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HAWKS WAS NEVER ONE to have favorites. Sure, he had a few but he could count them in his right hand. His favorite drink, his favorite restaurant, his favorite hero, and his favorite… person.
Cut him some slack, he’s quite unsure if you could still be his favorite person. Can you still be his favorite person?
Is he allowed to feel for you, still?
Is it okay to let his thumb stop at the delete button on his screen as he instead stares at the photo of you laughing over something silly?
You looked lovely, Hawks would sigh. He knows he couldn’t get himself to delete the photo. The crinkle of your eyes, the white of your teeth, the sound of your laughter, and the way your lips curve to the smile he deemed perfect. Oh, you look lovely.
Hawks closes his eyes tightly and tries to delete again. He succeeds but the image of you is stuck in his mind. Hawks wonders how long it would take until it fades away, overwhelmed with work and other pressing matters. It might take a few days. Then he’ll forget about that photo. He has to, anyway.
But you don’t only live in Hawks’ photo gallery. You live everywhere around him. You are the blue sky that envelopes the whole world, the blue raging oceans that conquer the Earth; you are everywhere.
And it all started with the cameras flashing.
***
IT’S A LOVE STORY everyone used to swoon over. Now that they think about it, it just makes people feel a bit of sadness. That sadness isn’t comparable with what Hawks has. His is large, bigger than oceans and deeper than any injuries he’s ever had.
He met you for the cameras.
It wasn’t always that Hawks took in the modelling gigs placed in folders on top of his desk. But, still, he found it fun. Useful for practicing expressions, too. Photographers lauded his excellent acting in front of the camera, unaware that he was still acting off-cam.
Reveal yourself, then it’s attachment. Painful unnecessary attachment. He lives with black and white colors. Sheets white, mugs black, toothbrush standard white and his photo gallery empty. Such is the life of someone who must only dedicate himself to saving the country. What he likes, what he doesn't— it didn’t matter. He must always keep himself separate from everything and he must always act to reassure. Acting, acting and acting. Maybe he should try for an Oscar since he’s got the whole country believing in his smiles.
To be honest, it was getting tiring.
He was now empty. No actual personality at all. At least, that’s how he felt.
“Look at me, stop getting distracted.” An assertive voice smoothly cuts through his thoughts. Hawks’ eyes flutter to stare at your face. Your eyes are studying his expression, intently. Eyebrows furrowing, lips pressing and a hand raising in front of the camera to signal a stop, you say, “Are you okay?”
You move back from the position they have directed him and you to do— where he had to gaze at you while you hung in front of him. Hawks only musters a side smile and pulls you back to his chest, “Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Everything resumes and the cameras continue to flash. But you lean forward, gripping his shoulder and whisper,
“You’re not.”
***
HE WAS TAKING a short break, staring at the sky and playing with his feathers when he heard footsteps. Hawks knew you were already on your way to the rooftop. It was one of the perks to his Quirk. He could hear every step on the stairs you took. He could hear the rustling of the plastic bag that held two canned juice and the two packs of sandwiches. He could hear your breathing. He could hear you.
“Hey, you’re here.” Hawks immediately tells you as soon as you open the door and the sunlight meets your eyes. It’s a bright sunny day and the studio was heavily draped with curtains so it stuns you for a while, making you put up a hand in front of your forehead to shield from the light.
“Yeah, you heard me, huh?”
“I wouldn’t be a Pro-Hero if I didn’t sense someone approaching.” He only says as he watches you sit on the ground beside him. “So, what brings you here?”
He is met with you opening the plastic bag and taking out a can of juice and a sandwich to give to him. He tries to decline but you firmly take his hand and place the items there.
“Take it, it’s a gift.”
“A gift? Darling, shouldn’t gifts be, I dunno, gift-ier than this?”
You take out your own sandwich and wag it at him, “Ungrateful— ” your own can of juice is opened and the sound fills the small gap between the two of you— “And I meant that it’s a peace offering.”
He sets the juice and the sandwich down and runs a hand through his golden locks and scoffs, “Why— ”
“‘Cause you seemed to be so pissed at me the whole one week of our photoshoot.” Hawks finally opens his sandwich as he listens to you. “You talk to everyone but me! Ever noticed that? Why? Why are you ignoring me for no reason?”
The hero laughs, “No reason? Think again, sweetheart.”
You stop chewing and sip on your juice, “What would it be? I’m always— Oh. Was it when I asked you if you were okay?”
“And I said yes and you said I wasn’t,” Hawks completes. “I mean, who does that? Isn’t that, I dunno, not normal?”
Really, he was just shocked with what you had said when he first met you. It was as if you had read him like he was a simple glossy magazine and no one reads Hawks like that. No one. That’s why he acts, remember? To be unread, to be so detached that no one could pull at the strings of his heart. No distractions.
