Chapter Text
Chapter 1: Distinctive
The rooftop of Endeavor’s agency was a sanctuary amidst Musutafu’s chaotic skyline, the city below a tapestry of lights under the twilight sky. Hawks leaned against the railing, wings spread to catch the evening breeze, his usual grin softened by the quiet.
He was waiting for Endeavor - Number One had summoned him for a “quick debrief” after their latest joint mission, a brutal clash with a pyrokinetic villain that had left Hawks’s jacket singed and his feathers in disarray. He’d retrieved most of the scattered quills, as always, but many were scorched or frayed, barely functional outside his body. Pristine feathers were a rarity, a fact his fans knew too well, scouring battle sites for any crimson treasure...
...not that Hawks ever gave them away. Among bird-quirk folk, it was common knowledge: feathers were for lovers, a sacred gift not lightly shared.
The heavy thud of boots signaled Endeavor’s arrival.
Hawks glanced over his shoulder, wings twitching, a few damaged feathers fluttering loose. “Took you long enough, big guy. Thought I’d have to send a feather to drag you out of that office...though, fair warning, most of mine are kinda toasted after today.”
Endeavor’s scowl was as predictable as the flames flickering along his shoulders. “Some of us have paperwork,” he said, stopping a few feet away, arms crossed. His turquoise eyes swept over Hawks, lingering on the tattered edges of his wings. “Your feathers look worse than usual.”
Hawks laughed, turning to face him. “Yeah, villain had a thing for fire. Not as hot as you, though.” He stretched, wings flaring, revealing the patchwork of scorched and bent quills. “Most of these are trash now. Gotta retrieve ‘em quick, or the fan clubs start auctions. You know they go nuts for a clean one? Rare as gold, apparently.”
Endeavor raised a brow, unfazed by the flirtation but curious. “Your fans collect them?”
“Obsessively,” Hawks said, smirking. “Large, pristine ones? Basically unicorn tears. Battle wrecks ‘em, and I’m not in the habit of handing out souvenirs.” He paused, voice dropping. “Feathers...they’re kind of a big deal for us bird types. You don’t give ‘em to just anyone. It’s...personal.” His grin hid the weight of the words, but his wings twitched, betraying a flicker of nerves.
Endeavor stepped closer, the heat from his quirk cutting through the chill. “Personal,” he echoed, his gaze intense, almost searching. “Then why are you telling me?”
Hawks blinked, thrown off his rhythm. “Uh, just...context? You’re not a bird, so I figured you wouldn’t get it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, wings shifting uneasily. Every bird-quirk hero he’d met - Tokoyami, that owl-quirk courier, even the old vulture guy from his internship - knew the unspoken rule: a feather was a vow, a piece of your heart given to someone special. Not a distant tale, but a truth woven into their culture, as instinctive as flight.
“I want one,” Endeavor said, voice low, deliberate. “A feather. One of yours. For my office.”
The world tilted. Hawks’s wings froze, every feather, including the damaged ones, going rigid. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
“Wait. Hold up. A feather? Like, one of my feathers? For your office?”
His voice cracked, and he cursed himself for it, heat flooding his face. “Enji, you don’t just...ask for that! You know how rare a clean one is? And I don’t...I mean, they’re not for...”
He trailed off, unable to say lovers without combusting.
Endeavor’s expression didn’t waver. “Is that an issue?”
“Issue? No! I mean, yes? I mean...” Hawks spun away, pacing the rooftop, one hand raking through his messy hair. His wings flared, a few scorched feathers drifting down.
“Why do you even want one? They’re not decor, Enji. They’re beat-up half the time, and the good ones... they’re not for just anyone. Fans would kill for a pristine one, but I don’t hand ‘em out. It’s...it’s a bird thing.”
Endeavor stepped closer, his heat a tangible presence. “They’re distinctive,” he said, eyes locked on Hawks’s wings. “Your wings stand out. Even damaged. A pristine one would...suit the space.”
Distinctive.
