at him.

The stubbornness of a thought is another incredible thing. He grits his teeth, willing his shoulders to relax, and trying to excise the image out of his head. The more he thinks about it, the more it sinks its claws into him, teeth clamped around the memory’s neck like a predator choking out its prey. Green eyes, white hair, golden light. His memory creates a spotlight in the crowd, picking the boy out as sure as any limelight would. His hair glows. His eyes gleam. The light dims, and he’s suddenly one with the crowd again. His presence like a prayer that refuses to be answered, his gaze a serrated harpoon, and those wings moving hypnotic asymmetrical, never touching anyone or anything.

He desperately wishes that the feathers he’s combing through now are that of the stranger.

The end of the day doesn’t come fast enough. Danny rotates through a few more clients, and soon enough he’s locking up the place and telling Valerie that he’ll see her next week and to enjoy her weekend.

Wind ruffles through his wings, making him shiver. Spring is here, sure, but the warmth of the sun still hasn’t got the message and each evening is still chill enough for him to use a jacket. He shrugs it on, tracing the circular Mr. Bones patch.

The ride never ends.

“It certainly doesn’t,” Danny sighs quietly.

He consults his mental map, gauging whether or not he needs to brave the crowded bus to make it to Highrise. He grimaces. It’s just far enough away that he doesn't want to walk the whole way there. With a resigned groan, he shuffles his way to the bus stop. There’s already a small gathering of people there waiting for the next bus. Great. It’s going to be crowded as all hell and he’s going to have to deal with people phasing through his wings. As if he already doesn’t have enough on his mind.

The bus pulls up a few minutes later, and a swath of people exit and scatter like mice. He stands to the side, waiting for the river to slow before stepping in. As expected, all of the seats are taken, and much of the standing area is taken too. He tries to shimmy his way to the back, holding onto the pole as the bus lurches forward with a groan. Someone stumbles and catches themself with Danny’s shoulder with an apology. He bites his tongue to keep himself from snapping.

More people enter at the next stop, filling out the increasingly depleting space. Danny bites harder on his tongue as he feels far too many people enter his personal bubble, phasing straight through his wings with someone content on staying there despite how much Danny moves and shudders to get away from it. There’s nowhere to go that won’t be running into people, he knows that, but that doesn’t stop the crawling itchiness, like a thousand centipedes stampeding their way up and down his back, digging into his feathers, striking and biting at his wings.

Only five more stops to go.

All five stops gather more people than those exiting. Others crowd around the pole he’s gripping like a lifeline, trying so very hard to focus only on the feeling of dirtied metal against his palm. It’s slick with the sweat of the nameless. It’s sticky from constant use. It makes his hand feel like it’s picking up every single disease known to man. He hopes that last thought is just from irritation.

The bus lurches to a stop like a giant beast attempting to do a sharp turn. Danny easily corrects his stance as others stumble with the sudden movement. He all but rushes out of the doors, bristling at the small crowd behind him, far too aware at how many of those are within his wings before they scatter and dissipate.

He runs his non-dirty hand through his hair with a groan. Yes, such an expansive public transport route is incredibly nice to have. Sam can and will go on about it if he lets her. It’s just the public part of it that makes it a secondary option to him if he can afford it. The only pleasant rides with public transport have been when there’s essentially nobody there and he can sit at the window and watch the world fly past him.

Danny shoves his hands into his pockets, keeping his wings furled tightly against his back as he walks the last little bit to Highrise. Despite it being a Friday, the bar isn’t too busy. One less crowd to worry about, at least. He pushes past the glass doors, pumps some hand sanitizer on his palms, and soft piano music reaches his ears. He looks over towards the music, and smiles as he sees Ivory playing. Good.

Next to Ivory, a towering brick shithouse of a man leans on his shoulder, his blond hair spilling along his shoulders, and proud golden eagle wings spread content alongside him. Whatever he’s telling Ivory makes him laugh, and with a quick kiss to the cheek the man saunters away.

Danny walks up a few moments later, and Ivory smiles brightly at him. “Oh! Mr. Fenton! What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

Danny smiles back. “It’s Danny, but yeah. Just me this time though, if I could take up that offer to have a chat.”

“Certainly.” Ivory gestures towards a chair, and Danny slides it against the piano bench. His fingers move and dance across the keys, his skill clear as he looks over at Danny with his infectious smile. “No drinks this time?”

Danny shakes his head. “Not yet, anyway. I want to talk, not drunkenly slur at you.”

“You’re a lightweight?” Ivory hums.

“A bit, yeah.” Danny feels his cheeks redden.

“Might be for the best,” Ivory says. “Your liver will thank you in the future, I’m sure.”

Danny hums noncommittally. “Who was that tall guy?”

“Oh, him?” Ivory’s eyes twinkle. “That’s Boxer. I know he looks like he’ll beat you up if you look at him wrong, but in reality he’s just a giant golden retriever of a guy.”

“With a name like Boxer I’m more inclined to believe he’ll beat me up,” Danny snorts.

“Just a nickname,” Ivory says. “I’m sure you can guess what his profession is.”

“Accounting?”

Ivory laughs. “I’ll be sure to tell him that when I see him later tonight. He started boxing when he was young, and eventually the name Boxer stuck. He’s accepted it, even though he complains about being Boxer the boxer I know he enjoys the attention. Human the human, I tell him. It could always be worse.”

“Yeah,” Danny says distantly. His mind conjures up the image of him and the stranger sharing that kind of closeness. He shakes his head to dislodge it and he clears his throat. “A-anyway, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Ah. A favor,” Ivory hums. “The musician doesn’t always hold all the secrets. I hope you know that.” His voice playfully lilts along with his chord progression. “The butler didn’t do it. I know that for certain.”

Despite Ivory’s kind words, Danny feels his own crowd his throat uncomfortably. He bounces his leg, spending a moment to figure out exactly what he wants to say. “So, do you play at any other places or just here?” He masks his wince; this isn’t the right question, but he can’t bring himself to say it quite yet. Better get more info first, right?