“Sorry, I was really just worried for you. It’s not good to lie about what you’re feeling, y'know? Especially when you’re at work. If you were really not okay that time and you broke down, the whole project would have been affected.” You explain, “Emotions are those little shits that send a pretty domino art stumbling to its end. Everything affects everything.”
“Huh,” Hawks says. “You sure you’re a model, babe?”
There’s a playful punch from you that hits his shoulder.
“If you’re implying that models don’t think. Remember, Hawks, you’re a model, too.”
“Oh, but it’s just a side thing. I’m not really a model,” He laughs, mouth open as he tries to flap a wing at you while you prepare to throw another light punch. You sputter when his feathers touch your mouth.
“Oh, ew! Do you wash your feathers?”
Hawks notices you starting to stand with your hands moving to your front. “Of course. Once in a few months.”
“Hawks! That is disgusting!”
Hawks laughs loudly and takes off, flying just a few inches above you as you try to pull him down. It’s a game of cat and bird, something he thoroughly enjoyed.
The both of you are breathless and are now lying on the ground, staring at the clouds and the pretty blue sky with your heads on top of your wrists. He wonders out loud to you on what it would feel like to sleep on clouds.
“You’re the bird, you figure it out.”
“I already did.”
“And…?”
“Of course, it’s nothing relaxing.”
“Pfft, of course! You have the wildest ideas, Hawks.”
“We’ve only worked together for a week, how would you know?”
You turn to face him and meet his golden eyes, “In that one week, we’ve spent a lot of time holding each other in front of the cameras with avant garde costumes to just our underwear. I’m sure I’ve gotten to know you well, your curves, skin and all.”
“How about the lips?” He softly says at you, drunk with playfulness.
You giggle at this, clutching your stomach, “You really have the wildest ideas.”
“So?” Hawks prods. “Wanna get to know me through lips?”
You shake your head, “My kiss is worth ten dates.”
“That’s pricey.” He raises a hand over his face, slightly obstructing his view of the sky. It seems like he’s reaching out to the sky.
“It’s my lips, after all.”
“Don’t you have a discount for a co-worker?”
You pretend to think it over, placing a finger on top of your lips, “Maybe I’ll kiss that co-worker if the dates are impressive.”
Hawks presses two fingers on his lips then taps it on the tip of your nose then lets it linger on the top of your lips. A temporary kiss, “I’d better prepare the most impressive first date, then.”
***
“WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?”
You ask him as you twirl your fork over your pasta. There’s jazz in the background and the pretty night view outside. When you peer out the window, the whole world is breathing underneath you.
He scoffs, “What kind of question is that?”
“I mean, we’ve been seeing each other for awhile now and I don’t know what your favorite color is! Everything in your apartment is white! Do you like white?”
He scrunches his nose and shakes his head, “No, not really.”
“Then what?”
“Well, what do you think it is?”
You pause and muse at this, “Blue, maybe? ‘Cause you seem to like the sky so much. Do you love the sky, Hawks?”
“Yes but not as much as being with you.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Look at me, am I lying?” He gazes at you with a smile in his eyes. You study him. There’s a small hint of wrinkle in the sides and it makes you want to brush your fingers over them. You loved that you could see all these small details he had.
“You’re not.”
“There you have it, dove” he spreads out an arm.
“So, is blue your favorite color?”
“Yeah, yeah it is.” Hawks didn’t really have one but the way you said it made it his favorite. You looked so sure and it melted his heart to see you like that. You are the ocean that fill his hollow empty self with something, something he wants to keep. “Blue’s real pretty.”
***
“WE SHOULD BUY a blue toothbrush.” Hawks hears you say as he pushes the shopping cart and you look through the aisles at the side. From the corners, people eye the both of you. Ever since you and Hawks had started dating, it hit the biz immediately. It was only natural. You were both known throughout the country and the photos from the modelling project that had connected you two made everyone agree on how you and Hawks fit together perfectly.
He winks at the bystanders then returns his attention to you, “Hmm? Why?”
“Well, you’ve been staying over my place a lot.” You give him a pointed look, “My mouthwash runs out quick with you.”
“You’ve been staying over mine, too.”
“Yeah,” you take two toothbrushes from the aisle and twirl around to face him. “So I’m taking two! One for you—” you hand one over to him then you point the other one to yourself— “and one for me.”
“Nice, two blue toothbrushes for us.”
“Brushing together side by side. ”
“You’re full of cheesy ideas,” he tells you.
“And yet you do it.” you step beside him.
“It’s ‘cause I love you and will do anything with you.”
“You are so smitten, Mr. Hawks.”
“And so are you.” Hawks wraps an arm around your waist then places a kiss on your forehead, the tip of your nose then on your lips. He whispers, “You’ve got me. Always.”
***
IT ALL ENDS in the bathroom of his apartment.
All things end, after all. There were no exceptions. Not even for the Number Two Hero.
