Y/n stands in the doorway of the spare room, suitcase clutched in both hands. It's light. Pathetically light. The kind of light that makes it obvious there's almost nothing inside.

The room is... empty. A bed. A dresser. A window with the curtains half-drawn, letting in the late afternoon sun. No posters, no personality, no sign that anyone was ever meant to live here.

Y/n steps inside. The floorboards creak underfoot. The suitcase opens with a soft click, revealing the few folded shirts, a pair of jeans, some underwear. That's it. No photos. No keepsakes. No childhood treasures. Just the bare minimum, packed by hands that didn't care enough to add anything more.

Behind Y/n, Hawks shifts his weight. His wings spread slightly, red feathers catching the light, fanning out like a bird asserting its territory. He scratches the back of his head, looking anywhere but at the small figure in front of him.