“I play for hire, yes,” Ivory says. “There’s a place that does a murder mystery night on a train and they have me play the piano in the dining car for authenticity. I’m one of the people they’re allowed to ask questions and depending on how I’m feeling that night I either give them some sprinkles of truth or obscure it with lies. I’m just a simple musician; what would I know, after all?”

“Well, apparently a good amount,” Danny says, clearing his throat. “Um, so you said that you noticed the way I walk, yeah?”

Ivory nods, fingers flying across the keys in a glissando. “Everyone has their quirks. I enjoy studying them.”

“Right.” Danny fidgets with one of the patches on his jacket. “I saw someone a few days ago who I thought shared a similar gait with me. I wasn’t able to reach him in time, a-and I was wondering if you’ve ever seen anyone else like that. He had white hair and green eyes, if that helps.”

The music switches to a swing beat as Ivory thinks, muscle memory guiding him through the rhythm and sounds, hands moving hypnotic as they pluck out each beat and chord with frightening ease and efficiency. Danny watches, letting his mind focus on the speed of his fingers gliding across the keys rather than the slowly growing hollow maw opening in his chest. What was he thinking? He might as well be one of those players in the murder train, trying to finagle information where there could be none, jumping from car to car for the littlest of clues, hound-minded for an answer where there most likely is none. Most likely ended with a knife to his back as well.

“I think I may have seen him,” Ivory’s voice weaves through his music, startling Danny back to the present. “Unnaturally white, yes?”

Danny nods slowly.

“Yes. I believe it was at one of the shows I played before I got hit by that car.” Ivory plucks out chord progressions, letting the music shift and sort out his thoughts. “Boxer was about to have an aneurysm when he saw me in hospital. But yes, I have seen him before. I was not able to study his gait like I could yours, but I believe he may live around this area.”

Hope soars in Danny’s chest. “You think so?”

Ivory nods. “He seems reclusive, however. I did not see him interact with anyone else. I’ve yet to see him at any of the bars I play at either.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” Danny murmurs. “I knew he was real...”

Ivory tilts his head. “Hm? Had your doubts?”

Heat spreads across his face. Something about the music loosened his tongue. “Uh. Yeah. I saw him while piss drunk and my friends didn’t believe me. I just wanted to talk to him, since I saw him moving the way that I do. I thought that maybe I could talk to him about it too, but he was gone before I escaped the sporting bar crowds.”

“So you share a similar condition?”

“I suppose?” Danny blinks. “I don’t know if it’s necessarily a condition.”

“May I ask what it is? You don’t have to answer if you wish.” Ivory flashes him a disarming smile. Danny quickly averts his gaze back to his nervously bouncing leg.

“Pass,” he says, biting his lip. “Sorry.”

“All good,” Ivory hums, eyes clouding as he plucks out a distant memory, major turning into minor, the tempo slowing. “If you’re looking for this boy, I would suggest not thinking too hard about it. If fate wishes for you two to meet, it will happen. You can’t chase ghosts and expect them to not slip through your fingers if you do catch them. Worrying yourself sick will just make you physically sick and unable to perform. Lives get ruined by obsession. Don’t let this one overtake you. If it’s meant to be, then good. If not, then accept it.” He turns to Danny, blue eyes turned storm-solid rock. “You’re a good man, Danny. I would hate to see you lose yourself by attempting to cheat fate. The answer will come whether you like it or not. Just let it come, let it settle, let it pass. If there isn’t someone you can turn to, I’m happy to talk, but I can’t perform miracles. Piano is the only magic I can perform. Your magic lies in your hands too. Don’t let it kill you.”

Minor key turns back to major. Danny sits, stunned into silence.

Ivory’s eyes soften, and it’s like they never changed at all. “And, above all else, the butler has never been the murderer. Would you like a drink? I can’t promise the bartender didn’t do it. Who knows if he slipped the poison to our unfortunate victim.”

“I...” Danny blinks. “Um.” Maybe a drink could do him good. His nerves are shot, zipping around, banging against his skull, drilling behind his eyes. “Sure. As long as it’s not poisoned.”

Ivory’s laughter rings pleasantly in his ears. His voice weaves through him as easily as his music as Danny indulges himself in a few drinks, letting the nerves settle and his mind unwind from his hunt, talking through nonsense conversation as early evening gives way to night.

— — —

Another week passes.

Days grow longer, the sun overcoming the horizon earlier, drifting back down later. The sun moves north. Danny keeps track of the sun’s position each day, writing it down and seeing how much it moves each day. There’s a new notebook that returns towards idle notes on the celestial objects. He watches the meteor shower with his friends. He goes stargazing by himself. He nods to the moon whenever he’s out late.

He visits his parents for dinner. Jazz beams at him when she sees the jacket. “It’s been in progress for so long!” she says. He doesn’t want to know the time it took. Uncle Vlad looks pleased about it. Vlad looks less pleased when his mom and dad start riffing on him for still being a bachelor. It doesn’t matter. The three of them have been friends for so long, and this kind of banter is normal. Danny wonders why he was so scared about coming out at first. He was basically raised by three parents.

Time continues striding forward.

More patches get added to his jacket. Mothman makes his appearance. The Doomed logo is from a friendly competition. Ivory gifts him one with musical notes. Ivory gifts him another one with the Tremor logo. From Boxer, he says. They play matches together once a week.

He goes down a research rabbit hole. He keeps Sam captive as he explains how a book by Sir John Herschel detailing winged beings living on the moon was actually written by his adversary Richard Adams Locke to make Herschel look insane. He goes on about the ponderings of the past and how historians thought about what extraterrestrials would look like if they lived on the sun, or Venus, or the Moon. She dutifully listens, and next thing he knows he’s giving a presentation about it in her bookstore.

Tucker tells him that Wes and Kwan started a new podcast. It’s about cryptozoology. Because of course it is. Unfortunately, it’s really well done and now the two of them wait eagerly for each new episode. They don’t tell Sam about it to save their reputations. She finds out anyway. She gets hooked too.