It was after a big dinner with the other Pro-Heroes. And, it obviously did not go well. The both of you were aware of that. There was a fight the other day. Then the week before. The weeks before that and the months too. It was ripping what you two had built together. Hawks and you were starting to drift apart. The both of you could feel it.
Hawks does not bother to turn on the light when he enters the bathroom. He already knows where he places everything— under the mirror, on the sink, in a cup, his white toothbrush beside your blue one.
But you do, you switch it on and your eyes meet for a second. It feels painful. Too painful to know what might be coming next.
Like routine, he takes yours and puts the toothpaste on top of the bristles and you fill a cup with tap water for you two to share. He gives you your toothbrush and you place the cup down.
The both of you brush your teeth. Up and down. Side, then up and down. Over and over until it’s done.
He stares at your reflection on the mirror and you stare at nothing, decisions running in your head.
You spit the foam out and he follows. Then he and you rinse with water and it is done.
“What’s up with us?” You finally say.
“I don’t know, I don’t like it.” He only replies.
You sit on the space beside the marble sink, legs tired from socializing all night, the back of your feet was sore.
Hawks just stands in front of you but now he’s looking at your face. You open your arms and hug him, Hawks moves between your legs and wraps his arms around your waist.
“I don’t want to break up,” Hawks says, truthfully.
“Well, what do you suggest we do?” You lay your head on his shoulder and inhale the scent of wind and the city on his neck. Your arms feel so comfortable around him. You lift a hand so you can play with his hair while your other hand caresses his red wings.
“I don’t know. Can we still save us?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“So you really want us to break up?”
Silence.
You take your time to touch his hair and wings and Hawks allows you to. It was a moment he’d like to keep in a box and repeat over and over again. Hawks can not believe a breakup could be so tender but you always had your way with things and he tries to take everything he can from it, before you leave him for good.
“Yeah, I want us to break up.”
“Is it the fights?”
“Kinda.”
“Oh.”
You’re not finished, “And the late nights, and the jealousy, and the sight of your beaten up body.” You force a bitter laugh, “It really is a hassle dating a hero.”
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
“Do you really think we can’t save this?”
“Yeah, I think so. I, uh, I think I like someone else, too.”
“Who’s that?”
“An old acquaintance. Ran into them by chance this week and I wanted to break up with you properly before moving on.”
He feels you let go of him and the hug breaks apart. Before he steps backwards and presses his back on the wall, Hawks kisses two of his fingers then presses it on your lips. A goodbye kiss. Then he cups your cheek with just one hand, you bitterly smile and hold his hand on your face but soon let go. It feels cold without your warmth.
“Do you love them?”
“No,” you shake your head, chuckling. “But I feel comfortable with them.”
“That’s good,” he just nods. What else can he do? There was nothing else other than to let you go. “Then I guess this is goodbye?”
“Yeah,” you give him a tight smile as you stand up. “I’ll get my stuff and go.”
“Okay.”
“Stay alive and healthy, okay?”
“Sure, you too.”
And you leave him alone in the bathroom. He could hear the shuffling of clothes and bags then the slamming of doors and your footsteps fading away.
***
THE BLUE TOOTHBRUSH is now in Hawks’ hands. He gazes at it attentively, thinking. He wonders if you still had his toothbrush in your apartment. Probably not. You’ve probably done the same as him. He’s taken out every single thing that reminds him of you out of his apartment already— the pillow, the sheets, the extra plates and chopsticks, the bottle of perfume, your extra just-in-case shirts, the blue sticky notes you stick on the fridge when he’s out late on a patrol, the lipstick you own, the hoodie you kept stealing from him, the video game he plays with you, your favorite movie… everything.
He’s taken out everything.
The blue toothbrush on his hand is now the confetti after a parade, the remnant of a relationship that was once happy. Hawks is scared that once he lets go of it, too, there will be no proof of you and him. Only memories. There will be a finality to the end of you and him. There will be no more dances in the living room with you, no more morning breakfasts in bed, no more of your hands trying to clean his wings, no more laughter between Hawks and you, no more kisses worth ten dates.
No more waking up in the morning together and brushing your teeth beside him. No more giggling over his funny faces in the mirror. Or him trying to get you to sputter your toothpaste foam all over. Or you and him making silly faces in front of the mirror. Or the quick good morning kiss right after you both rinse your mouths with water.
No more you.
It scares him a lot to let go of such a big and precious history with you.
Hawks is still not over you. It’s been a few weeks already and he’s still not over you. It’s slow. Getting over people is painstakingly too slow for his fast lifestyle but it is how his heart is.
With a frustrated sigh, he allows the blue toothbrush to fall down to the trash bin and gives it one last look before leaving for work. Cutting all connections to you.
Hawks was never one to have favorites. He had a few but blue is certainly not one.
Now, it’s really goodbye.
Hawks had no time for attachments, anyway, he was the Number Two Hero. Back to his hollow self and always at the society’s disposal.
end.