The night was cool, with a soft breeze carrying the distant hum of city lights. Keigo Takami—better known as the pro hero Hawks—sat in his car, engine idling on the side of the road. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his jaw set tight as he reread your messages.

They were strange—too sweet, too affectionate. It wasn't like you. Sure, you were close—closer than most could even dream of being with someone like him—but tonight's messages crossed a line into unfamiliar territory. It wasn’t just about how much you appreciated spending time with him. There was something in the tone, something that made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

The realization hit him like a weight in his gut. Were you drunk?

His amber eyes flickered toward the passenger seat, empty but waiting for you. The thought of you, vulnerable, at a party filled with people who might take advantage of your state—he hated it. It stirred memories he tried hard to keep buried. His father, slurring, stumbling, shouting…a bitter taste filled his mouth.

Keigo gripped the wheel tighter, exhaling through his nose. He had told you before how much he despised seeing you like this. Vulnerable. Unprotected. Maybe you didn’t get it. Maybe you didn’t know why.

But he did.

The dorms weren’t far now. He pulled up in front, headlights casting long shadows on the pavement. He leaned back in his seat, tapping a feather from his wings to sense the surroundings. He was pissed off, sure, but beneath the irritation was something far more complex—something he wasn’t ready to name.

When you finally appeared, swaying slightly as you approached the car, Keigo rolled down the window, his sharp gaze cutting through the night.

“Get in,” he said, his voice tight, edged with frustration.