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It's five p.m. on a Sunday evening. There's a storm coming, but it won't hit for a while yet. Until then, it’s just chilly. A cool breeze blows through Hawks’ hair as he watches Enji get out of the car.
His ass is as nice as ever. He still works out like he did in his forties. It's easier to pull him away these days, but if there's nothing stopping him, he’ll spend hours at it. He let Hawks talk him into trying yoga last year. He picked it up quickly and modified the poses so he can do them with or without his prosthetic. Watching him move through his routines every morning and every night makes good bookends for the day. When they're apart, Hawks finds himself feeling like something is missing.
He watches him turn around. It took a while, but getting him to wear fitted jeans was a great idea.
“You're sure they carry it here?” Enji confirms one last time. He checks the paper Hawks wrote his request down on. “I've never seen it before.”
“How much time do you spend looking at sprays for feathers?” Hawks counters, smoothly looking up to Enji’s face. “And before you ask, yes, the one for pet birds has a better formula than the one for humans.”
“And this is definitely the right brand? Oduban?”
“I know you can read katakana.”
Enji looks at him flatly.
Hawks smiles back. “Yes, you read it right. Oduban’s warming feather spray. It should be right there.”
“And you won't get cold while I'm gone?”
“You've been standing there with the door open for longer than it will take you to get the bottle.”
“Fine. Don't run off.”
Hawks nods, and Enji shuts the door and sets off for their usual pet store. They got a couple cats last year. They're an older, bonded pair that a shelter was struggling to find a home for. Enji looks after them, awkwardly pouring the love his kids can't accept from him into them. It took him a while to figure out how. He'd never had any pets, and it showed. He was even more awkward with them than people at first. Now he falls asleep with at least one cat on his chest most nights.
Provided that Hawks isn't already there. A warm, soft chest is appealing to him, too.
He slouches against the door. Come to think of it, it's been a while since he got a good squeeze. When they get home, he’ll see if he can get Enji in the mood to fool around a little. It will take some work. Enji won't be in the mood right away; he gets huffy when Hawks pulls his leg.
A few neck kisses, an apology in his ear, maybe a suggestion or two of how to make it up to him, and Hawks will be forgiven.
It’s all part of the push-pull that goes into their relationship. Enji likes being chased. He's just too embarrassed to admit it.
It all works out for Hawks. He doesn't mind putting in the work. Chasing is fun, and Enji is his favorite catch.
He hums to himself and feels the wind blow faster through his hair. It’s getting cooler, but Enji will be back from his fake errand soon. He’ll spend a while stubbornly trying to find the spray bottle on his own. Eventually he’ll accept that he can't find it and grab an employee who will awkwardly inform him that what he's looking for doesn't exist. And finally, he’ll come back out, be pissy at Hawks, and warm the car up unintentionally.
That's the best part of cold weather. Hawks can comfortably snuggle up to him. When they walk together, they can link arms. If he meets Enji at his agency, he isn't allowed to cuddle, but he can lie down on the nice sofa against the wall and Enji will periodically come over and lay a hot hand on his back. After a long day, Enji lets him sit on his lap, the heat in his chest dulling the ache at the base of Hawks’s wings.
He checks his phone. It's been ten minutes. Enji should be asking the employee round about now.
To kill some time, Hawks texts Mirko.
Any good fights today?
She answers quickly.
None! All the bad guys are hiding
He can hear her frustration. In the new, post-All for One world, heroes have different roles. They still have to combat villains, but most of what they do is defensive. They mend bridges. The faith people had in them still hasn't recovered. They bow their heads and accept the hurt Japan can't put anywhere else.
For better or worse, Enji has taken the lead on that. Balancing his pride and his culpability will be a lifelong burden. He hasn't gotten it down yet; he overcorrects between letting his guilt show and stubbornly fighting ant attempts to make him more sympathetic. But there's one undeniable fact: he saves lives. Even with civilians still wary of him and a generation of stronger heroes coming into their own, he remains at the top.
