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“I think you’re in love.”
“Well, I think you’re delusional.”
“You’re just in denial,” Hawks singsongs, sticking his tongue out at you. “Who’s the lucky guy?”
“That’s none of your business,” you retort, fighting off the blush creeping up your cheeks. Recently, all of your conversations with Hawks have somehow turned to the topic of this hypothetical “fat crush” you have on some hypothetical “really hot guy”. The only problem? The guy isn’t actually all that hypothetical and is actually really hot. And he happens to be sitting right next to you, smirking mischievously while he tries to figure out who exactly this mysterious hot shot is.
Of course, you’ve tried countless times to convince him that he’s not going to be able to guess, because you’re fairly certain you’ve done a very good job at keeping your little crush under wraps around him. Someday, maybe, you’ll tell him. But you just don’t think you’re ready yet — your friendship with him is so… nice , and you don’t want to jeopardize that for such a silly reason as feelings.
“Are you ever going to tell me?” Hawks asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.
“Probably not. Maybe if you guess, I’ll tell you.”
“You’ve always gotta make a man work for his dinner…” he grumbles as you shake your head.
“No. I just think keeping it a secret is more fun than just telling you.”
“But I could be a wingman for you! You know how good I am at it.”
“... Sure… ”
And therein lies your problem. Every time Hawks brought up this whole ordeal, he seemed equally convinced that he would never be able to guess who it is (probably true) and that he would be able to wingman your relationship together (probably not).
“Well, I gotta catch this next updraft to get back home. See you next week?” Hawks announces, standing up from where you had both been sitting on the top of your apartment building.
“Yeah…” you reply, giving him a weak smile as he walks to the edge of the roof. “Hey Hawks?”
“Hm?”
“I’m sorry…”
“For what?”
“...Nothing in particular. Just — I don’t know. Nevermind .” you mutter, losing whatever reason you might have had to self-doubt.
Hawks gives you a concerned look and slowly nods as if he doesn’t quite believe that you don’t know . A moment passes, and he turns, finally unfurling his wings and coasting off over the city. You try to ignore the strange feeling of regret weighing in your heart.
***
The week ebbs by, without your noticing the passage of time.
Your next little weekly get-together with Hawks comes and goes without him making an appearance, which saddens you in a strange sort of way.
It’s not like this hasn’t happened before — you’re aware of his unpredictable work schedule, and you know that he doesn’t always have the time to stop and tell you that he’s not going to be able to make it when a situation arises. But you still wish that he’d been able to be there, that you’d been able to spend those few short hours with him, because you cherish that time above all else.
Still, you keep yourself occupied; a bowl of your favorite ramen, and a good tv show. It’s nothing more than a distraction from the little cracks forming on your heart — but it works. You can ignore your feelings for another day.
…Until you can’t. Three weeks later, three more times you can’t help feeling as though time is slipping through your fingers each time you see Hawks. You wish you had the guts to actually just tell him how you feel. And maybe, you think, now would be the time if you were ever going to do it — the summer is coming to an end, and cuffing season is just around the corner.
You allow yourself a bygone moment to imagine what spending the holidays with Hawks would be like. Snuggled under a blanket with a small fireplace crackling somewhere in the background, a hot drink, maybe a good book or a movie to watch…
Shaking your head, you drive the image from your mind, and focus your attention on figuring out how you’re going to physically tell him... Over a nice dinner perhaps? A picnic? You know Hawks doesn’t like going out in public with you when he can avoid it. Maybe somewhere private — the top of a mountain. But you’re not proposing — maybe you could just…kiss him or something and he would get it. On the other hand, he is a man and might be too dense to understand that a kiss means you like him. There were simply too many choices and too many variables.
***
“What are we making?” Hawks asks as you bustle around his kitchen. This week, he was gracious enough to host dinner. You didn’t trust him to actually cook anything decent because he basically lived on chicken nuggets, so you were still cooking — just in his apartment.
“I was thinking of curry.”
“Ohh, very nice. Do you need any help?”
“Maybe. Do you want to chop?”
“Sure, if that’s what you need.”
“Okay, thanks. You can start with the potatoes and carrots,” you instruct him, vaguely gesturing to where the vegetables are sitting on the counter.
“Alrighty.”
You watch out of the corner of your eye as Hawks carefully washes and chops the ingredients, trying to reign in your urge to jump for joy at the thought that his cooking skills might not be so hopeless after all. And that you’re the one who inspired him to start fixing the problem.
“Is there a reason you’re staring at me?” Hawks asks several minutes later. You internally check yourself because you hadn’t realized you were still ogling him.
“Uhh, what? No. I wasn’t staring,” you stutter, making a bad attempt and clearing your throat.
“You were, I can see you turning red — you were watching me.”
“Was not!”
“Were too! Am I just that good at chopping?” he flexes his muscles, and resist rolling your eyes.
“Y-Yes, you’re just — so good with that knife, ‘cause like — you don’t know how to cook…”
Hawks raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not believing a word you just said. You didn’t think you would either, if you were in his position. “Is that your serious answer?”
Crisis absolutely not averted.
“ Uhh . Yeah,” you nod vehemently, trying your best not to let your sheer embarrassment show.
“‘Cause to me, it sounds like you’re lying .”