He takes Sam, Tucker, and Valerie to the murder mystery night train ride. They dress up fancy, and Tucker tries and fails to do a posh British accent the entire night. Ivory lies to them. Danny tells him he feels betrayed after the event is over. Ivory laughs in his singsong way and promises him that he’ll foot the bill for the next round of drinks.

His not-a-stalker notebook stays put away in the nightstand drawer. He hasn’t pulled it out since the talk with Ivory. But even still, the images haunt his mind. His dreams place him around corners, down long hallways where he can’t run fast enough, up ledges that he can’t climb. Sinking in mud. Voiding out into the ground. Drowning. All while those green eyes bore into him, mocking him.

Every single night.

Danny pushes his palms into his eyes, woken up by yet another nightmare. Green eyes glow in the pinprick dark as he pushes harder, letting spots overtake his blackened vision. With a groan, he rolls over, grimacing at the red numbers of his clock.

Seven in the morning.

Technically, he got enough hours of sleep, even if it doesn’t feel like it. He’s yet to feel rested since his birthday.

He paws around for his phone, hissing as the light blinds him. Saturday. No clients. He sits up, yawning and stretching up his arms and his wings before flopping back down onto his pillow. He tries to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but the flash of green eyes convince him that he’s not getting any more rest.

Resigned to his fate, Danny rolls out of bed, opening up the blinds. The sun isn’t over the horizon yet. Maybe he could actually take that walk to the park he’s been meaning to do. Though, that will also give him space to think...

Danny shakes his head. He can deal with some thoughts. Yes, he’s been specifically jamming his schedule to where he isn’t alone as much as he can be, even if it means he’s been drinking a little too much at Highrise, but hey, it did calm his nerves enough to sleep. Kind of.

Perhaps he should reevaluate that choice.

Danny slides on his jacket, and ventures out of his apartment. The streets are still waking up; lights still out in homes, weak emergency lights in stores, and the amber-ruby cast of the sun is still stretching to cover the last dredges of darkened night sky. There’s a slight chill in the air; it’ll be gone by the time he reaches the park.

The bus is thankfully empty. Danny sits angled in the seat to let his wings stretch, watching the town pass by with the purr-hiss-clunk of the engine keeping him from falling back asleep. He thanks the bus driver as he hops off at his stop. The driver thanks him back with a grateful smile.

The sun breaches the horizon. Amber shifts to bright sapphire with its rays. The trees rustle and whisper as Danny walks along the path. Only a few clouds dot the skies. He listens to his footfalls, feels the way his feet strike the pavement. He sighs at the way the wind plays with his hair, the way it questions at his jacket, the way it weaves through his feathers.

Distant traffic disappears as he ventures further, seeking his usual sunning spot. He gives the jogger going past him ample distance without the need to pull back his wings. Those hurried steps leave his hearing soon enough, and only his own take its place again. The grass bends in grogginess carrying his weight. He wanders his way up the small hill, leaning back against the tree that watches over it.

“Hey,” he murmurs, running a hand down its trunk. “Yep. I’m here earlier than usual. I can sort of understand why morning people exist. It’s nice and quiet still.”

Leaves hush and soothe in reply.

“Yeah.”

Danny sits down, back resting against the trunk, closing his eyes and spreading out his wings, letting each feather drink in the sun. Warmth blossoms along his skin, threading and weaving through his feathers, easing him into a half-conscious state. Everything else falls away; just Danny and the dark behind his eyes. The gentle rustling of the leaves. The way the warmth sits like a blanket. The way the heat makes his feathers feel alive. The scrabbling of a squirrel. The bright call of a chickadee. Distant city sounds as the rest of the world wakes up.

He hums, content, drifting between his half-sleep and half-awake mind. Time becomes an immaterial thing. His mind slows, thoughts dampened by the gentle velvet of warm sun. He lets his wings settle wider, feeling the stretch in his back, the prickles up and down the arms of his wings.

It’s the most calm he’s felt in weeks. He relishes in it for as long as he can.

Danny flutters his eyes open. A good sunning does not include sunburn, and his skin is starting to radiate more heat than it should. He stands up, stretching his arms over his head in a yawn, his wings straining as they copy the motion.

“That felt nice,” Danny murmurs to the tree. “I should do this more often.” He pushes away, and lets himself recognize the world around him again. More park guests, most of them jogging along the path. A couple on a blanket with breakfast. The yap of a dog chasing after its ball.

The blinding bright white hair hiding behind a distant tree mirroring his own.

Danny blinks. He rubs his eyes. This is a dream. This has got to be a dream.

Mind filled with muscle memory, Danny jolts forward, stumbling on unsteady feet down the uneven slope. His hearing fills with cotton. He can feel himself gasping for breath, but the body pushing him forward isn’t his. He’s not going to lose him this time. He’s not.

That’s what you say every single time this happens, the pessimistic part of him says.

But all of this... this world is real. He’s sure of it.

The stranger doesn’t move. Danny’s feet strike true. Nothing sinks, nothing drifts further away, nothing comes crashing down. His lungs burn. His heart is screaming in its cage. He’s suddenly reminded that he’s not any sort of runner.

No matter. That doesn’t matter. Not now. Not now.

He’s getting close enough to see that the stranger’s eyes are closed, his lips parted as he drinks in the air, his wings spread wide and angled towards the sun. He looks beautiful. Ethereal.

Danny trips. He yelps as he fails to catch himself. Dirt and grass slap at him in retaliation. His heart drops to his feet. He’s going to look up, and the stranger will be gone. Just like always.

He whimpers into the grass, fisting some in his hands. He might as well enjoy the realness of this dream while it lasts. It’s probably the weekday and he’s probably all booked up. He’s going to go to the bar afterwards and definitely not cry over a whiskey sour. Tears squeeze out of his eyes. Pathetic. He’s even crying in a dream.

He’s definitely going to be crying over a whiskey sour.

He flinches when he feels a nudge at his shoulder. “Hey.” The voice is a graceful tenor. “Hey. You alright?”

Danny takes in a breath. It feels like an eternity before he lifts his head, eyes widening as he meets the gentle green of the other. The stranger smiles at him. Every nerve equally screams and goes silent.

“That was quite a fall.”

