Chapter Text
Home is a house at the end of the day, a place to rest a weary head.
Hawks steps back into the apartment after he bids Best Jeanist farewell, watching as he steps into his car and pulls away from the small parking space, denim and blond disappearing into the night.
The apartment is neat and orderly, not a book or a feather out of place, and he wonders briefly what Best Jeanist sees. The view is spectacular, as one would expect from a hero known for flight: Fukuoka stretches before him as far as the eye can see, his balcony jutting out and well equipped for his comings and goings.
It’s a beautiful apartment – modern and spacious, and one that Hawks knows costs the Commission a good of money in lost rent because they rent it to him instead. But assets have first dibs of course, and the Number Two can’t look like he’s living in squalor. It’s an investment into one of their best assets, and like everything they’ve lent to him in time and training he has repaid back in peace and safety and more intelligence than they could have ever hoped for.
They called him Lady Nagant’s successor, but he became more than they could have ever dreamed.
So this is his, but not his, both as his cage and his reward: white walls and modern lamps, a flatscreen television set and a couch to laze around in. Fully equipped and in downtown Fukuoka, it’s not a bad crashpad for a single hero like him. The kitchen has complete pots and pans, even a fryer for his fried chicken cravings, but his refrigerator remains empty. His laundry basket is piled high with clothes after his recent stint away, the washing machine patiently waiting for the next batch.
I can’t stock up for long, he explains to his visitors when they come by, never know when I’ll be called for a long mission, you know? Best Jeanist seemed to take his explanation and asked no further questions.
The little things that he collected over the years with his salary are all here: his Endeavor collection, his clothes, his books on intelligence gathering, his report folders, his boots. His bed, also given by the Commission, is a decent twin, neatly made if not a little plain. The place is neat and clean, barely used and utilitarian.
I’m a hero after all, is what he told Deku and Tokoyami and the grape when they came by and the grape remarked it was surprisingly boring. We don’t have much time to ourselves. We have to be available to save anyone at any time!
The clock on the wall reads 22:10 when he turns to look, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him.
It’s been a long day of typing reports, of training his sidekicks, running patrol. All of it is expected of a hero of his caliber, but he also didn’t expect to have to entertain Best Jeanist after work to run over briefings of the latest Nomu sighting. It’s a miracle he finished work at all today, but then he’s been running since 7:00. All things considered, it’s a good day, a short day. His nerves are still high, his shoulders tense as he thinks of what needs to be done tomorrow. It’s a never-ending list of who needs to be protected, what else needs to be prepared, and the thought of doomsday lingers at the back of his mind, unrelenting.
Tomorrow he meets with Best Jeanist and Endeavor again before they meet with the rest of the heroes at Commission headquarters to go over the League of Villains plan, and then he has to debrief the Commissioner about his new findings after another stint undercover with the LOV. Mera will want a copy of the brief, and he has a patrol shift for the evening. There is no rest for the wicked, but there is no rest for those that watch over them either.
His stomach growls, making its impatience felt, and Hawks shuts off the lights and locks the door behind him as sets out into the night.
***
Hawks opens the door to what was once an izakaya and walks past the banged-up tables, the dusty floors, the peeling paint on the walls. The counter hasn’t been used in years and there are cobwebs on the walls, but it doesn’t bother him. He walks past what was once a kitchen and through the tiny corridor until he comes to the end of the room. It’s a door, nondescript and easy to miss, but he sees it and pushes past.
I’m home.
Home is a room of fifteen square meters, tucked away and hidden. It’s empty and sparse save for a table and a chair, and a small coffee maker, cups, and a teapot. It’s a little musty from his time away and he makes a note to clean it soon, but the cups and the teapot and coffee maker are all clean, and that’s what matters. He takes out the karaage and onigiri he bought for dinner from the kind obaasan nearby, setting them out neatly. She gave him free gyoza too, patting his arm where she could reach and saying, here, to keep your strength, I know young men like you eat more than they let on.
There's not much space to move around, but he sits at the table and takes out the tea he stores in a small air-tight container and heats some water in the electric kettle, slumping back against the chair while waiting.
Slowly, slowly, tension seeps out of his feathers and out of his back as the minutes tick by. Here it’s just him and no one else – no eyes, no smiles, no noises but the cheerful bubbling of water coming to a rolling boil.
It’s quiet in this room, save for the click of the electric kettle shutting off, the shuffle of the tea leaves as he pours water into the metal strainer, the soft whisper of hot water and steam rising from the cup.
The wind cannot reach him here, with its endless secrets. There is no need to give away smiles freely, for he is far from the prying eyes of heroes and villains, smiling civilians and stern handlers alike.
Here it is just him, his take-out dinner, and his cup of tea, hot as it slips down his throat and settles his nerves. He takes a bite of the karaage and chews before taking a bite of the onigiri, letting the two comforting tastes melt on his tongue and appease his stomach. It’s delicious and tastes like the home he’s never had.
Hawks takes his time as he eats, savoring the taste and the act of eating, enjoying the minutes that pass by instead of rushing through like everything else. After dinner, he sits back and noodles on his phone, checking his SNS as he takes sips of his barley tea to help digest his food, relishing in the warmth in his throat, the fullness in his stomach.
Later still, he walks out of the room and into the abandoned kitchen, washing up his containers and his teacup, discarding the tea in one small trash bag and the containers in another before quietly leaving it in the rest of the apartment block’s trash bin. He’s a ghost here, unknown, but that’s fine. No one needs to know he is here, and no one will.
He goes back to his room to prepare for sleep. He’ll need all the rest he can get for tomorrow, and his brain is overtired and overstimulated. So he comes here: a quiet apartment block in one of Fukuoka’s forgotten streets, a supply room at the end of an abandoned izakaya cleared of any gangs and yakuza presence. It’s his and not his, but here he feels his body slump, the weight of expectations momentarily lifted from his wings and his shoulders, can feel his mind quiet down and relax.
Hawks toes off his boots and places them by the door, moves the table and chair aside and unrolls the futon and the small pillow by his tiny shelf that makes up his pantry to set his bed where the table and chair used to be. The small Endeavor plushie that he’s kept with him since he was six, well-worn and old now, colors faded but still well-loved and his , is placed by his head as he settles in, drawing a blanket over himself.
00:00 clicks past on his phone. No emergencies, but he sets his alarm for 05:00 anyway. It’s a long day tomorrow; he’ll need time to fly back to the apartment to get ready to face the rest of the world again. But here in his tiny space, all of those worries can be set aside for a moment, and Hawks doesn’t need to smile for anyone but himself. He clicks his screen off, holds his Endeavor plushie in his arms before rolling onto his side and falling asleep.
It isn’t much, and it isn’t even his, not really, but here in this tiny space of fifteen square meters – here Hawks is free.