Haruka kept his head down as he walked through the school gates.

Wings brushed past him on both sides—white, black, silver, even soft shades of pink. Feathers filled the air like drifting snow.

Everyone had wings.

Everyone except him.

He adjusted his sleeves slightly, making sure they covered his arms completely. No one said anything anymore. They didn’t need to. The looks were enough.

Why doesn’t he have wings?

Is he even normal?

He had heard it all before.

Haruka didn’t react. He never did.

That was the easier way to live.

The classroom was loud, full of laughter and conversation, feathers shifting and stretching in the morning light. Haruka slipped into his seat near the window without a word.

Nine months.

That’s all he had left.

Nine months until he could leave this place behind.

Nine months until… something.

He didn’t finish that thought.

He never did.

A group of students passed by his desk.

“Still no wings?” one of them muttered, not even bothering to lower their voice.

Another laughed. “Maybe they just forgot to give him some.”

Haruka stared at his desk.

Blank.

Empty.

Like always.

The teacher’s voice faded into the background as Haruka looked out the window. The sky was clear today—endless and blue.

Wings belonged in the sky.

That’s what everyone said.

So where did that leave someone like him?

Later that afternoon, a notice was posted on the board:

Inter-School Exchange Event

Students from different schools would gather for one day.

Haruka almost ignored it.

Almost.

He didn’t know why he went.

Maybe it was curiosity.

Maybe it was boredom.

Or maybe… a small, quiet part of him wanted something to change.

The event was crowded.

Too crowded.

Voices overlapped. Wings brushed against him from every direction. Laughter, chatter, movement—it all felt too loud, too close.

Haruka froze.

His breathing grew uneven.

Too many people.

Too much noise.

Too much—

He stepped back, then again, until his shoulders hit the wall.

I can’t breathe.

His vision blurred slightly as the crowd kept moving, not noticing him, not caring.

Of course they didn’t.

Why would they?

---

“Hey—”

A voice cut through the noise.

Close.

Clear.

Different.

Haruka flinched slightly as someone stepped in front of him, blocking out the crowd.

“You’re okay,” the boy said gently.

Haruka looked up.

White feathers.

Bright.

Clean.

Almost glowing.

The boy in front of him smiled—warm, easy, like it came naturally.

“I’m Akira,” he said. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Haruka blinked, trying to focus.

“…I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Akira replied immediately, still smiling—but softer now. “But that’s okay.”

No one had ever said that to him before.

---

Akira shifted slightly, spreading his wings just enough to shield Haruka from the crowd.

It was subtle.

Protective.

Intentional.

“Just focus on me, okay?” he said. “Breathe slowly.”

Haruka hesitated… then did.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The noise started to fade.

“…Why?” Haruka asked quietly.

Akira tilted his head. “Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

Akira laughed softly, like the question itself didn’t make sense.

“Because you looked like you needed it.”

Simple.

Too simple.

Haruka didn’t understand it.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Akira grinned slightly.

“You’re the first wingless person I’ve ever met,” he said.

Haruka tensed.

Here it comes.

The judgment.

The questions.

The disgust.

But Akira just smiled wider.

“That’s kind of cool.”

Haruka froze.

“…What?”

And for the first time in a long time—

Something inside him shifted.

The noise of the event slowly returned, but it didn’t feel as overwhelming anymore.

Not with Akira standing in front of him.

“Come on,” Akira said, glancing back with a small smile. “Let’s get out of the crowded area.”

Haruka hesitated… then followed.

He didn’t know why.

Maybe it was the way Akira spoke so easily.

Or how he didn’t look at him like something was wrong.

---

They moved toward a quieter hallway, the sounds of laughter fading behind them.

For a moment, it was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

---

“Well?” Akira said, stretching his wings slightly. “You gonna tell me your name, or should I keep calling you ‘mysterious wingless guy’?”

“…Haruka.”

“Haruka,” Akira repeated, like he was testing the name. “I like it.”

Haruka looked away.

“…You don’t have to pretend.”

“Pretend what?”

“That you care.”

---

Akira stopped walking.

“…I’m not pretending.”

---

Before Haruka could respond, voices echoed from the hallway ahead.

“Yo, isn’t that him?”

Haruka’s body went still.

He knew that tone.

---

Three students stood near the corner—wings dark and sharp, expressions already twisted with amusement.

“Wow,” one of them said, stepping forward. “They actually let you in here?”

Another laughed. “Guess they’re lowering standards now.”

---

Haruka’s fingers curled slightly at his sides.

Just ignore it.

Just wait for it to end.

That’s what he always did.

---

“Where are your wings?” one of them mocked, walking closer. “Or did they fall off?”

Laughter.

Loud.

Too loud.

---

Haruka lowered his head.

“…It’s fine,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

---

“Fine?”

The voice beside him changed.

Not loud.

Not joking.

Just… sharp.

---

Akira stepped forward.

Slowly.

Calmly.

But something about him felt completely different now.

---

“Say that again,” Akira said.

The hallway went quiet.

---

One of the boys scoffed. “What, you his babysitter or something?”

Akira didn’t laugh.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t move.

“I said,” he repeated, voice lower this time, “say it again.”

There was a pause.

Then—

“Tch. Whatever,” the boy shrugged. “We’re just messing with the wingless—”

“Don’t.”

Akira’s wings spread slightly.

Not fully.

Just enough.

But it was enough to feel it.

The air shifted.

Heavy.

Pressured.

“Don’t call him that,” Akira said.

For the first time, the group hesitated.

“…Why do you care so much?” one of them asked, frowning.

Akira didn’t even look at them.

His eyes stayed on Haruka.

“Because,” he said quietly, “he didn’t do anything to deserve that.”

Haruka blinked.

“Let’s go,” Akira added, turning slightly toward him. “They’re not worth your time.”

The group didn’t stop them.

Didn’t laugh again.

Didn’t say anything.

As they walked away, Haruka felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest.

Not fear.

Not emptiness.

Something… warmer.

“…You didn’t have to do that,” Haruka said after a while.

Akira glanced at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I did.”

Haruka frowned slightly.

“…Why?”

Akira smiled again—but this time, it wasn’t light or teasing.

It was certain.

“Because I don’t like seeing people get hurt,” he said.

Then after a pause—

“Especially you.”

Haruka stopped walking.

“…Why me?”

Akira looked back at him, gold hair catching the light again, green eyes steady.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted.

“…But I want to.”

And for the second time that day—

Haruka didn’t have an answer.

But this time…

He didn’t feel like running away.