Enraptured, Danny barely even hears the words. It’s him. It’s him! I found him!

“Um. Are you okay?” the stranger pulls back. Danny wants to pull him forward. Danny wants. He wants.

“It’s you,” Danny finally breathes. “It’s you. Oh my god. It’s you.”

The boy blinks in reply, shuffling backwards. “Do I know you?” he asks slowly.

Reality and decorum barge into Danny’s overwhelmed mind. He coughs, scrambling to sit up. Words refuse to form. The silence turns awkward as Danny wipes away his tears with the back of his hand, giving him a lopsided smile. Fuck, he probably looks like a crazed serial killer right now. The stalker notebook doesn’t help the case, no matter how long it’s been since he’s opened it.

“Wow,” Danny whispers, unable to look away. He drinks in the bright green of the boy’s eyes, the way his white hair shivers and sways in the light breeze, the way his wings tent over the two of them. His feathers are puffing out. He’s starting to mantle.

Oh. Right. He’s staring at someone whose name he doesn’t even know, like a weirdo.

“No, you don’t know me,” Danny says, finally tearing his gaze away. His eyes drift back anyways. “You look even better up close.” The boy’s wings mantle sharp above him.

Danny grimaces. Oh my god. What kind of guy says something like that? A stalker creep, that’s who. What the fuck. Can you say something normal for once in your life?? He coughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “S-sorry. I just...” He flounders for words. All of them sound like he’s a creepy stalker. “What’s your name?” he asks instead.

The boy frowns, but his wings lower at least. “You aren’t going to use this to kill me later, are you?”

Danny guffaws. The sound is ugly in his tight throat. He shakes his head in lieu of words.

“You won’t laugh at it?” Green eyes pierce through him.

Danny stills his laughter. “Why would I do that?” he asks, tilting his head.

“It’s...” the boy trails off, taking in a sharp breath. He adjusts his stance, crouching down to meet Danny at eye level. “It’s Phantom.”

Despite himself, a small giggle bursts from him. “Oh my god.”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” Phantom glares at him.

“No, no it’s not that!” Danny raises his hands. “It’s the irony of it all! Holy shit.”

Phantom narrows his eyes. “Care to explain this irony then?”

Danny smiles at him, heart about to burst. “I’ve been chasing ghosts. Oh my god.” He snorts, shaking his head. “Okay. I should probably start at the beginning. But first...” He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath. The breeze rattles in his ears. Was all of this worth it? All of this pain, all of this uncertainty, all of it?

Time to find out, whether he wants to or not.

Danny opens his eyes, breath hitching. Now or never. “Do you know what species your wings are?”

Phantom freezes. He blinks in confusion.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no, no. He fucked up. It was fake. It was the drink. It wasn’t real at all, and he was delusional. All of this time he’s wasted, and for what? For what? Another disappointment? Another fake dream? A knot forms in his throat as Phantom stares back at him. He can’t help the way his eyes start to gather tears. He drops his head to hide the tears that start to slip out. He fucked up. It wasn’t real, it was never real, and he—

“King vulture, I think?”

Danny’s head snaps back up, eyes wide.

“And yours...” Phantom rubs his chin, narrowing his eyes. “Carrion too, right?”

Stunned, he can only nod. He tries to choke something out, but it turns into mush before it leaves his lips. The knot climbs and twists and convulses in his throat.

“What kind?”

Danny’s hand snaps around Phantom’s wrist. He’s not thinking. He has to know, no matter the cost. He tugs Phantom forward, ignoring his yelp, angling his wing to meet Phantom’s fingers.

They don’t ghost through.

Danny feels the sensation spread through his feathers, the way it sparks down the arm of his wing, the way it settles pleasantly down his spine. More tears spill down his cheeks. The choked, elated laughter unties the knot in his throat. The sound is a gravel mix of years of exhaustion and newfound release. His hand is gripping Phantom’s wrist so tight he can feel the other boy’s pulse in his fingers. The thought distantly reaches him of this being a bad thing—grabbing someone so tight you can feel their blood beneath their skin.

He’s definitely not beating any type of stalker accusation any time soon.

“Sorry, sorry,” Danny chokes as he lets go of Phantom’s wrist. The boy recoils his hand like he’s been stung. Shame twinges in Danny’s chest.

Phantom rubs at his wrist. “Jeez, you could have at least asked me to dinner first,” he says, meeting Danny’s eyes. Curiosity blooms within the green, and by the way Phantom’s gaze shifts to Danny’s hands, he can intuit what he wants.

Danny watches Phantom suck in his lip, his brow furrowing. “You can’t touch your own either, yeah?” Danny asks for him.

This time Phantom’s head snaps up to meet him. “Can you—? For mine?”

Danny smiles. “Of course.”

Hesitantly, Phantom sits down and stretches out his wing into Danny’s lap. He lets out an audible gasp as Danny’s fingers comb through his feathers. He stretches out further, letting more spill into Danny’s lap. His gasps turn into little whines, his feathers rippling in pleasure. Danny slows, tugging back at the leash of muscle memory. This is someone that can feel each and every motion, and god does each noise Phantom makes remind him of that.

“Good?” Danny smirks, hands unrelenting.

“Fuck,” Phantom gasps, shifting so his back is facing Danny, wings spread demandingly. “Holy shit. Fuck. Fuck.”

“More?”

Phantom nods desperately. “Please?”

Danny hums, confidence swelling in his chest. “Usually I charge for this kind of thing,” he says, going from light touches to full preening mode. “But for you? Definitely free.”

“You- charge?” Phantom’s breath hitches as Danny thumbs circles around the base of his wing. “For this? I thought—”

“You’re the only other one I’ve met that can see them,” he murmurs. “And can feel them so strongly. And you’re the only one who can touch mine. But you might’ve heard of me, depending on what circles you’re in.”

“Wha’s that s’posed to mean?” Phantom’s head lolls to the side, eyes half-lidded. His breaths come short, cheeks rosy like he’s drunk. He just about purrs in enjoyment when Danny spreads out his primaries, sliding his forefinger and thumb along the shaft to straighten out the barbs.