“Whyyy would I do that ?”
“You’re hiding something,” Hawks states, as though it’s obvious.
Well, duh , you’re hiding something. Something you’re suddenly not sure if you want him to know — even if you already told yourself that tonight was the night. Now, it all seems too scary, too big.
“Am I?” you say instead, because you really don’t want to come out and just say anything .
“ Yeah , and I think you should tell me. Is this — is this about that guy that you’re in love with? Did something happen?”
“No—”
“No, something did,” he decides. “Tell me, tell me! Or can I guess?”
“Sure…you can guess,” you mumble, wilting a little on the inside.
“Okay, okay…you talked to him?”
You shake your head, and Hawks continues, absolutely unfazed.
“You made eye contact?” Another no from you. “ He talked to you?” “You hung out with him? “You finally confessed?” he asks, sounding entirely too hopeful.
“No, no, and no! That is entirely my problem,” you finally exclaim, finally done with listening to Hawks making conjectures about your love life when it was his entire fault that you were even in this position.
“What, you’re too scared to say anything?”
You nod slowly, biting your lip. Even as the gears of your brain finally come to the conclusion that he’s giving you the perfect opportunity to finally tell him how you feel — the words just aren’t coming out.
“I’ll help you come up with something,” Hawks offers, giving you a small smile. You have the decency to tell yourself that you’re imagining that something in his eyes looks almost sad.
“Hmm,” you say, considering your options. Perhaps this is your best chance at saying something that doesn’t sound stupid. “Sure. What should I say to ask him out?”
“Well, what does he like to do?”
“Umm, he likes video games, I think, but he doesn’t often get a chance to play them. He likes cooking, but he’s not very good at it, he likes…flying,” you finish, after a moment's hesitation.
“A man after my own interests. He’s a pilot, then?”
“...Of sorts.”
“I see. Well, maybe he’d like something out in the open like a picnic, or cloud-watching.”
“I don’t know. He might, he might not.”
“Well, you have to ask.”
“Yeah, but he might also want to do something that doesn’t relate to what he does every day, looking at clouds and stuff.”
“Okay, so maybe going to a museum or something.”
“I think he would prefer something more private.”
“Hmm. So go to the beach then, watch the sunset.”
You weigh his suggestion in your mind, evaluating the pros and cons. Perhaps a sunset — and his aforementioned picnic idea wouldn’t be so bad.
“So…you wanna go watch the sunset with me?” you finally ask, in an incredible feat of bravery.
“Yeah, but you have to ask him that.”
You think your heart might just beat right out of your chest at the thought of having to ask him again.
“No, do you want to go watch the sunset with me ,” you say, despite feeling lightheaded with nervousness.
“Yes, just like that, but to him .”
This time, you just wait, watching his face with a pointed expression. It’s almost as if you can see the gears turning in his head as it dawns on him what you’re really asking. You think it’s actually perfect, that he’s the one who figures out your confession for himself.
“ Me? ” Hawks finally squeaks out, pointing to himself. You barely register yourself nodding.
“You want to watch the sunset…with me? ”
You nod again.
“The guy I’ve been trying to set you up with this whole time is me? ”
“ Yes, ” you whisper, not daring to talk any louder for fear your voice will give out.
“You…you like me.”
“Yes.”
“As more than a friend.”
“If you’ll have me.”
“ Wow ,” Hawks breathes, scrubbing a hand down his face. “That’s crazy.”
Holding your breath, you wait for him to process, hoping that his answer won’t break your heart. You weren’t quite sure what you would even do if he said no. Probably cry your eyes out.
“ What the hell , sure. Let’s do it,” he finally says, scrubbing his face again as though he still can’t believe that this interaction is actually happening to him. For you, though, the world really does seem to stop. Momentarily, you think you forget how to breathe as the realization that Hawks didn’t reject you crashes through your mind.
“You’re not — you don’t — you like me too?” you stutter out, your mouth struggling to catch up to your brain.
He nods, confirming that you’re not just dreaming.
“ Okay , wow, this is — wow, ” you manage, running a hand through your hair. “So does this make dinner tonight our first date?”
“...Not unless you don’t want it to be.”
Despite your best efforts to smother it, a grin erupts over your face. The only word you could possibly use to describe the way you feel is absolute, pure, elation.
“I think I want it to be.”
Hawks nods again, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”
“…So now what?” you ask, after several moments of silence.
“I think we have to finish making dinner,” he grins, moving to press a kiss into your hair. “ Thanks for teaching me how to cook .”
“Of course. I mean, you already know how to do chicken nuggets, so really, I’m just expanding your repertoire.”
“Okay, you don’t need to do me dirty like that, I don’t usually have the time to spend cooking for myself!”
“Kidding, kidding. That’s why you have me here.”
“ Sure ,” Hawks chuckles, ruffling your hair before going back to chopping vegetables. “I’m just glad you trust me enough to chop.”
“With time you’ll be able to do more, just be patient.”
“Augh, you kill me! Patience!”
You laugh, shaking your head. You still haven’t come down from the high of knowing that you and Hawks are now a couple, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if everything seems just a little bit funnier now.
To you, all that matters is that you aren’t single anymore and that you have a bright future with Hawks ahead of you.