He’s a smart guy, after all, even if he hasn't figured out that heated feather spray isn't real after living with Hawks for several years.
That's part of his charm.
Hawks’ phone buzzes with another message.
Hubby taking too long at the grocery store?
Something like that
He doesn't correct her. They've never talked about it, but he knows Enji is afraid of remarrying. There’s too much potential to hurt his family again. Nothing is tying Hawks to him. If he fails his endeavor to be a good man, escape is easier. He’ll feel guilty about not giving him the security of marriage later on, but that won't happen for a while. Right now, he's still working through his surprise that Hawks keeps coming back to their bed.
Their bed, which he’ll threaten to kick Hawks out of for embarrassing him- then let Hawks in anyway.
The wind picks up sharply, and Hawks shivers. Maybe he should have accepted the keys. He wore a thin t-shirt. The holes for his wings are wide. When it's warm, the extra room for air to move is nice. When it's cold and he's sitting still, though…
He probably could use a feather to trick the ignition, but he doesn't have the fine control to do things like that anymore. He’s just as likely to damage the pins as he is to nudge them correctly.
He tries not to think about what he's lost. It won't bring anything back, and if Enji catches on to what he's thinking about, he pulls away. He comes back- exhausted, with even more guilt, but back nonetheless.
Another strong breeze blows, and Hawks shivers. He glances at his phone. It's been fifteen minutes. Enji should have figured it out and come back by now.
There's no way he got that upset about it. He's a good sport despite the yelling, and he doesn't just disappear without saying anything. They're heroes. They can't just go away. Years after the war, the world is still on edge about people they know being out of sight. Even parting with friends is difficult.
In the months after the final battle, Enji mentioned that Shouto and his friends were sleeping two or more to a room. They aren't the only ones. If Hawks hadn't been dealing with a shitstorm of his own, he would have been nervous every time he let Enji out of his sight. It wasn't just external threats. Emotionally, everyone was hanging by a thread. If he could have justified crawling into bed with him or sleeping in his office every night, Hawks would have done that, too.
Enji wouldn't leave without a word.
So where-
The driver's side door opens. Hawks twists, putting his back to the door and reaching for a long feather.
He freezes when he recognizes Enji.
One eyebrow raised, Enji studies him. There are two cups in one hand and a bag in the other.
The comforting smell of fried food reaches Hawks’ nose.
“Is that takeout?”
“It will be dinner time when we get home,” Enji explains. He gets in carefully. “You’ll be hungry by then. This is easier than being pestered while I cook.”
He pushes the hand with the cups in it toward Hawks, who takes them reflexively. They're both hot, and when he checks, one is coffee and the other is sencha.
He brings the sencha close and takes a slow breath in.
“That one’s mine.”
“Yeah, but I like the way sencha smells.”
“Just don't drink it.”
Enji goes quiet for a moment. Then he pulls his jacket off and arranges it over Hawks’ chest. He put on a sweatshirt under it. It’s an old sweatshirt; he's had it for more than a decade. It fits him looser than it used to, but they don't talk about that.
They also don't talk about why Hawks likes the smell of sencha so much. It's fine, though. Enji keeps having a cup every morning, and Hawks happily tastes it every time he kisses him hello.
“You should have told me you were cold,” Enji tells him. There's reproach in his voice, but it's the unhappy wrinkle between his eyebrows that makes Hawks stretch up to kiss his chin.
“Sorry. I didn't think you'd be gone for more than a few minutes. I would've asked if I'd known you were going to get dinner.”
“I would have come out and brought you the keys.”
“But I like wearing your jacket.”
“Then ask for it.”
“I got used to having you right here where I can ask for you to put the heat up.” He mimes twisting a thermostat. “You know?”
“I know that you did that over my nipple for a reason.”
“So suspicious!”
“Am I wrong?”
“Nope!”
The wrinkle softens as Hawks laughs, and Enji settles into the driver’s seat.
