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You’re not used to the quiet.
Nights were often spent in rowdy, rundown bars in the company of rambunctious villains, doing dangerous and risky undercover work.
The pounding music reverberating through your body, the jeers and hoots ringing in your ears as they lose themselves in drunken stupor, the way they'd get into violent scuffles sometimes pulling you into the fray.
Hawks’ apartment is anything but.
It’s almost silent, save for the faint muffle of the television drifting through the air, and the far away sound of traffic — strange, even for somewhere in the outskirts of the city — barely there even with the window swung wide open, letting in a cool soft breeze.
You sit up, careful, incredibly conscious of how the entire lower half of your body is still very sore.
Your last mission was the most dangerous you ever had, winding up with more bruises and injuries you had bargained for. Engaging in combat with a whole bar of villains, even if lowly ranked, wasn't a great idea. But you had no choice however, when they started to threat public safety with their unruliness.
A weight settles beside you, and from the corner of your eyes you make out the silhouette of a familiar pair of wings.
Hawks takes a seat on the edge of the bed, the tips of his large wings lightly tickling your face in greeting. You giggle weakly, voice still hoarse from overuse, but the sound is enough to bring a small smile to Hawks’ lips.
“Hey. You’re finally up.”
You wonder why your heart decides to skip a beat now.
Flirting, suggestive comments and the like, and the sweetest of pet names were all something you’ve gotten used to working so closely with him. But this early morning, there’s something heavier in the air between you.
“Last night was pretty rough on you—”
Maybe it’s the way his voice is completely devoid of that.
“—If I had gotten there sooner then—”
Or maybe it’s the way the warm amber of his gaze smoulders softly in the gentle morning light when he finally connects his gaze with yours. Was he always this handsome? Your breath grows a little short under their glow.
Hawks coughs under your scrutiny. “Anyways, how’re you feeling?”
A familiar, warm hand settles on the crown of your head, gently stroking your hair and immediately your heartbeat settles.
“... Better.”
Skepticism is written all over Hawks’ face as he raises a brow at you in question. But it’s missing its usual humour and edge of playfulness, his eyes sharp for once as they bore into you.
“Really,” you say, sitting up and trying to mask the pain throbbing from your bruises, “A few cuts and bruises aren’t gonna kill me, you know.”
“You lost a good amount of blood.”
“It’s fine.”
“You were knocked out for hours.”
“After the mission,” you add. Hawks stares incredulously.
“How does that make things better?”
“Have you forgotten my quirk?” You scoff. “Pain transfer is more effective the more hurt I am. I’m used to this, it’s fine. Seriously."
A look of regret passes Hawks’ face, but it’s gone before you can dwell on it too much.
He knew about the nature of your quirk but still—
You had no idea how much you meant to him, did you?
And apparently he hadn’t a clue either.
At least, not up until the events of last night had transpired and the sight of blood soaking through your hero costume. The mere idea of losing you had unlocked a flurry of emotions he had never thought he was capable of.
Somewhere down the line, you had managed to wheedle your way into his heart without him knowing. It wasn’t only through the numerous missions you’ve partnered together that helped forged the bond between you, but the little moments in between that have been just as important.
Moments like these, where he has you to himself — no hero business, no villains, nothing to worry about or get in the way of getting to know you better.
Granted, he had envisioned tonight a little different.
The frown on his face does nothing to quell the restless energy inside you and frustration surges in you at the sight.
What was he so worried for? You weren’t helpless. This wasn’t even the most violent scuffle you’ve ever gotten into, you’ve sustained plenty of harsher injuries in the past and because of the nature of your quirk, you’ve grown quite a high tolerance for pain.
Your partner opens his mouth to retort, but you’ve had enough. You’re so tired and you don’t even think you have the capacity to get on your two feet, but you still try anyways.
“Anyways. Thank you for the hospitality. I’ll be off now.”
Hawks eyes widen in alarm when you swing your legs over the opposite side of the bed in a move to get out.
“Hey-” he drawls, getting up. As much as he tries to keep up his nonchalance, you can hear a slight edge to his voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I want to go home.”
His wrist encloses over yours just as you’re about to get up and you’re equal parts grateful and frustrated. Grateful, because without his support, you might’ve crumpled in pain thanks to a stomach injury.
Stubbornly, you try to pull away but—
“Mizuki.”
Your breath catches in your throat when your real rolls off his tongue.
“... What now?” Your response comes out more breathily than you would’ve liked.
“Just… stay.”
There’s no airs and no pretenses in the way he utters his request. Tonight is the most serious you’ve ever seen or heard you’re often flippant and seemingly disinterested partner, and you’re a little unnerved to be honest.
Any feelings you had been trying to keep under wraps were threatening to jump out, if the way your heart is racing against your ribcage is anything to go by.
“I…”
Words vanish with the warmth of his hand wrapping around your wrist slowly quelling any annoyance you held. It’s rather grounding, how he guides you back under the covers with the utmost gentleness, so careful to not strain any of your injuries, some of which you were unaware of.
Just how closely was he paying attention to you? Your heart lurches at his consideration.
Despite how yielding you are towards his maneuvering, Hawks can sense the hesitation inside you. You two are similar in a sense — agreeable and more prone to withdrawing into yourselves, preferring to be outwardly friendly and pleasant, trying to leave as light of an impact as possible. But his reasons were more selfish, and his heart aches for your kindness.
“I’ll take care of you,” he says slowly, “so just relax, okay?”
When he’s met with the dumbstruck look on your face, he quickly backtracks. The surreality of seeing panic on his face almost makes you want to smile. But then—
“I mean-let me take care of you?”