“It’s my job,” he says. “People’s mysterious back pain tends to be a problem with their wings. So uh, preening is my profession.”

“Explains why you’re so good at this,” Phantom lets his head drop back towards his chest. “Then again, I haven’t felt...”

“It’s probably a lot, isn’t it?” Danny muses.

“A little bit.”

He pauses. “Do you want me to stop?”

Phantom shakes his head violently. “No! Keep going.”

“My, but aren’t you one demanding customer,” Danny chuckles, resuming his work. “At least take me to dinner first.”

“Shut up and keep going.” Phantom unconsciously adjusts his wing to accommodate Danny, guiding his hands to where they need them most. He tries to choke back pleased keens, but Danny gets to hear them anyway. Each fluttered gasp, each needy whimper, each hitched breath. It’s about as dizzying as knowing that he’s found him, he’s found someone else like him, and, if he’s reading the situation right, he might have someone new to introduce the next time he meets up with his friends.

“Didn’t you want me to explain myself earlier?” Danny asks after a bit.

Phantom lets his head tilt to the side. “I did. But then you grabbed my wrist like a weirdo.”

Heat floods his cheeks. “I wasn’t thinking,” he winces. “I needed to know.”

“Creep,” Phantom laughs softly. “Come on. Explain yourself then.”

“Well,” Danny pauses, idly scratching along the arm of Phantom’s wing, the motion stealing Phantom’s bravado as he returns to a breathy mess. “I saw you walking through the crowd, walking like you had control over your wings. I shouted at you.” He bites his lip. “You turned to look, and then before I could reach you you were gone. Part of me thought I made you up, because I was drunk as hell that night.”

“Was it bar crawl night?” Phantom asks.

“Yeah,” he replies. “And my birthday. What a present you were.” He sighs, closing his eyes. “I wrote down everything I remembered. Any and everything.”

“You made a stalker notebook?” Phantom’s snark is quickly buried by another pleasant gasp. “Should I actually be worried about being murdered? Shame, because you seem neat.”

“Neat? Me?” Danny laughs. “Please. I’m a single man living alone in an apartment with a couple of succulents. It’s not dirty, just... cluttered. Gotta leave room to spread out at least. Don’t look in the closets.”

“Because your stalker notebook is in there?”

“No! The stalker notebook is in the nightstand drawer, like a proper criminal!”

“Creep,” Phantom smirks.

Danny sticks out his tongue. “I am so incinerating it when I get home.”

“Aww, I don’t get to look?” Phantom whines as Danny pulls back his hands. He turns to look at him, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout. “It’s all about me! I should at least be able to take a peek.”

Danny shakes his head, feeling his cheeks heat up again. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Does it have pretty pictures of me in there?”

“Yes,” Danny answers, then freezes. “Wait, no! Nope! No drawings! Not a single one!”

Phantom laughs, and the sound spins with the sun, warm, inviting. Danny’s heart soars in reply. “Creep,” he says again, lightly whacking the side of Danny’s arm with his wing.

“I have a name, you know,” Danny huffs, rolling his eyes and getting back to work.

Phantom hums appreciatively. “You never told me what yours was.”

“I thought I did,” Danny frowns.

“You were too busy having a face journey.” Phantom sighs softly, his shoulders dropping. “Probably a hell of a mental journey too, if I’m reading you right. I don’t think you normally splat on the ground and break down when someone helps you up. And then say you found them. You know. Like a creep.”

The smirk in his tone is more than apparent. “Well, one, it’s Danny, and two, no I don’t do that—you’re the first one to get that treatment. Three, you are not making my nickname Creep!”

“What about Spook?” Phantom definitely has a shit-eating grin, Danny can feel it in his bones. “Stalker?”

“None of the above!” Danny pulls back, crossing his arms. “I do not want to explain any of that to my friends.”

“Aw, no matching nicknames?” Phantom turns to face him, and yep, there’s that shit-eating grin. “Phantom isn’t exactly a birth name, you know.” He tents his wings into his vision, his expression softening. “Wow. I never thought I’d ever see them look so good...”

“And I’m not quite done,” Danny says, taking Phantom’s shoulders and turning him around again. “Sit still. And, if you’re able to speak through it all, why did you go with Phantom?”

Phantom huffs, rolling his eyes. “Excuse you—” he cuts off into another choked whimper as Danny focuses his attention right at the base of the wings.

“Sorry, what?” he smirks, digging in his fingers. Instant KO, he notes as he massages the area, Phantom turning into putty in his hands. “Didn’t quite hear you there.”

“A-asshole,” Phantom gasps. “Fuck, right there—”

“I’ve never had a client be so demanding,” Danny purrs, scratching at just the right spot for Phantom to forget how to form words. “Maybe I’ll have to charge you after all.” He doesn’t let him reply as he switches his mode of attack. Phantom’s wingtips shudder in his peripherals, spread wide and quivering with each movement.

One large unintended wing flap later, and Danny finds his body has reacquainted itself with the grass and dirt beneath.

“Oh my god.” Phantom hovers over him, worried. “That wasn’t on purpose. Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

The way his green eyes slide up and down Danny’s body makes him shiver. Here he is, once again on the ground, staring up into the sky with the stranger he thought he’d never meet fretting over him. The absurdity of it all. A laugh bubbles up his throat, and he waves his hand in the air with a grin. “Hey. Come here often?”

“Oh my god.” Phantom takes his hand, hauling him back up. “Do I need to worry about you falling over a third time?”

“Maybe,” Danny locks eyes with him. “If you count falling for you? Then I’m sorry, but the third time has already happened.”

A blush spreads along Phantom’s cheeks, and he coughs, unable to find words for a moment. He scratches the back of his neck, feathers fluffing out as he stutters out sounds before his tongue remembers how to work. “You know, you should maybe take me to dinner first,” he finally chokes out, the blush spreading down to his neck and chest.

Danny reaches forward, taking Phantom’s hand, stilling him. “I’ll do that, in exchange for one thing,” he says, lightly pulling Phantom closer. He can feel Phantom’s breath flutter in the space between.