While he gets comfortable with the bag on his lap, Hawks takes a cautious sip of his coffee. Milk, no sugar. The same way he always takes it. It’s uncomfortably hot but drinkable, so he takes another sip.
“Any luck finding the spray?” he asks innocently.
Enji grunts. He squints at the ignition as he briefly fumbles with the key. Hawks fights the urge to crack a joke that will make him blush, but Enji looks over and scowls before putting the car in gear and pulling forward. He must have sensed the joke anyway.
“I shouldn't have gotten you anything.”
“How long did it take you to figure it out?”
“As long as it took to say the name to Pony.”
“You went right to someone?”
“You said it was important.”
He sounds so defensive about doing something nice.
“You could have texted me that you'd be late,” Hawks reminds him. “I might have asked for the keys if you had.”
“I wasn't going to reward you for being a pain in the ass.”
“Bringing me hot chicken isn't a reward?”
Enji shrugs as he merges into traffic. “I can throw it out if you want.”
“No, no, that would be a waste.” Pushing past the reflex to tell him not to joke about that, Hawks slouches back in his seat and takes another sip.
Enji has practiced enough that he drives just as well with his left hand as he did with both. They continue along smoothly, and Hawks lets himself doze to the hum of the engine until Enji tugs at his arm.
“Those are hot. Be careful.”
Hawks hums. Enji obviously wants him to put the drinks down. He opens his window instead and holds them closer.
He’s never been fond of storms, but he isn't scared of them either. Enji likes storms like this. He doesn't tolerate truly cold weather, but he does well on cold, windy days like this. He’s more energetic and even tempered. Cuddlier, too, and he does it on his own. When they’ve been called up to handle an emergency on other days like this, the call reaches them when he's wrapped around him, mostly asleep and holding him tightly.
Hopefully he'll be feeling cuddly when they get home. Work has been keeping them busy. They've barely seen each other long enough for a quick kiss.
“Let me have mine at the next red light,” Enji says.
Hawks nods, and when they get there, he lets Enji have his drink. His tolerance for heat is high, but it's more of a danger than an asset. He can get burned by regular fire like anyone else; the scar from testing that theory is an old, well-healed burn that runs up the outside of his left thigh. When he cooks, he has to watch himself.
“I can't feel that it's hot,” he explained one night when he accidentally touched a hot pan with his bare hand and didn't notice. “No, I can feel that it's hot. It just doesn't feel dangerous.”
His habit of watching Hawks when they grab a meal is a lot less odd now that Hawks knows that he's gauging the temperature.
Enji takes a few sips before handing the drink back. Hawks presses it against his chest again.
Rain begins to fall before they get back. He doesn't roll his window up; it feels nice on his face.
Enji doesn't tell him to close the window. He just lays his hand on Hawks’ chest the next time they stop. It's hotter than it should be; the cold that had been creeping in around the edges of his jacket disappears. Hawks smiles and relaxes further into his seat.
He must nod off. One moment he’s watching the buildings pass and the next, the sky has been replaced by the garage and Enji is shaking him lightly.
“You're too old for me to carry you inside,” he says.
Hawks blinks until he's awake enough to make sense of where he is. To his relief, he's still holding their drinks upright.
The jacket came dislodged at some point. They'll be inside soon enough, so he pulls it the rest of the way off.
“Food still warm?”
“Of course.”
Enji gestures at the bag, which he tucked into his armpit. Notably, the arm away from the door is free.
Opting not to take advantage of the unmade offer, Hawks swings his legs out. Enji steps back, leaving him room to get out.
Without a word, they fall into step on the way inside and head right to the kitchen. Enji spreads the food out while Hawks washes his hands.
The kitchen quickly fills with the scent of fried chicken. Neither cat appears. They were asleep on the bed when Hawks and Enji left; no doubt they're still there. Hawks is tempted to dig in before Enji finishes washing his own hands. He pours two glasses of water instead.
