Alley Cat.
includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. hurt/comfort.
warnings— ptsd. trauma. panic. abuse. breathing exercises. genuinely be careful.
Cats are never offered the benefit of the fucking doubt.
Selfish, standoffish, distrustful; all labels from those who's hand the cat rejects. But strays wander the gutters of society, and they see man for all it tries to hide amongst itself. You show your true colors around an animal, they say.
When you claw at the cotton of his shirt, desperate for the touch of a human you miraculously deemed safe, Keigo cannot help but be reminded of a stray cat left clawing for safety.
"I can't fucking take this anymore," you sob and wrack your breaths, clutching the fabric of his shirt. He lets you for a moment, lets you wet his clothes with tears, evidence of the pain he aches to take away. "I can't do this– everyone, Kei'. It hurts– you have to believe me, please believe me–"
He hushes you, walking you backwards with his thumbs rubbing soothing circles at the crest of your cheeks, until the back of your knees hits the soft of the mattress below. He crouches down, sharp yet gentle eyes demanding your current attention. Your eyes are wide, sitting stiff and pupils blown. He holds up a single finger for you to focus on, speaking with calm authority.
"Baby. Baby, look at me. Just like that," he visibly softens when you eye his movement, the hand in front of you swaying like the simplest foliage in a breeze. Careful and attentive, you place your trust in him; in its entirety, its sacred entirety. He'll never take that for granted.
All the riches in the world at his disposal never mattered to him. It can't, never could compete when held to the light of what you offer.
Your trust. You trust him with the crumbling heart you shield from the world. Everyone but him gets bared jaws and wild, gnashed teeth.
To you, your defensive snarls are an ugly sound; but to him, it can't be. Not when the mere sight of him, and only him, could get the stray cat of your heart to calm its raised hairs and cease to hiss.
"Thank you, baby. Still with me?" You shudder. You can't nod right now, but that's fine. "You're safe with me. We're going to breathe, okay?"
He asks it like a guiding question, but with the undercurrent of an order.
Stable. Perfect.
Breathing... Breathing is easy, right? You muse to yourself through gulping breaths. Keigo knows how to breathe. Keigo is good at breathing. He'll teach you.
"With me, okay?" He smells like oak. Warm, sunny oak. "In through your nose, fill your belly first. Deep. Then your chest. Count to five with me," he instructs, breathing along like the gentlest visual guide. "Hold for five. Perfect. Now exhale, get the air out your chest first. Then the belly, push out firm, get all the air out. Do that with me for five seconds."
He smiles approvingly, eyes twinkling at the firm furrow of your brow. His perfect sweetheart, trying so good for him. "There we are. Hold for five again before you inhale. And repeat."
You follow his footsteps, like the clumsiest dance. As the clock ticks by, your lightheadedness calls your attention.
You clutch at the fuzzy sleeves of his hero costume's coat. "Feels a bit dizzy."
"Good," he beams. "That means it's working."
"K-Kei'," you stutter still. Calmer, but stuttering still. "S-Sor– I'm s-sorry."
You feel a gentle kiss at the corner of each eye. The saltiness of your tears doesn't deter him one bit. "Nothin' to be sorry for, dove. I've got you."
What feels like eons of comfortable silence drapes the room, covers your shoulders like the thickest shield of feathers. You don't even notice the tangible, real ones, the ones from his wings, surrounding you for the longest time; like they're meant to be there. Meant to shield you away from the ghastly realities and pinpricks that crawl up your spine.
Distantly, it occurs to him that perhaps he was always meant to protect you. Nothing else in his life has ever felt so natural. He was never asked to do this, never made to. His soul beckons him to you, to be the shade of your resting tree.
Sturdy and firm and earthy, you think. You can nestle by the roots, press against the grounding bark for stability. The leaves of his feathers will shade you here, the branches of his wings swaying with a gentleness that masks the power of a great oak.
Even stray cats don't belong in gutters. Even if they can survive, scrape out alive, that isn't where they're meant to be. Before man built cities from scaffolds, the cat was free to roam nature as its own. It was free to rest.
"I don't understand," you start with an enraged quiver lacing your throat. "Why it has to be this way. Why people hurt people. Why everyone around me is dangerous."
Keigo knows. He's seen too much with his own eyes to doubt what you say. Wordlessly, he lifts you into his lap, scooting toward the corner of the bed that faces the wall. You'll feel safer by something sturdy.
In the barely there light dripping from the open window, you feel the breeze drifting inside. You want to close it. You know Keigo wouldn't let you. Fresh air is good for you.
"Why? Why do we accept it? I don't understand what is wrong with people."
He hums, interlacing your fingers with his. He watches the downturn of your eyes, marvels at how they sit in the shade of your lashes; those same lashes that are beaded with far too old tears.
"I can't promise answers, dove." He swallows thick; it's a contemplative action before he steels his voice, firmer and more resolved than you've ever heard. "But I can promise I'll protect you."
The furrow of his brow, the righteous rage on your behalf lacing his tone, is all you need to know how serious he is. He speaks with the finality you could only expect from a man as dedicated to his mission as Keigo himself.
"As long as you'll let me protect you, no one will touch a hair on your head. That's a promise."
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