“Yeah?” Phantom’s gaze is solidly locked on him, only him, the rest of the world fading as he takes Danny’s other hand. “What’s your price?”

Danny’s trapped between acid green eyes and beautiful snow hair. He’s drowning. He’s flying. He can’t stop staring. He memorizes every single freckle, every twitch and shudder, and his gaze falls to plush lips. A kiss, his mind helpfully supplants. “I want you to preen me,” he says quietly. “And I’ll pay for dinner.”

Phantom looks as captivated as he feels. It takes a moment for his mind to turn and understand. Part of his expression falls, but it’s still bright enough for Danny not to feel like he said the wrong thing. “I’m not going to be as good as you,” he murmurs, pulling away from him. “You know that, right?”

“I’m well aware,” he says. “I can teach you, but I think that would be better done in a more private setting.”

“Smooth,” Phantom snorts. “Are you going to whisk me away to your shady apartment, and then kill me?”

“Perhaps,” Danny waves. “Only if you want, of course.”

“To be murdered?” Phantom raises an eyebrow.

“That too, I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

Danny sighs dramatically. “I mean, the clean-up is awful. Do you even know how hard it is to get blood out of fabric, much less carpet? It’s a nightmare!”

“And you know this because...?” Phantom nudges his shoulder, grinning widely. “What’s your body count?”

Danny nudges him back, the two of them linking hands as they make their way through the park. “Zero. It’s from personal experience.” He gestures at the trans patch. “Once again, more proof that evolution is a C student.”

Phantom laughs. “Right. It couldn’t even gender right.”

“Homophobic of it, I think,” Danny says, squeezing Phantom’s hand. Their wings slide and swing in unison, just as easily darting between each other as if trained for it. “You still owe me a story.”

“You still owe me your wing type.”

“Only after your story.”

Phantom rolls his eyes. “So demanding, for someone who I met crying in front of me.” He smirks, then his expression falls. “Well, I’m sure you know how it is trying to explain the wing thing. I gave it up pretty soon after, since all it got was weird looks and people asking me if I was okay in the way they do when they think you’re mentally ill. I mean, I am mentally ill, but who isn’t nowadays.”

“Felt,” Danny nods.

“We’ll talk about that episode later,” Phantom hums. “Anyways, I tried to ignore the whole wing thing, and tried to get comfortable with them ghosting through everything, but it just didn’t work. It made me feel much worse than actually just moving them around people. Sure, people said I walked weird, but I felt better, so fuck ‘em. However, I got a reputation for being quiet, and that people could feel me even though I wasn’t close to them before I changed tactics. Plus the whole white hair thing didn’t help. Genetics and stress, by the way. So the nickname Phantom stuck, and honestly I don’t mind it, so I let it stick. I feel like it’s more my name than my birth name ever was, but I’m sure you know how that feels.”

His lips twitch out a smile. “If you’re going to murder me, can you make sure that Phantom is on my tombstone? I would appreciate white roses too.”

“Oh my god I’m not going to murder you!” Danny throws up his free hand.

“You’re gonna lock me up in a dungeon?” Phantom smirks.

“Apartment. Building. No basement.”

“Tied and gagged in a closet?”

“My clothes and random stuff go in there buddy,” Danny pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please. When we meet up with my friends you can’t go on the murder route. Sam and Tucker won’t let me live it down, and Ivory would bring it up when I’m least expecting it.”

“Creep,” Phantom grins.

“Asshole.” Danny checks his hip, letting Phantom stumble. Of course, he tugs him back through their linked hands, unwilling to let him fall flat on his face like he has.

Phantom gives him an exaggerated glare, then smiles brightly again. “So. Wing type?”

“Condor,” Danny says, curling one into their vision. “Californian. No, I’m not from California. I don’t know how to swim and I certainly can’t afford to live there.” He guides them towards the bus stop, and to his luck, no one else is gathered under the structure. The roof is all but an afterthought, but it’s enough to shade them for the time being.

The weather is hot enough now that Danny should shed his jacket, but the thought of unlinking hands with Phantom is a frightening thing. Part of him still whispers and doubts all of this, that this is just a very vivid dream, and he’ll wake up alone as usual. Unfulfilled, lost, and even more empty now knowing what it would feel like meeting Phantom. He can’t lose him this time. He can’t.

He feels pressure tightening around his hand. His head snaps up, meeting Phantom’s concerned gaze. “Are you alright?” he asks again, voice soft.

“I...” Danny’s throat squeezes tight. Is he? Who knows. Definitely not him, that’s for sure. Honesty in communication is a good first step, he figures. “I don’t know,” he chokes. “Part of me still thinks that this is all a dream. I’ve just... it’s lonely, you know? Being the only one.”

Phantom presses against his side, his wing wrapping around Danny’s back. “Part of me thinks the same,” he admits quietly. “Finding someone else. I thought I was doomed to loneliness in the loony bin. Then fate threw you at my feet.”

Danny chews at his lip, looking away. Phantom cups Danny’s chin, guiding his gaze back. He smiles gently. “What a first impression. I don’t think my wildest dreams could think up something like that. We’re awake. You found me. Me, the only other person who can see them, feel them. And isn’t that just something?”

The gentle green of his eyes are like the leaves of his tree—comforting and soft, eager to listen and calm him. Once again he feels his eyes start to water, and he blinks heavily a few times to drive away the threatening tears. “It sure is something alright,” he murmurs. “Something I thought would never happen.”

“And here we are.”

“And here we are,” he whispers.

How long can he stare without it being weird? The gentle smile, the way the wind plays with his blinding hair, the nebulous green. Feathers ruffling, the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, the way his hand seems to slot perfectly with his own. His fingers soft, his pressure firm, his presence unwavering. Danny blinks, breaking the spell. This is going to be a thing, isn’t it, he realizes with dismay. Shame heating his cheeks, he looks away. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“It’s alright.” Phantom squeezes his hand. “It’s still quite novel, isn’t it?”

Danny nods, looking down at the cracks in the pavement. The concrete here has larger rocks mixed in with it, and the cracks follow along the weakening points.

Phantom nudges his shoulder. “Hey. Usually I’m not a fan of people staring at me, but the way you do...” he coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I like it a lot.”