“You know,” he says casually as he sets them down next to their drinks, his back to the sink, “it's pretty cold in here.”
“The heat will kick in in a moment.”
The usual fake dismissal. Hawks keeps his back to Enji so he can pretend not to use a little Hellflame.
There's always a stutter when Enji uses his Quirk for small things. As far as Hawks can tell, Enji is so used to pushing himself to endure hotter flames that he isn't good at small shifts. His level of control over the inferno his Quirk releases is unmatched. Even Shouto may not equal it, simply because he’ll never use his flames like his father does. But Enji has never had to work at using only a little heat.
Hawks keeps his observation to himself. Enji already knows that he overlooked this. He thinks he's sneaking out of bed at night when he practices, but he hasn't noticed the feather Hawks always slips into his sleep pants’ pocket before bed.
He may never adjust to waking up to blasts of heat, but he’s usually awake well before Enji reaches the dojo. Any time he gets out of bed, Hawks knows. More often than not, that means getting up for a piss. He's getting to the age where they should keep an eye on that, but for now-
The thought dissolves as something hits his wings.
He jolts for a second time today, whirling around before he realizes what he's doing.
Enji raises his eyebrows. There's a white bottle in one of his hands. It's probably a normal size, but it looks small in Enji’s fist.
Hawks shakes off the thought.
“You sprayed me!” he accuses. “What is that?”
“What you sent me to get. Feather spray.”
Expression neutral, Enji turns the bottle so Hawks can see the label.
Bird bath spray.
“It isn't warming,” he says needlessly, “but you need something for those dirty wings.”
His mouth twitches with a smile.
Hawks perks up. His feathers are perfectly clean. “You're pretty devious, Number One.”
“It's your job to pay attention.”
“You're right.” Hawks gives his wings a tentative flap. They feel a little weird, but they should be fine. The kitchen is too tight for him to fly over, so he contents himself with walking over and pressing up against him, casually nudging away the hand with the bottle. He runs his hands up Enji’s firm belly to his chest. He squeezes gently. Enji narrows his eyes but allows it. He feels Hawks up plenty; turnabout is fair play.
“I shouldn't take my eyes off you, should I?” Hawks asks.
Expression smoothing, Enji cups his chin in one hand. He tilts it up slightly. “You shouldn't.”
“And you? What are you looking at, Number One?”
“You.”
The line between flirty and literal is blurry with Enji. Hawks is fond of that.
He moves his hand just enough to run his thumb over the edge of one of Enji’s pecs. Enji’s eye twitches.
“Hawks.”
“Hmm?”
“Dinner’s on the table.”
“That so? Maybe we could skip to dessert this time-”
He doesn't notice what Enji’s doing until it's too late. A loud squirt cuts him off, and something wet splashes his mouth. Coughing and spluttering, he stumbles back.
“Why did you do it again!”
“Sorry. I didn't finish your shower.”
Hawks squints at him warily. Enji doesn't look remotely sorry as he stands there, finger still poised on the trigger of the spray bottle. He’s pointing it directly at Hawks’ chest.
“You're mad that you didn't get to hold my hand on the way back, aren't you?”
Enji glares at him but doesn't argue.
Good mood restored, Hawks smiles. On TV Endeavor was untouchable. Now the broad back that brought Hawks comfort is the one he kisses at night. He’s learned countless little things about Enji like how much he likes holding hands but has to wait for Hawks to take his hand. Countless details made Endeavor into Enji: the way he closes his eyes when Hawks kisses his forehead; his frustration at staying in bed after waking up; the grumpy noises he makes when he's waiting for Hawks to finish putting on his eyeliner; the quiet, tentative voice he only uses when he gets a rare call from one of his kids.
Hawks slides his hands up to Enji’s shoulders then down his arms. He finesses the bottle free so he can take both of Enji’s hands in his. A feather sets it out of the way on top of the fridge. “So,” he says sweetly, “is shower time over?”