Your lips part slightly in surprise at his sudden earnest disposition, and you can faintly feel your cheeks heating up underneath his heavy gaze.
“Or I can bring you home, if that’s what you-”
“Okay.”
“-want- wait, what?”
“Okay.” You repeat, quieter this time, more timid as you relax in his hold, slipping out of his arms to make yourself comfortable in the bed. It’s rather difficult, you realise your wounds are very fresh and pain wracks through your nerves as you start to lay back down. Hawks is quick to react, gently guiding and supporting your form, and you can’t be anymore thankful.
“And to answer your question earlier-” you pause, trying to not mind the look of surprise on his face. Your voice is so small as you try to not give too much emotion away. “-It hurts. Everything is sore and I feel so tired.”
Hawks doesn't say a word. He just looks at you like he's hanging onto every single word you're saying and memorising every inch of your face. You want to look away, or hide under the blankets but you stare resolutely back, as if telling him wordlessly that you're here to stay.
He reaches over, a careful fingertip tracing a thin cut down your collarbone.
“I‘m sorry.” He whispers.
“No, it’s fine.”
You’re breathless at how soft he is.
There's so much regret marring the handsome face of his — clearly recalling the events of last night and all the what if’s and ways he could’ve done things better— and your heart aches at how evident his care for you is. But you can’t help but shudder in anticipation as his fingertip skims gently over your skin, waiting for him to trail down lower and then lower past your chest, even more lower towards—
He pulls away, grabbing the blanket you hadn’t noticed was slipping off your shoulder and secures it up to your neck snugly.
“Don't want you catching a cold.” He answers the question in your eyes, a light smirk playing on his lips as if that small little touch gave him insight into your desires.
“Hawks…” You’re pouting and your brows are furrowed as you look at him pointedly, but the annoyance you feel quickly mellows when you feel his arm pull you to his chest. He snickers softly at you, but the sound of it does something to your heart, your desire mingling with something deeper and warmer.
You know he senses it too, with the way he coughs and looks away, but instead of both of you pulling away in embarrassment at your exposed emotions, he tugs you to his chest, and you melt into him deliberately, letting him feel your emotions, and he you.
“When I found you like that-” he begins but halts abruptly, as if the memory is too heavy for him to recount. “I never felt more scared in my life.”
Your breath hitches in your throat at his admission, but it’s a warm kind of shock that has your heart pulsing and aching with something new. You tighten your arms around his waist in reassurance, and he squeezes back gently, careful and conscious of where your wounds are.
“Sorry,” you whisper. His hand hovers over your side, knowing the cut wrapped in gauze and hidden underneath your clothes but before he can pull his hand away, you catch his with your own and place it on your wounded size, hand squeezing his. “It’s just the best way to use my quirk.”
Deliberately taking damage during combat and touching surrounding villains to pass on the pain was your number one strategy in combat. You liked playing a risky game, letting yourself get inflicted with the roughest wounds you could stand, dangerously toeing the line of life-threatening ones, all in order to transmit as much pain as possible.
And so when you finished dealing with an impressive number of ruffians, it was no surprise to find yourself unconscious and bleeding.
Hawks wasn’t quite used to it yet. And you shouldn’t be either— it’s a rather reckless way to fight.
“But it does hurt a lot.” It’s your turn to stroke his hair comfortingly. “So next time, I’ll be careful or wait for you if it’s a lot of them.”
He hums in satisfaction, scooping you more with his arms to embrace you more wholly.
With your bodies connected, you’re both highly attuned to each other’s emotions. You tend to shy away from any kind of physical affection for that reason — it was basically baring your heart out to someone, and them baring theirs to you — but the comfort and warmth swirling inside you is unmistakably his, and nobody, not anyone has ever transmitted such emotions before.
These were the most tenderest emotions you’ve ever felt from someone.
Warm and snug, the sound of traffic is far away and barely there as you nuzzle yourself deeper into his chest. Only the faint muffle of the television drifts through the air creating such a homely little atmosphere.
For a moment, you can pretend that the world isn’t crumbling around you. That the looming threat of the League of Villains didn’t exist. That you were just a normal girl, cuddling her boyfriend in the early hours of a cool Saturday morning.
Boyfriend ... You’re stunned by your own audacity, but pressed tightly to his chest, the steady beat of his heart is comforting and grounding against the thoughts flooding your mind.
An amused grin creeps its way up on Hawks’ face as he sees the tips of your ears redden. He has half the mind to tease you, but he bites his lip and pulls you to his chest to embrace you more fully, while he rubs comforting circles in your back, listening closely to your heartbeat slowing.
“Keigo?” You snuggle into his chest.
It’s like you’ve found your sanctuary again. In his warmth, your body recognises peace, and sleep begins to creep up on you slowly.
“Yeah?” He murmurs back. There’s a pause as you fight off your sleep to remember what you wanted to say, and it’s a quiet kiss, soft and featherlight on the crown of your head, that pulls you back momentarily. If it weren’t for the warm exhale of his breath afterwards, you surely would’ve missed it, falling slowly asleep yourself.
In your last moments of consciousness, you push forward, kissing the skin of his collarbone back.
“Thank you.”
By the time you pull away, you’re too far gone to see the way he lights up red and buries his face in your neck.
Hawks exhales slow and deep, willing his heartbeat to calm down from its high as he melts himself into your embrace, watching you fall into deeper sleep, but little does he know the feelings of warmth and fondness he channels to your unconscious form.
That night, you dream of familiar crimson wings.
You kiss him in your dreamscape and before sleep can take over him, something warm blooms in his heart.
I love you.