HawksThey had been friends for longer than either of them bothered to count anymore—somewhere between too many all-nighters and shared convenience store runs at three in the morning. Lately, though, there'd been something different flickering behind Hawks' golden eyes, a sharpened focus that lingered a beat too long whenever Hour spoke. But that was just Hawks being Hawks, right? Unpredictable, the kind of man who changed direction mid-flight without warning, so nobody thought twice when he seemed a little more present, a little more there, during their usual banter.
When he'd shown up at her place, feathers ruffled from a long patrol, and mentioned he needed a plus-one for the Annual Hero Gala to keep him from dying of boredom, it hadn't felt like a big deal. Hawks leaned against a doorframe with that signature lazy grin, tossing the invitation between his fingers like it was a takeout menu rather than the most exclusive event in the hero industry. “Come on, you know I'll just face-plant in the champagne fountain if you're not there to poke me awake. Plus, free food that's actually edible? I'm practically doing you a favor here.”
Hour agreed—because really, what could go wrong? It was just Keigo. Just another chaotic evening with her best friend who happened to have wings and a fanbase of millions. But the Gala arrived with all the subtlety of a villain attack.
He'd cleaned up almost unfairly well—crisp black suit tailored to his toned build, with a perfectly knotted crimson tie. These crimson wings had been groomed to a subtle sheen in a way that suggested he'd actually put effort in, which was more alarming than the formalwear itself. The usual headphones and goggles were gone, replaced by small red earrings that caught the flash of cameras as they stepped out of the limo onto the carpet.
“Damn,” Hawks whistled low as he helped her out, his gaze raking over Hour with an openness that made the air between them feel ten degrees warmer. “You look... you know, you're gonna steal the show tonight. Seriously, I'm gonna look bad standing next to you. My reputation can't handle this kind of competition.”
Before she could answer, the sharks smelled blood in the water. “Hawks! Hawks, over here!” The reporters swarmed like a coordinated assault, microphones and cameras thrust forward, lights blinding. “Number Two Hero, a word for Hero Weekly? Who's your date tonight? The public wants to know!”
Hawks laughed—easy, charming, the practiced sound of a public figure deflecting—but there was something reckless and tired underneath it. “Girlfriend, actually,” he said, casual as commenting on the weather. He slid his arm around Hour’s waist with a proprietary familiarity, sharp eyes not leaving the reporter's face even as the words hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. “Yeah, she's my girlfriend. Pretty great, right? I'm a lucky man.”
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the frantic clicking of camera shutters capturing the exact moment Keigo's smile went from practiced to genuinely terrified, when he realized all too late what he had just said. He hid it behind a wink directed straight at Hour. “Oops,” he murmured, too low for the microphones to catch, feathers bristling with nervous energy. “Might've fucked up there. But hey—commitment to the bit, right?”
When he'd shown up at her place, feathers ruffled from a long patrol, and mentioned he needed a plus-one for the Annual Hero Gala to keep him from dying of boredom, it hadn't felt like a big deal. Hawks leaned against a doorframe with that signature lazy grin, tossing the invitation between his fingers like it was a takeout menu rather than the most exclusive event in the hero industry. “Come on, you know I'll just face-plant in the champagne fountain if you're not there to poke me awake. Plus, free food that's actually edible? I'm practically doing you a favor here.”
Hour agreed—because really, what could go wrong? It was just Keigo. Just another chaotic evening with her best friend who happened to have wings and a fanbase of millions. But the Gala arrived with all the subtlety of a villain attack.
He'd cleaned up almost unfairly well—crisp black suit tailored to his toned build, with a perfectly knotted crimson tie. These crimson wings had been groomed to a subtle sheen in a way that suggested he'd actually put effort in, which was more alarming than the formalwear itself. The usual headphones and goggles were gone, replaced by small red earrings that caught the flash of cameras as they stepped out of the limo onto the carpet.
“Damn,” Hawks whistled low as he helped her out, his gaze raking over Hour with an openness that made the air between them feel ten degrees warmer. “You look... you know, you're gonna steal the show tonight. Seriously, I'm gonna look bad standing next to you. My reputation can't handle this kind of competition.”
Before she could answer, the sharks smelled blood in the water. “Hawks! Hawks, over here!” The reporters swarmed like a coordinated assault, microphones and cameras thrust forward, lights blinding. “Number Two Hero, a word for Hero Weekly? Who's your date tonight? The public wants to know!”
Hawks laughed—easy, charming, the practiced sound of a public figure deflecting—but there was something reckless and tired underneath it. “Girlfriend, actually,” he said, casual as commenting on the weather. He slid his arm around Hour’s waist with a proprietary familiarity, sharp eyes not leaving the reporter's face even as the words hung in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled. “Yeah, she's my girlfriend. Pretty great, right? I'm a lucky man.”
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the frantic clicking of camera shutters capturing the exact moment Keigo's smile went from practiced to genuinely terrified, when he realized all too late what he had just said. He hid it behind a wink directed straight at Hour. “Oops,” he murmured, too low for the microphones to catch, feathers bristling with nervous energy. “Might've fucked up there. But hey—commitment to the bit, right?”
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