Danny glances back at him. Embarrassed red colors Phantom’s cheeks. He shuffles his feet, biting his lip. Danny tilts his head, waiting for him to continue.

“I- I mean, you aren’t staring because I’m weird.” Phantom finds another place to look, apparently also finding something interesting in the pavement. “That’s the kind I don’t like, but it’s the kind I get often. But you... I don’t know. You- you look so starstruck, honestly. I find it hard to believe that I could be that to someone...”

This time, Danny places a finger on Phantom’s chin, tilting his head back up. He finds himself at a loss for words for a moment before collecting himself. “You are. To me, I mean.” Danny searches Phantom’s face, brightening when Phantom’s blush returns with a shy smile. A glimmer of guilt rises like bile in his throat. “This... this isn’t going too fast, is it?” he asks, dropping his hand. “Am I overstepping?”

“Depends on if you’re going to kill me or not,” Phantom hums. “That’s overstepping I think.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “So all of this is okay?”

“More than okay,” he replies, the bus roaring around the corner and lumbering to their stop. Their hands unlink for only as long as it takes to board and find empty seats. Phantom leans his head against Danny’s shoulder, his breath tingling against Danny’s neck. “Much more than okay.”

— — —

“Oh dear.”

Danny glances behind him, giving Phantom a withering look as he picks up his deteriorating headphones. “Yes, I know I need replacements.”

“They’re not even Audio-Technica?” Phantom frowns, flicking off more of the endless particles. “No wonder they’re dying hard. You, sir, are in dire need of a new set.”

Danny puffs his bangs out of his eyes. “Tuck’s been telling me that for years. And yet, he still hasn’t shelled them out as a birthday present.” He sets down the cardboard box on the bed. “Is this really the first time you’ve actually looked at my headphones this closely?”

Phantom shrugs, setting them aside. “Listen, I know I’ve been over a bunch, but now that I’m moving in I’m suddenly seeing everything in a different light. Such as how shit your setup is.”

“It’s workable!” Danny protests.

“It whines louder than a cat pestering you for dinner,” Phantom crosses his arms. “And that’s when you’re playing lower end games. I don’t think Tremor is supposed to describe what your poor fan is doing in there.”

Danny sticks his tongue out at him. “And you never noticed this while laying on my bed with your laptop?”

“I noticed. I just didn’t say anything, like a proper guest.”

“Guest?” Danny says, aghast. “You’ve demoted me again? What happened to ‘boyfriends?’”

Phantom grins, pulling out a familiar notebook from behind his back. “That’s because someone tried to throw out their stalker notebook without thinking I would notice.” He opens it up to a random page, clearing his voice. “‘He has beautiful white hair, and wonderful green eyes. I know I only saw him for a moment, but I’ll never forget the sight. I hope I find him. I hope he’s real.’”

“Hey!” Danny lunges at him, but Phantom deftly dodges him, continuing on.

“‘Had another dream about him. I couldn’t run fast enough to meet him. Just like that day. Is it bad for me to just want to see if what I thought was right? Am I putting him on some pedestal that he’ll never reach? What if he’s an asshole? What then? I still want to know. I hope he’s not a terrible person.’” Phantom pushes Danny’s forehead away with a grin, twisting gracefully and shutting Danny down with a stretch of his wings. “What pretty pictures, Danny. Why would you want to get rid of this?”

Danny growls, reaching through Phantom’s feathers to try to grab the notebook. “Because someone might use it for blackmail later!”

Phantom gasps dramatically. “Me? Blackmail? I would never!”

“As if you haven’t already used it to make me pay for dinner!” Danny scrabbles his hands around Phantom’s chest, face shoved into the arm of Phantom’s wing. “Or goad me into a bar crawl with Boxer. Or have me do raids with you and Tucker. Or unhelpfully using that and puppy eyes at me to buy you some books at Sam’s place. Or pay for her melts. Which I would’ve done anyway.”

“I will admit, the bar crawl with Boxer was a horrible idea,” Phantom concedes. “Who knew one man could drink so much and feel nothing.” He slides away from Danny, putting the notebook on a high shelf.

“Why did you have to be taller than me?” Danny whines, now wrapping his arms around Phantom’s waist. “Life is so unfair.”

Phantom walks to the bed, Danny stumbling behind him as he stubbornly keeps his hold. He squawks as Phantom twists and throws him down on the bed, standing over him with a grin. “Hey. Come here often? Have you fallen for me again?”

“Forcibly,” Danny grumbles, shivering as Phantom starts to run his hands through his feathers. He lets out a small gasp when his fingers rub gentle circles into them, his body relaxing into the sheets. “Oh...”

“Are the lessons paying off?” Phantom hums, lightly tapping him to flip over. Danny happily obliges, spreading out his wings and bunching a pillow under his head. He gives a pleased hum in reply, closing his eyes and letting the feeling wash over him.

Phantom’s first attempt was hardly passable, though even with his lack of skill the amount of relief Danny felt was incredible and impossible to describe. He tried to verbalize it, and instead ended up just doodling hearts in his notebook. Phantom came over whenever he could, and eventually they found a way to teach and practice, Danny using Phantom’s feathers to show the technique, Phantom using Danny’s to perfect it. Phantom would stay over longer. Danny would close up shop a little earlier. They would find excuses to stay over longer. Phantom would fall asleep in Danny’s bed. Danny wouldn’t wake him and just snuggle in with him. Oh no, what a shame—looks like he’ll have to make breakfast for the both of them again.

Valerie scoffed when Phantom kept appearing in Danny’s shop, staying cordial until Phantom found her criminal justice studies interesting, then she never shut up. Sam rolled her eyes each time they came for sandwiches hand in hand, soon learning Phantom’s favorite and already making them by the time they made it to the counter. Tucker got annoyed at the two of them distracting the other while gaming. Ivory gave them a knowing wink when they went to Highrise. Jazz needled out the information that he had a boyfriend. He got a call later that day from Jack, Maddie, and Vlad, all congratulating him and asking when he was coming over for dinner.