“That’s up to you. Are we going to have dinner?”
It should be warm still. “Of course.”
Enji follows him back to the table. They dig in. Hawks always eats faster than Enji, and this time is no different. He's half finished and washing down a big bite with the last of his drink when Enji reaches for his cup for the first time.
He stops and pulls a face when it reaches his lips. “Cute.”
“You sure are.”
“Give me my drink back.”
“Sorry. I finished it.” He takes the top off and shows the empty inside.
“You don't like sencha.”
“I like when you kiss me.”
He winks, and Enji sighs.
“That isn't how it works.”
“Are you sure? We should test it, to be sure.”
He leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table and putting his chin in his hands. Under the table, he nudges Enji’s leg with his toe.
“You're testing something,” Enji mutters.
Hawks gives him his most charming smile, and after a moment, Enji grumbles something under his breath. He gets up, leans down so their faces are close, puts his hand on the back of Hawks’ head, and pulls him into a kiss.
It isn't the eye roll of a kiss Hawks had expected. It's a long, deep kiss, the kind that makes Hawks fumble in his haste to grab onto him. He feels Enji’s tongue against his and holds on tighter.
When Enji lets go, he sits down with a little hum.
“As I thought,” he says, “no sencha.”
Hawks stares at him. “If that's supposed to make me stop, I have bad news.”
“Who said anything about that?” Enji drains the last of Hawks’ coffee. “I just wanted to kiss you.”
Eyes fixed on him, he takes a big bite of chicken. He chews thoughtfully without looking away.
Hawks finally realizes what he did. Enji is competitive. It isn't just All Might. He's fundamentally deeply competitive against everyone, and Hawks accidentally pranked himself into a little competition.
He isn't competitive, but if he'll get more kisses like that, he can fake it.
He’ll keep that in mind for later. For now, rain has begun to beat at the windows. It shouldn't be a problem; monsoon season is over for the year. He can relax. Enji might have to go out-whenever there's water involved, any hero with a flame Quirk is expected to be on standby- but there's no way to be sure.
“You know,” Hawks says, “it's easier to kiss when we’re next to each other.”
“No eating on the sofa.”
“Come on. Live a little!”
“No.” Enji takes a bite, chews, and swallows. “But I’m almost done. You can join me after you finish.”
Hawks looks down, and sure enough, Enji has steadily made his way through his meal. There can't be more than two bites left on his last piece.
Eyes bright, Enji takes another bite. One bite left.
Hawks checks his dinner. He's still only halfway done.
He grabs a drumstick and gets to work catching up.
He manages to finish just after Enji finishes washing his hands and fully catches up to him a moment after Enji sits down on the sofa. He kneels down across his lap without waiting for the okay.
Enji tugs him higher up his lap.
Hawks puts his hands on his shoulders and peers down at him. The scar doesn't fill him with guilt anymore. There's a pang, but he sees it nearly every day. It’s becoming another feature, no different from his nose or his eyes.
Hawks lays his finger over the place where it crosses his lips. He doesn't want to get used to it. It’s his fault. He can't let his guilt disappear when Enji still beats himself up over the burns on his back.
One of Enji’s hands settles on his hip. The other strokes his back. He doesn't say anything. He just looks up and waits.
Message received, Hawks lowers himself down until he’s sitting fully on Enji’s lap.
“So,” he says, “you say you couldn't taste the sencha.”
“This again?”
“I don't think you tried hard enough.” He gives Enji a quick peck on the lips. “You've got to give it time. Really put in the effort.”
“You don't have to fish for a kiss,” Enji complains, “but fine. Let me try again.”
He pulls Hawks down into a slow kiss.
“No,” he says against Hawks’ lips. “Still nothing.”
He kisses him again, sweet and slow. He abandons the game after the second kiss. Hawks doesn't try to hold him to it. Sitting on Enji’s warm lap, kissing him slowly as the rain pours down outside, is all he could want.