The word hit like a punch, lodging in Hawks’s chest. His mind raced, the cultural weight of the request screaming at him. Every bird-quirk person knew what it meant to give a feather, especially a rare, unmarred one. Endeavor couldn’t know...could he? The guy was a furnace, not a feathered hero. But the way he was looking at Hawks, intense and unyielding, made his heart stutter.
Hawks forced a laugh, stalling. “Okay, didn’t peg you for an art collector. What’s next, you want my jacket too?” The idea of Endeavor wanting a piece of him - a feather, pristine and perfect - was unraveling him. He didn’t give feathers away. Not to fans, not to friends. Only one person got a feather, and he wasn’t ready to think about that.
Endeavor’s patience thinned. “Hawks,” he said, voice a low rumble. “Just give me the feather.”
Hawks stopped pacing, his wings drooping. He scanned his feathers, most too damaged to consider. But one, tucked near his left wing’s base, caught his eye: relatively large shiny, and miraculously untouched. Its crimson surface shimmered with gold undertones. Plucking it would sting, but it was perfect. Rare. His fans would riot for it. And he was about to give it to Endeavor.
“Alright, alright, you win,” he muttered, voice unsteady. He reached for the feather, wincing as he tugged it free, the sharp pain a reminder of its value. He held it out, its pristine surface gleaming in the twilight. “Here. One feather. Don’t let the fan clubs know, or we’re both screwed.”
Endeavor took it carefully, their fingers brushing. The contact sent a jolt through Hawks, his wings puffing instinctively. “S-Sorry,” he stammered, yanking his hand back. “Static or something.” A bad lie, his face burning.
Endeavor didn’t comment, his focus on the feather. He turned it slowly, the light catching its flawless sheen. “It’s...fitting,” he murmured, almost to himself. He pulled a polished wooden box from his coat pocket - simple but sturdy, meant for something precious. Hawks’s breath hitched as Endeavor placed the feather inside with a care that didn’t match his usual brusqueness.
“You’re keeping it in a box? have you just been carrying that around in your coat?” Hawks’s voice hitched, and he coughed to cover it. “I mean, that’s... organized. Very you.”
Endeavor shot him a look - half-annoyed, half-something Hawks couldn’t name. “It’s practical,” he said, closing the box with a soft click. “Keeps it safe.”
Safe. The word landed heavy, stirring the bird-quirk instincts screaming in Hawks’s head. He turned back to the railing, gripping it like a lifeline.
He doesn’t know. He can’t know. But the box (that was weirdly the perfect size for a feather), the care, the request for a pristine feather...it felt too close to that sacred line.
“Uh, cool, so...we done here?” Hawks asked, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “Got places to be, skies to soar, you know how it is.”
Endeavor stepped beside him, the box still in hand. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken things. Hawks’s feathers quivered, sensing the weight. “You’re...important,” Endeavor said finally, his voice quieter than Hawks had ever heard. “To the agency. To the mission.” A pause, then, softer: “To me.”
Hawks’s heart stopped, then raced. He whipped his head around, eyes wide, but Endeavor was staring at the city, his profile sharp against the dusk.
“Whoa, Enji, you can’t just say stuff like that,” Hawks laughed, shaky. “Gonna give a guy the wrong idea.”
Endeavor’s lips twitched - barely a smile. “Maybe it’s not the wrong idea.”
Hawks’s wings flared, knocking over a stray coffee cup on the ledge. He scrambled to catch it, nearly tripping. “Okay, nope, no cryptic stuff now!” he yelped, pointing at Endeavor. “You got your feather - your super rare feather. Save the intense vibes for later, or I’m flying into a billboard!”
Endeavor’s chuckle was low, rare, and it wrecked Hawks’s composure. “Get back to work, Hawks,” he said, turning toward the door. He paused, glancing back. “And...thank you.”
“...for the feather?” Hawks managed, clutching the cup like a shield.
“For being you.” And with that, Endeavor was gone, the door closing behind him.
Hawks stood alone, wings drooping, face redder than his feathers. “Oh, I’m so screwed,” he muttered.
His mind replayed the moment: the box, the care, the feather. The possibility that Endeavor might understand, even a fraction, of what it meant made his heart soar and his stomach plummet.