Dinner with his family was both fine and mortifying. Luckily, Phantom did not mention the stalker angle, only that Danny literally fell for him the day they met, and again, and then once more for good measure. He didn’t tell his family that the last fall was only metaphorical. A new patch arrived in the mail; a person faceplanted solidly into the ground. He rolled his eyes as he added it to the jacket. A brand of shame, he joked.

Phantom’s fingers slide through his secondaries, and Danny lets himself groan and melt into the mattress. Even after countless grooming sessions, his wings still felt as sensitive as the first time. Each slippery brush, each circle of pressure, each spreading of feathers; all of it would flood his nerves and leave him a shaking and boneless mess almost every time.

Not that Phantom was different. He, too, would end up just as boneless and breathless by the end.

Phantom’s fingers quest down the arm of his wing, circling teasingly at the base. Danny shudders, and he can feel Phantom grinning widely at him as a full-bodied moan escapes his throat. Of course he would cheat like that, going straight for the instant KO move. Danny can’t find it in himself to be bothered by it.

Phantom leans over him, lips brushing against his ear. “What pretty little noises you make,” he breathes. “Almost as pretty as those pictures of me.”

He can’t reply, not with Phantom’s fingers massaging him expertly. He shoves his face into the pillow instead, feeling the heat coloring his ears. “Asshole,” he mumbles into the fabric.

His heart soars when Phantom laughs quietly, pressing a kiss to the crown of Danny’s head. He slows his fingers, running them up Danny’s spine instead, curling around his shoulders, and twisting him to the side to meet his eyes.

After all of this time, Danny still finds himself stunned by those enchanting green eyes. They had haunted him for so long, teasing him, tugging him forward only to drown him in disappointment. Now they tease in a different way, playful and bright, like dandelion seeds on the breeze. He finds himself drowning in them, willingly giving in to the siren song.

Phantom steals a kiss from his lips. “No preening until we’ve unpacked,” he chides. “Come on. The rest of the gang are gonna be here soon.”

“You’re the one who started it,” Danny says, lifting himself off the bed. “I was unpacking before someone got all handsy again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Phantom grins, pulling him into a hug. “You’re acting crazy right now.”

“Are you gaslighting me?” Danny presses a kiss to Phantom’s neck.

“I don’t know. Am I?”

Danny shoves a finger into Phantom’s side, smirking as he yelps and jumps away. He rubs his side, giving him an offending look. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

Danny just shrugs, sauntering by him and tugging him down to kiss him. “I love you, you idiot.”

Phantom hums against his lips, his hands questing through Danny’s hair. “I love you too.” His breath ghosts warm along his skin. “Creep.”

“Asshole,” Danny smiles, closing his eyes. Their wings slide along each other as they stand, basking in each other’s light. Like they’re sunning against the other, wings spread to capture all of their essence. Standing together like this, held and holding, time slows, stops, and allows the moment to stretch. Breath mists between the gaps. Skin against skin, wing against wing—still so novel, so new, so right. His wings no longer a source of shame, but pride, now that they’re as immaculate as they can be. A constant reminder of Phantom, and him leaving his own mark with Phantom before they inevitably have to separate for the day. Legs tangled together underneath sheets, wings splayed over the other, the rise and fall of their chests syncing as they fall into sleep once again.

The nights where Danny wakes before Phantom still leaves him in awe. The snow-white hair of his other half swaying over his closed eyes with his breath. Him slowly blinking open his bright green eyes, a smile gracing his face when he sees Danny staring at him again. He doesn’t hide it; Phantom is his everything, and he will take in all of his everything whenever he has the chance, just like now.

“I love you,” Danny breathes. “I love you. I love you.”

“And I you,” Phantom whispers back. “And I you. And I you.”

Danny smiles, and when the doorbell rings, he hangs on just a little bit longer than he should. He watches Phantom love-stumble his way to the door, still not composed as he welcomes in their friends. Not that they would know. He meets Phantom’s eyes, giving him a knowing grin.

Boxes are moved and unpacked in a whirlwind of activity. They chat about any and everything, laughing together, congratulating the two on finally getting through their thick heads on getting a place together. They gripe about the aches and pains of moving during their celebration pizza. Another set of congratulations as they leave. The door latches shut, and silence blankets their apartment.

Danny sighs, slumping into the couch. Phantom joins him, looking just as exhausted as he feels. Danny offers his hands, and Phantom stretches a wing into his lap, sighing pleasantly as Danny preens him.

“You know, if you told me last year that I would be moving in with someone I saw leaving the bar on my birthday, I would’ve said you were crazy,” Danny murmurs quietly.

Phantom purrs next to him, fluttering his eyes open and giving him a tired smile. “Yeah? And if someone told me this random guy who tripped and fell and started crying when he saw me would be my boyfriend, and I would move in with him despite the stalker notebook? I would also call them crazy.”

Danny snorts. “You’re never gonna let that go, will you?”

“No,” Phantom hums, closing his eyes and resting his head on Danny’s shoulder. “And yet, here we are. I’m getting preened, I’m falling asleep on my boyfriend, and I feel...” he scrunches his brow, searching for words. “Fantastic. Light. Loved.” He blinks up at Danny with his drowsy smile. “I love you. So, so much. God. I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Danny smiles back, ruffling Phantom’s hair and kissing his forehead. “I’m so happy I found you. That we’re together. I’m preening my boyfriend who can also preen me back, and we’re falling asleep on the couch of our own place and I don’t even care that my neck will probably hurt in the morning. He lets me stare at him like a creep because I find him so attractive. I can’t help my wandering eyes. He means the world to me.” He glances down, humming softly. “You mean the world to me.”

His world hums back, pressing a kiss to Danny’s neck. “I love you. I love you.”

“I love you, I love you.” Danny kisses the crown of his head.

His neck hurts in the morning.

He doesn’t care.

Not with his other half sleeping peacefully in his lap, allowing Danny to drink him in for as long as he can, to solidify that yes, this is all real, that Phantom is his. He fingers the small box in his pocket, smiling as Phantom stirs, blinking groggily up at him.

“Hello, beautiful.”